Zafir heard the muffled tone of his phone. He rushed to his backpack and grabbed it.

‘Is that my favourite nephew?’ asked a voice at the other end.

‘Uncle Ghazi!’

‘The one and the same.’

‘Hey, guess what? Mum said we’re coming to visit you in Damascus next holidays. I mean, it’s ages away but I can’t wait.’

‘I can’t wait either,’ said Uncle Ghazi. ‘That’s why I decided to visit you guys this weekend. So … are you going to let me in?’

The doorbell rang and Zafir nearly dropped his phone.

He grabbed his skateboard and raced to the door, followed by Mum who was laughing in a way that she had hardly done since before everything went wrong in Dubai. Everyone loved Uncle Ghazi.

Zafir dragged open the heavy apartment door and there he was: tall and slim, his long dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, wearing a sloppy T-shirt and jeans, with a wide grin on his face and a camera slung around his neck. He was carrying a pot of red geraniums and three carry bags.

‘Hey, nice deck,’ he said when Zafir showed him the skateboard. ‘I did a bit of skateboarding when I was a kid. I can teach you a few tricks.’

‘Come in, come in,’ said Mum, dragging Uncle Ghazi into the apartment.

‘Ahlan wa sahlan, welcome,’ said Pops.

‘It’s so good to see you,’ said Mum, holding Uncle Ghazi at arms-length. ‘But you’re looking thin. Are you eating properly? Why don’t you visit us more often? Damascus isn’t so far away. And you are staying, aren’t you? I’ve spoken to Tetah and she said if you don’t mind using the sofa bed you can stay with her too.’

‘Let your brother answer at least one question at a time,’ said Pops.

Uncle Ghazi laughed.

‘Hi, Boulos. Don’t you find it’s easier to wait until the battery runs down?’ he asked. Pops laughed and Mum didn’t even get cross.

‘But you are going to stay, aren’t you?’ she asked again. They always slept at Tetah’s on Friday night.

‘No, I can’t,’ said Uncle Ghazi, sounding more serious. ‘I told you I have to see someone here in Homs this afternoon who I met through … other people I know. Then I’ll be catching the bus back to Damascus. There’s a meeting I need to go to.’

‘With Gulnaz?’ Mum asked.

‘Yes,’ said Uncle Ghazi. ‘And others,’ he added quickly.

Mum nodded. ‘I like Gulnaz. She’s a nice girl from a good family.’

‘Bas, enough of your matchmaking!’ said Uncle Ghazi, laughing but looking embarrassed. ‘We’re just friends. Honestly. Here, I’ve got something for you.’ He handed Mum one of the carry bags.

Mum pulled out a leather handbag with gold trim. ‘It’s just what I need. And it’s Ralph Lauren! Shukran, thank you.’ She gave him a quick hug.

Out of the bag Uncle Ghazi handed to Pops came a book of poetry.

‘Adonis: my favourite poet. Shukran, Ghazi. I will enjoy this very much.’

‘This is for you,’ said Uncle Ghazi, holding out the pot of geraniums to Zafir.

‘What? Flowers?’

‘Just kidding,’ said Uncle Ghazi. ‘They’re for your tetah. I remember when she used to come to Dubai how she always talked about flowers.’ He handed Zafir the last bag.

Zafir peered inside and saw a greenish glow.

‘A Protec classic,’ said Uncle Ghazi as Zafir pulled it out. ‘I never used to wear a helmet when I skated but I promised your mum I’d get you headgear if she got you the board. It’s pretty cool, actually, because it glows in the dark.’

Zafir put the helmet on. It fitted perfectly.

‘I hope you didn’t starve yourself to buy all these expensive gifts,’ said Mum.

Uncle Ghazi shrugged and grinned and Zafir knew he probably had.

‘Don’t worry,’ said Pops. ‘My mother will have prepared more food than we can all eat.’ He looked at his watch. ‘We’d better go downstairs. I expect Abu Moussa will be waiting for us.’

‘What about my skateboard lessons?’ asked Zafir, his skateboard under one arm and helmet under the other.

‘Bring it with you,’ said Pops. ‘I’m sure Ghazi will have time after lunch to give you some tips.’

