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After sending a squad of men to reconnoiter their route and destination, arrangements were made for travel to Kobani. A caravan of SUVs carrying a team of Parsons paramilitary professionals and all the weary travelers left the command center. They followed the same route Avi and Hassan had originally planned, without incident, and arrived, about two hours later, in what used to be known as Kobani, Syria.
Canan was apprehensive about the visit. Kobani had been at war for years, first with ISIS and later with Turkey. She and Karim fled Kobani during the war with ISIS. They personally witnessed many of the devastating blows suffered by the community. Nothing, however, prepared her for what she was now seeing from the safety of her transport vehicle.
Kobani residents were accustomed to war. Canan, Karim, and many others lost family members, friends, and treasured possessions in multiple military confrontations. Buildings, landmarks, and family homes were destroyed—citizens were slaughtered or maimed. The sights, sounds, and smells of war were everywhere. As the caravan drove down the main drag, people looked lost, full of dread, perhaps awaiting the next conflict. Canan was grateful for her life in America; happy her beloved Hana escaped the invisible psychological scars of war. Her American family happily avoided the fear and anxiety experienced while awaiting the next round of warplanes, artillery shells, explosions, and devastation, as well as the emptiness that followed survival.
As they drove through the rubble, homeless dogs roamed the streets. Curious faces of displaced families looked up, locking eyes with Canan as the caravan drove by. Canan began to feel terribly guilty for leaving her relatives behind, especially her mother, in the confusion and haste to evacuate. In the end, though, her mother made her own choice to stay. Canan was powerless to change her mind, no matter how hard she tried.
The Kurds famously helped defeat ISIS in the area. The People’s Protection Units, known as the YPG, was a dominant force in an alliance with Syrian Democratic Forces. Part of a United States-led multinational coalition, they captured huge swaths of land in Northeastern Syria. In return for their success, the Kurds sought autonomy in the region. Turkey had other plans. The Turks opposed Kurdish autonomy in the region, even though the Turks benefited from the success of the military campaign.
The Turkish president decided to create what he called a ‘safe zone’ in the region and attacked the Kurds. The United States, instead of assisting its Kurdish allies, ordered its troops to pull back from the area. As a result, hundreds of civilians and YDG fighters were killed by the Turkish assault. The intense battle caused the displacement of almost two hundred thousand people, and critical civilian infrastructure was decimated. The Kurds were forced to make a deal with Syria, permitting the Turks to keep captured areas, with Russian and Syrian troops patrolling the area to keep the peace. Since the Kurds’ only ally in the region, the United States, abandoned them, peace now depended on an alliance between Syria, Russia, and Turkey. Unfortunately, all were unfriendly to the Kurds. The alliance only increased Kurdish anxieties about endless war in the region.
For Canan, the piles of rubble paled in comparison to friends and family members lost forever in the region’s various conflicts. The caravan continued through the ruins. As it headed northwest, conditions noticeably improved. People strolled down partially rebuilt streets. The urban center had shifted west, away from the conflict. Men and women chatted on street corners while kids played in a playground at a makeshift school, once a large home.
They drove past a bakery run by a family whose patriarch decided to remain in operation despite the siege. The owner famously provided free bread to all fighters and citizens who stayed behind during Kobani’s many conflicts. Once destroyed by ISIS mortar shells and forced to close down, the reopened bakery stood tall, symbolic of victory and a vital source of food to the community. This portion of the city seemed almost vibrant, ‘normal’ was the word in Canan’s thoughts.
The caravan continued and came upon a modest neighborhood, a fraction of which was spared from the conflict. Modest, well-kept homes dotted the landscape amidst others that were uninhabitable. A few boys kicked a soccer ball around a clear patch of land. The caravan stopped at one home, which was miraculously spared of serious damage. An old woman sat on the porch, sewing a child-sized garment. Canan began to weep, scaring Hana. The child also began to cry, prompting Canan to turn to her daughter.
“I’m so sorry, my sweet. I didn’t mean to upset you. These are tears of joy. Look, over there.” She pointed to the house, the porch, and an old woman. “That is your Jadda!”
The child squealed with delight and shouted, ‘Jadda!’ through an open window. The old woman looked up and saw the caravan. Frightened, she rose and began to retreat into the house.
“Mama,” Canan cried. “It’s Canan!”
The old woman turned back to the caravan. “Canan?” she cried, straining to see her daughter. Canan emerged from the SUV. She unbuckled, gathered Hana from her seatbelt, and pulled the child from the vehicle.
“It’s me, Mama, and this beautiful child is your granddaughter, Hana!”
“Jadda!” Hana cried.
Canan hurried to the porch. The three embraced, weeping with joy. Back at the caravan, some tough paramilitary soldiers, two guides, a couple of Dearborn cops, and a trial lawyer were in tears at the reunion they witnessed. After a short time, Canan’s mother, Zoya, invited the entire caravan in for tea and coffee inside the modest home, a combination living room and two bedrooms, where Canan and her siblings were raised.
Parsons’ group sat on the floor. The others sat on a large old microfiber couch and some bridge chairs. Zoya sat on an oversized easy chair with Hana in her lap. The child was joyfully attempting to teach Jadda how to play ‘open-shut them.’
