Damascus today resembles the melee of a busy stock exchange during trading hours, which leads the pulse rate on a merry dance, sending it soaring then falling. It has the hubbub of a city under reconstruction. The rebuild is clearly underway, but it will take time. The Syrian capital needs enough time and space to fulfil the dreams of its people.
The Damascus I recently visited is not the same city that I saw at the end of last year, shortly after the collapse of Bashar al-Assad’s regime. Although much remains unchanged, many things are now different, not least the feel.
Syrians’ grand expectations still hover in the air, just as they did at the close of 2024, after years of war, when the city slept in darkness but its people did not. Al-Sham (as Syrians lovingly call Damascus) was celebrating, rejoicing at the fall of al-Assad and the return of loved ones from exile and torture dungeons.
Jubilant anarchy
On the banks of the Barada River, people danced, sang, and played among the jasmine trees. “Raise your head high,” someone would shout between songs, as another returnee arrived. “You are a free Syrian!” Cue the music and the long embrace.
Night turned into day, and everything melted into a jubilant anarchy. Emotions ran wild. Time lost its meaning. There were no schedules, no curfews, no barriers to weeping or wandering, no traffic lights, no police patrols, no rules for driving or staying out. There was no electricity, but that was fine. After all, the dark was meant for dancing.
Syrians sang a love song to a city wearied by war, whose pavements were cracked, whose buildings were crumbling. There was no time for blame, no appetite for accountability. In the scented alleyways, vendors plied their trade in the euphoria. These were moments some had waited half a century to see. This was history, and everything else faded.