‘No problems,’ said Uncle Ghazi. ‘You’ll be catching some air before you know it.’ He turned to Pops. ‘I don’t want to hold up lunch but do you think we could go via the Homs Citadel? I’d like to take some shots of the city from up there.’

‘Why not?’ said Pops. ‘It’s a clear day so the views will be good. I’ll call Tetah and let her know we’ll arrive a little later than planned.’

Zafir was pleased. Since they’d come to live here they hadn’t visited the citadel, a hill in the middle of the city where the remains of an old fort could still be seen.

They greeted Abu Moussa and piled into the taxi. Almost as soon as the taxi began moving, Uncle Ghazi started taking photos. Uncle Ghazi was studying economics but he wanted to be a photographer. He even took a shot looking over the taxi bonnet of Al Kharab Street, the long, curving road from Al Waer into the city.

‘That’s not very interesting,’ said Zafir. ‘It’s only a road.’

Uncle Ghazi laughed. ‘Ah, but you aren’t seeing it with a photographer’s eye.’ He passed Zafir the camera and showed him the photo he’d just taken. ‘See how the lampposts and trees make nice shapes against the skyline?’

Zafir looked closely at the photo and realised that Uncle Ghazi had taken it so that the road curved away and you couldn’t see where it went. Zafir knew that the Khalid Ibn Al-Walid Stadium was at the end of road, but in the photo it looked like it could lead anywhere.

Mum got it too. ‘You could call this photo “Mystery Road”,’ she said.

There was quite a lot of traffic on the wide Bassel Hafez Al Assad Korniche, named after the president’s martyred brother. Abu Moussa muttered under his breath and had to swerve a few times to avoid a collision with pedestrians running across the road. As they turned into Al Midan Street and drove towards the rounded mound that covered the remains of the old fort of Homs, Zafir took more notice of what showed up on the skyline – a few bent trees, the tall metal radio towers and the outcrops of rocks.

‘The wind is so strong up here,’ said Mum as they stepped out of the taxi at the top of the hill. Her long coat flapped against her shins and the end of her headscarf, which wasn’t properly tucked in, streamed out.

They looked at the city spread below.

‘I want a few panoramic shots,’ said Uncle Ghazi.

‘There’s the Old Clock Square,’ said Pops.

Zafir looked in the direction his father was pointing and saw the tall blue-and-white glass City Centre building with the white archway. Further over he could make out Maskuf market, where you could buy everything from vegetables to clothes to televisions.

‘And there is the Khalid Ibn Al-Walid masjid,’ said Pops, pointing to the shiny dome and black-and-white minarets of the mosque. ‘I think I can see Tetah’s house too.’ He pointed to the maze of narrow, winding streets around and behind the Old City, but Zafir couldn’t pick it out.

‘How odd to stand here and think that a whole town is buried under our feet,’ said Mum.

Zafir shivered. ‘Are there people buried under here too?’ he asked. The wind was making an eerie whistle as it blew through the radio towers.

‘Of course,’ said Pops. ‘Many people once lived here and defended Homs against the crusaders.’

Zafir looked around. The citadel was bare now except for the towers and the crumbling ancient wall. There weren’t even any tourists up here. He looked down at the city that was full of buildings – apartments, offices, shops, mosques and churches.

‘Just think,’ said Pops, leaning in towards him and waving at the scene below. ‘Nearly a thousand years ago there were no shops or houses down there, but a camp of crusaders besieging this citadel.’

Zafir tried to imagine it. There would have been horses and flying pennants and large pavilion tents and men wearing suits of armour.

‘And one of those knights down there was your father’s great, great – well, lots of greats – grandfather,’ said Mum, linking her arm with Pops’s. ‘All those years ago he was fighting my ancestors who were on the side of Salaadin. But it’s hard to imagine now.’

Zafir nodded. Today, Homs looked calm and boring. It was too hard to imagine a real war being fought in this place.

‘I’m done,’ said Uncle Ghazi, putting the cap back on his lens. ‘It’s so cold.Yallah, let’s go.’

‘Yes,’ said Pops. ‘Tetah will be waiting.’