Damascus Volcano – Scenes From the Ground

Throughout the night of July 17, the sound of helicopters and their machine-gun fire filled the sky over Harasta, a town ten kilometers from the centre of Damascus.

My fears had come true – the once-peaceful countryside around Damascus had turned into a battle zone in which the use of heavy weapons threatened wholesale casualties.

I moved to Harasta five years ago because the town, home to around 100,000 people, provides employment to clothing-industry workers like me.

The army has many checkpoints in and around Harasta, which is seen as a hotbed of revolutionary activity. I took part in many demonstrations there, and I observed the upsurge in fighting between the Free Syrian Army, FSA, and the regime’s troops.

I couldn’t sleep well that night. I woke up at dawn at the sound of two rockets exploding in a nearby orchard. At one in the afternoon, I took a walk around the neighbourhood where I live. I saw two helicopters firing at the al-Qabun area, which is separated from Harasta by a highway.

I had been planning to go to Damascus that morning, but I decided not to, because I was afraid residential areas were going to come under bombardment. I was right – a wave of artillery shelling started up, targeting Arbin and farms surrounding Harasta. I also saw helicopters firing at those areas. I later learned from pro-revolution Facebook pages that dozens of people were killed in this bombardment.

I continued to read and watch the news, which featured footage of battles in the Tadamun and Maidan quarters of Damascus.

I got a battery radio out of the cupboard in anticipation of a long power cut, and then I went out for a walk. Some of the people on the streets looked dazed, as if they didn’t believe what was happening, while others were leaving their homes with their luggage in search of safer areas. Others still seemed to be indifferent, sitting in front of their homes and staring at the helicopters. 

Internet access had not yet been interrupted in Harasta, and I updated journalist and activist friends of mine about the unfolding security situation.

The FSA had announced it was launching “Damascus Volcano”, the code name for a military offensive designed to break the siege of Damascus and the surrounding countryside. This followed an announcement on Syrian state television that several top military commanders had been killed.

Just as we were about to break our fast on July 20, the first day of the month of Ramadan, we heard a devastating explosion nearby. It turned out a mortar shell had landed in an empty yard adjacent to our building.

We headed to our shelter – really just the ground floor of our apartment block. We stayed there for four hours, returning to our apartment once the shelling stopped. We spent the night worrying that the shelling might start again.

The next morning, I took my family to our relatives’ home in Adra, 20 kilometres east of Harasta, which, relatively speaking, was safer than other towns in the countryside around Damascus. There were three families including ours taking refuge in that house, which had three rooms and a large patio. One of the other families had come from the Kurdish neighbourhood in Damascus, while the other had fled the town of Hajira in the surrounding countryside.

The market in Adra was very crowded, as hundreds of families had arrived in the town in search of safety. I saw one woman and her children sleeping in a car, apparently because they could not find a place of refuge. Shortly before people broke their fast in the evening, one could hear the noise from a primary school that had been turned into a shelter for the displaced.

After spending one night at our relatives’ homes in Adra, we headed back to Harasta because the house was not big enough for its owners and all their guests.

On our way back, we saw a lot of spent cartridges by the roadside between Al-Wafidin Camp, which houses people displaced from the Golan, and Harasta Military Hospital. There was a large burnt-out truck in the middle of the road, which we were barely able to pass.

We kept a close eye on the snipers positioned on rooftops, and we saw sandbag barricades and men standing in the street. As usual, security personnel at the checkpoint by the Police Hospital were inspecting adults’ IDs and chatting with drivers.

On Friday, July 27, I took to the streets with other protesters in Harasta – the demonstrations had not stopped. At first there were around 300 participants. I marched with them for a while, but then I decided to leave because I was still suffering from sunstroke I had got in Adra.

As soon as I got home, I heard the sound of whizzing bullets. The demonstration was being shot at. I later learned that one person was killed and several others wounded.

Fearing further shelling, my family and I decided to leave Harasta altogether and go to Qamishli, my home town.

While I was trying to buy tickets for the trip at Al-Qabun Factories Bus Station, the main one in Damascus, a battle suddenly erupted between the FSA and regular troops. Everybody was afraid that mortar shells would hit the bus station. I hurried away. I was later able to buy the bus tickets from a branch office in Damascus.

While I was away doing this, a friend of mine called me to say the FSA had carried out several operations in Harasta, so regular troops were retaliating by shelling residential buildings, resulting in several casualties. Anyone seen on the street was being arrested, he said

Despite that, I tried to return to Harasta. Entering my neighbourhood was a near-suicidal venture. There was a terrifying noise from the explosions. I saw a column of cars that had recently been crushed by a tank. I therefore returned to Damascus and spent the night at a friend’s place in the Rukniddin quarter.

On August 6, I left Harasta together with my family. It was quite a dangerous trip. We were afraid of snipers who might be posted along the highway, and that members of the security forces might make trouble for us. It was hard to see all the devastated buildings and wrecked cars.

After nine hours on the road, we finally made it to Qamishli. We were able to spend a quiet night, interrupted by only a few gunshots. Perhaps people were making sure their personal firearms were ready for use.