“Mama, how are you doing, really?” Canan challenged.
“I am fine, my precious. How are you doing after such a terrible ordeal?” The old woman had listened, in horror, to her daughter and granddaughter’s experience in the Syrian Desert.
“We are well, Mama. But I must say, Kobani is still in far worse shape than I expected. How have you managed? How do you live like this? Please consider coming with us to America. There is nothing for you here. America is where your family lives.”
Parsons and Blake shot Canan and each other a ‘one more Syrian immigrant applying for asylum?’ glare. Can’t help but admire her spunk! Zack marveled.
“This is my home, the only one I have ever known. I was born in Kobani; I will die in Kobani. I am happy you have a nice life in America, but it is not for me.”
“You would see Hana all the time,” Canan cajoled.
The old woman held the child high in the air. Hana giggled with delight. Zoya smiled and retorted, “Ah, it is tempting. She is so beautiful.” Her thoughts drifted. A tear rolled down her cheek. “I have missed you so, Canan.”
“So, come to America, Mama,” Canan pleaded.
“I cannot leave the people who need me behind. Some are old, sick—your grandmother in one of them. Please, Canan, leave it be,” the old woman implored, hugging her granddaughter.
“If this is your final word, Mama, I will respect it. How is Jadda? Will we see her? Promise me you will come for a visit someday soon.”
“Yes, my sweet. I promise. Your visit will soon cause me to yearn for more time with you and Hana. Your grandmother is fine, but too old to travel. We will probably not be able to visit with her. How is Karim, Canan? You married a fine man.”
“Karim is fine. And, yes, he is a wonderful husband and father. We couldn’t be happier.”
“I am so pleased. Tell him that I hope to see him soon.”
“I will, Mama. Please tell Jadda I love her and miss her.” Canan wanted to stay with her mother for a few days. Parsons and team determined the family was relatively safe for the time being but did not want to travel a long distance for lodging. Zack had to approve their stay since he was financing the mission. A sucker for family reunions, he readily supported the extended time.
Unfortunately, the team determined there were no hotel options nearby—the closest being in Aleppo or Harran, Turkey, both far away. Parsons had no desire to cross another border and wanted to stay somewhere close to Zoya’s home. The group finally decided to find a location to set up camp similar to the operations command post they created in the desert. Parsons team was used to such accommodations. Zack, Jack, and Shaheed were less enthusiastic about the arrangements. They preferred a Hyatt or a Hilton, a shower, and a comfortable bed. All of them, however, understood the need for Canan, Hana, and Zoya to spend time together. No one needed to mention the obvious: Would these three ever be together again?
Zack urged Parsons to contact a local restaurant. The owner/chef, suffering in Kobani’s post-war environment, was more than happy to deliver a feast of feasts to Zoya’s western visitors. Zack offered the owner a sizeable financial incentive, more than any sale he’d made over the past four months. The entire group enjoyed a fantastic mid-eastern meal, courtesy of the Law Offices of Zachary Blake.
After their fabulous dinner, which included a fine assortment of Arabic desserts, the Parsons group, Rima Al-Baklavi, Zack, and the two cops bid the ‘three ladies’ farewell. Parsons gave Canan a cell phone and walkie-talkie to use in case of emergency. Parsons’ numbers were pre-programmed into both the phone and walkie-talkie. All Canan had to do was push a button to directly connect to a Parsons’ operative. After the caravan rolled out into the desert, Zoya, Canan, and Hana enjoyed a wonderful three-day reunion.
Too soon for ‘the three ladies’, the caravan returned. It was time to say goodbye. Hana now had a grandmother, a jadda, to pamper, spoil, and love her, as only a grandmother could love a grandchild. Canan experienced the joy and privilege of watching her mother and daughter bond, a sight she once never thought possible. Zoya was over the moon with the unexpected opportunity to meet her grandchild and see her daughter, perhaps for the last time.
The trio promised to keep in touch. Each promised, someday soon, to visit the other. However, somewhere, deep inside, they wondered if this was the final chapter. The ‘three ladies’ hugged each other tight, tears flowing, refusing to terminate their embrace. Parsons cleared his throat, and the threesome separated, wiping eyes and noses with tissues provided by Jadda, smiling, laughing, then crying once again.
The caravan began to drive away, and Zoya chased after it, waving frantically, mouthing ‘see you soon, go with Allah.’ Canan and Hana turned to the back window and waved back. Hana, in tears, screamed, “Bye-bye Jadda, we love you—come see us soon!”
As Zoya disappeared, Canan studied her euphoric daughter, and reflected on the past three days. At the same time, she recalled the days of pain and extreme peril leading up to them. A mother does not put her child in danger. I was a fool to believe we could safely visit Kobani. Karim was right to push back. Thank you, Allah, for Karim and his stubbornness. We could have been killed. We must never return to Kobani. Maybe Mama will . . .
Canan’s thoughts and eyes drifted to Wayne Parsons, driving the SUV, and then to Zachary Blake, gazing out a half-open window, taking in the sights and sounds of the Syrian Desert. Allah, in His infinite wisdom, sent you, Mr. Parsons, and you, Mr. Blake. I will never forget your generosity and bravery. My family is forever in your debt.
