Learning About Aleppo

How do you spell Aleppo? Is it with one l?  Two ps? Oh, wait, Ahmed told me:

حلب  Halab

How much do we Americans know about Aleppo, Syria? We certainly know it was at the center of presidential candidate Gary Johnson’s geographical and political mistake in the summer of 2016: he could not place the name; so, people railed against his lack of knowledge, but how much do we know? How much do we really know about a place that has been all but leveled by war? How much do we know about the residents of that place, both present and past? How much do we know about the people of Aleppo? More importantly, how much do we want to know?

There seem to be two competing political and cultural narratives running in our country over and over, like a Lord of the Rings movie. One says that Islamic people are inherently a threat, and that we need to “find out what’s going on.” The other says Muslim people are already our neighbors, but all people have some bad eggs. Unfortunately, these are only competing narratives that reveal our identity as Americans, so the debate misses fundamental questions: are we curious to learn about other people in our world? Are we learners or are we so steeped in our own assumptions that we will not assume a stance of growth and understanding? Have we pinned our selves between two competing narratives in an interminable movie of conflict?

Today, I drove with a member of my church to a house in greater Hartford, where a refugee family from Aleppo, Syria has just moved. They arrived in the late September heat and have been trying to settle into Connecticut life. The family has three children, two of whom are enrolled in elementary school.  The third is four years old, too young for school.

My friend Barry from church and I arrived to drive them to register for ESL classes in a local program. The parents seemed exhausted but focused.  On the way, we passed a store, Halal Meats—“halal” roughly means “permitted” for Muslims, but it means so much more. My colleague pointed it out and both parents raised their eyebrows and nodded. They remembered the store from an earlier sighting.

We all arrived at the school. And, we waited in a small hall to register. I found a seat for the mother. It was hot, and she had a headache—I think from the stress of having to take a test in a school setting that she had never experienced.  Imagine.  Never having been in a school. I know some will apply one of those narratives, but I could not help wanting to know how she felt.  What were her fears? What were her hopes? She had to have hopes, to even be there. I recalled a different kind of movie: Shawshank Redemption.  And I recalled Andy’s advice: “Remember, Red, hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things. And no good thing ever dies.” I wondered if her hope for an education would survive.

I learned the father has the equivalent of a ninth grade education from Syria, and his wife, of course, has no formal education. She has never attended school–never been to school. The heat had no ill-effect on them, as we waited in a crowded elementary school hallway to register them. Neither speaks English, although the father has a smartphone with Google Translator.  I learned that Aleppo is called Halab, as a result of that technology. I also learned of their birthdays, as I helped fill out their forms.  She was born on January 1^st.  I learned, too, about the work this medium-sized city does to offer adult classes for a wide variety of topics, but ESL is one of their proud offerings.  These classes help adults learn English so they may help their children as they go through their own education—and help them improve their lives.

After we left, the humidity persisted, and so did they.  Their four-year-old son put up a fierce battle in the back seat.  My colleague called it “pitching a fit.’ We all shared a smile and a chuckle, for after a glimpse at the father’s smartphone, the translation informed us the boy had rejected the seat belt. I remembered my own children’s battle with the car seat. So, on the mile-and-a-half drive back home we sat satisfied, having learned we all can laugh at frustration.