
Why Don’t Syrians Know Each Other?
The truth is: most of us know nothing about each other, even though we are of one country, speak one dialect, and share the same food—and even the same sorrow.
The history of Al-Muhajireen, pronounced locally as “L-Mhajreen” (Arabic for “the immigrants”), dates back to 1899 when the reformed Ottoman governor “Nazim Pasha” visited the area during his inspection of the parts of the city of which he became the governor of. He loved this spot for its beautiful view of the old city and its good air, and so his project began.
Meanwhile, sectarian strife arose on the Greek island of Crete, and many of its Muslim Turks emigrated and arrived in Damascus (and other cities in the Ottoman empire) as immigrants, so Nazim Pasha settled them in al-Muhajireen, and they were first to live there. This marked the beginning of the naming for the neighborhood, which welcomed more immigrants later from the Balkans and Circassia.
Many Turkic families remained in the neighborhood in Syria after the collapse of Ottoman rule in 1918, but there were also minorities coming from other Syrian governorates. All those who lived in the region at the time were brought together by alienation as if they were relatives.
Al-Muhajireen, with its prosperous inhabitants and its streets laid out at a right angle, thrived especially when the first elected President of the Syrian Republic, Muhammad al-‘Abid, decided during his tenure in office (1932-1936) to build a tramway line that connected the center of Damascus to Al-Muhajireen where the ‘Abid family had moved during the French Mandate, after leaving Sarouja just north of the walls of Old Damascus.
Muhammad al-‘Abid resided in the Muhajireen Palace, built by Nazim Pasha, which gave the neighborhood further importance. But Al-Muhajireen’s importance grew as its avenues marked historical events in Syria’s history. For example, Al-Mastabeh Street (“the Terrace”) was set up to show the soldiers when German Emperor Wilhelm Damascus.
Al-Muhajireen is not like any other Damascene neighborhood, as its houses overlap at varying altitudes overlooking one another on the slopes of Mount Qasioun, where people are still climbing diligently, and children fill the streets, which are narrow, branching and ascending staircases. As it overlooks the whole city of Damascus, it’s a place where families come together to hang out in the evening, often to its mesmerizing Nairabein Park.
The truth is: most of us know nothing about each other, even though we are of one country, speak one dialect, and share the same food—and even the same sorrow.
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