Princess: Stepping Out of the Shadows, стр. 30

The intense humiliation attached to rape is the same all over the region, whether a girl is born in Saudi Arabia, Syria, Iraq, Afghanistan, or a whole host of neighbouring countries. There is nowhere a female can escape the disgrace of being raped.

Maha selected a document from the desk. ‘Most people who follow the news are aware of the indiscriminate bombings on Syrian cities and villages for the sole purpose of terrifying the population. Citizens there have also been the victims of chemical weapons. But for Syrian families nothing is considered more destructive to life than the sexual violence being used by the Syrian regime against girls and women. That, I have been told, is one of the main reasons so many families take dangerous chances to flee the country. Information about such rapes travels faster than wild fires and when ordinary families hear about the kidnapping, imprisonment and rape of innocent girls and women, they start packing, making every effort to escape the areas targeted by the Syrian government.’

With a faraway look in her eyes, Maha stared into the distance. My heart told me that my daughter was reliving the tragedies she had heard from the women she had helped to rescue. She shook her head lightly before meeting our eyes once more.

I clicked my tongue in sympathy. Never could I recall seeing my Maha more emotionally torn.

My daughter’s eyes met my gaze for a moment and I willed strength into her body, so she was able to continue the heartrending tales that, once known to a person, can never be erased from their memory. Although I am a mature woman who knows more than most when it comes to the abuse inflicted on females worldwide, both young and old, I knew that I would remain awake for long hours on this night, remembering the graphic incidents I would soon hear.

Maha gave me a slight smile prior to recounting the personal stories that she had to share for all to know the extent of the crisis facing so many girls and women in Syria. I sensed correctly that my daughter had regained the power necessary to carry on.

‘Now I will share with you the stories of the three whom we have rescued. First, I will tell you about the most darling woman, sweet and smart. Her name is Souzan.

‘Souzan was only a fifteen-year-old schoolgirl at home doing her homework when Assad’s security forces surrounded the neighbourhood, going house to house to supposedly arrest members of the revolution. They were after the men, but the men were in another area of the country arranging for an attack upon a government building.

‘Souzan’s mother had left their home for only a few minutes to visit a neighbour. She was often a visitor at this house since the husbands of both women were deeply involved in the Free Syrian Army, an important fighting group who are well established in their attempts to dislodge Assad’s regime. Souzan’s mother was desperate to discover the latest news of her husband, as she had heard nothing for a month when generally he sent word weekly as to his safety. Souzan recalled that her mother’s entire life rested on hope – hope that her husband would not be killed, hope that her children would remain safe, and hope that the civil war that was destroying untold lives would soon end.’

‘Her hopes are our hopes, daughter,’ I said in a low voice.

‘Yes, Mother, you are right. All who know anything about this vicious war pray for an end to the misery and suffering. I have read reports stating that the Syrian civil war is the most destructive in modern history, and I now believe that to be so.’

I shook my head in regret for the Syrian people, for indeed I know too much about the Syrian civil war and the tremendous tragedy the war has wrought on so many innocent people.

‘Unknowingly,’ Maha said, ‘Souzan’s mother picked the worst possible time to leave her home and children.

‘The first sound that alerted Souzan to danger was the reverberation of tanks. The dictator Assad and his military routinely use tanks to block off streets. The frighteningly loud clamour of these machines accelerating with metal against the rock road was so fearsome that women’s voices shrieking for their children became louder than the noise of the tanks! The neighbourhood was quickly locked down, with shouts heard that no one was allowed on the streets, or even in or out of their homes.

‘A young and terrified Souzan was the adult in a house with five younger children. Her equally alarmed mother found herself confined in her neighbour’s house, only feet away from her children but unable to reach them.

‘Souzan felt numb from her head to her toes, but vividly remembers the loud knocks on the door. She did not respond to the incessant pounding because her mother had warned her against opening the door unless she heard her mother’s special knock. This was a way of letting the children know it was safe to answer the door. That knock was three quick hits, followed by silence, and then five additional hits, made as fast as possible.

‘“Those who are dangerous to us do not strike the door lightly, my children,” she told them, “but instead will knock it down with tremendous blows made by angry hands and kicking feet. Never answer. Make them kick the door to the floor, children. They are known to shoot whoever answers the doors to intimidate all remaining within. Do not let yourself be a target. Hide under the mattresses in the storage room. They will be in a hurry and perhaps will do nothing more than give a cursory look.”

‘Souzan knew that the extreme noise of the banging was definitely not her mother. Distinctly recalling her mother’s exact words, she acted quickly, jumping to take her younger siblings to the room where their mattresses were stored. She succeeded in hiding three brothers and one