THE CITY OF JASMINE
Written by Nadine Presley
Illustrated by Heather Brockman Lee
I come from the City of Jasmine, where delicate blossoms spill from homes, balconies. Sweet scents dance in the wind, filling air, calming hearts.
I come from the Umayyad Mosque, where a call for prayer pauses time. Faithful footsteps on mosaics and marble gather and stand as one.
I come from Ghouta,
where roots of olive trees run deep in a land tended by generations.
Breathe in, breathe out, the lungs of the city.
I come from Damascus . . .
. . . where water spring of Ain al-Fijah hasn’t dried for thousands of years. Its water trickles into the Barada river,
all the way to the heart of the city.
I come from Qasioun,
where iris flowers decorate the majestic mountain while lupin beans warm hearts, and twinkling lights carry hope.
I come from Qala’at Dimashq,
where the walls of old alleyways tell of civilizations rising and falling.
Neighbors of all faiths share pistachio and date sweets,
a song of harmony ringing in the background.
I come from a city where streets are infused with the earthy scent of boiling corncobs and roasted chestnuts.
Mornings come alive with aromatic Turkish coffee.
I come from the little book shop at the corner on my way to school, where dusty papers of hundred-year-old books take me on a journey through time.
I come from Jiddo’s orchard, where wind whistles gently as I stroll through walnut and pomegranate trees, olive oil generously soaks a bowl of perfectly garnished baba ghanoush.
I come from the courtyard of Teta’s house, where water in the fountain sways with little feet twirling around it.
“Salaam!” Jiddo walks in carrying a watermelon. He he plops it in the fountain where it bounces in blissful freshness till dawn.
I come from a city where neighbors like Salma never return Mama’s plates empty, tap-tap-knock memories made over the sizzling sweetness of kunafa, topped with hugs and crushed pistachios.
I come from Mama’s kitchen— mint drying, jam simmering, yogurt dripping— where hearts come together every morning over a wholesome spread of hawader.
I come from long summer walks with cousins, where step upon step, our bonds grow tighter, our laughter louder, and our little feet have come to know the city by heart.
I come from a home with a mosaic wooden Damascene box,
where every night, Baba and I fold memories of our days.
He holds me close. “They’ll be safe in here.”
In this new place, only the echoes of my past can take me on strolls through scattered petals, in a place that once was. But I know . . .
my home is no pile of rubble.
While the world tries to carve ruins into my memories, here I am mountains and oceans away,
Sowing seeds of home wherever I go, jasmine flowers overflow.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
The smell will take us straight to my Damascus.
Author’s Note
I believe memories can be very powerful in helping us stay true to ourselves and remembering who we are. After the war broke out in Syria, I tried to hold on to everything beautiful while the world focused on destruction. I watched the places where I grew up, my very identity, get tied permanently to images of rubble. That’s when I decided that ruins will not be carved into my memories. I ventured to reintroduce the world to a beautiful place with a rich history and a wonderful community, through my own lens and experience growing up in Damascus I set out for the world to fall in love with the City of Jasmine.
Facts About Damascus
• The Umayyad Mosque, also known as the Great Mosque of Damascus, located in the old city of Damascus, is one of the largest and oldest in the world.
• Ghouta is an oasis formed by the Barada River. Olive trees in Ghouta are over five hundred years old.
• Damascus is the oldest capital in the world.
• The water spring of Ain al-Fijah is hundreds of years old. It’s the source of the Barada River, which supplies Damascus with fresh water.
• Qasioun is a mountain that overlooks the entire city of Damascus. This is the only place in the world where iris flowers are native.
• Lupin beans are very popular in the Middle East. They are boiled, then tossed in salt and cumin and are absolutely delicious.
• The Citadel of Damascus, or Qala’at Dimashq, is a large medieval palace and citadel. It was first fortified in 1076. It is part of the old city, and is listed as a World Heritage Site.
• Jiddo and Teta are terms of endearment for Grandpa and Grandma.
• Kunafa is the ultimate Middle Eastern dessert. A luscious, crunchy shredded pastry, enclosing stretchy cheese, drizzled with fragrant syrup and topped with crushed pistachios.
• Hawader is a Syrian breakfast that consists of an assortment of small plates, served with pita bread and tea. The Arabic word means making breakfast from whatever is available at home, such as labneh, halloumi cheese, olives, zaatar, olive oil, hummus, and fava beans.
