One Day, Damascus Will Wash Off All The Dirt

The opening of a branch of Lebanese restaurant "Emm Sharif" may on the surface appear to be a fleeting event; however, in Damascus, any simple event can quickly take a provocative turn. You can’t blame anyone in particular, for the price of the Dollar is soaring, and day after day life becomes more difficult, with survival becoming more of a challenge each day. The disparity between classes is increasing, and the gap between the rich and the poor is more salient than ever.

The two classes sometimes walk alongside one another, in the same markets and in the same shops; a woman with an appearance which conveys the image of someone who was formerly living in comfort – but is no longer – asking about the prices of various items, does her calculations and in the end chooses not to buy anything; meanwhile another customer whose appearance screams "the war nouveau riche" asks about suitable food for her dog, buys a large quantity and departs – leaving the salesman to continue his conversation about the most recent dollar exchange rate.

During this daily tour in the city, nothing appears natural: a shadow of despair hangs over the faces of Damascenes. A pharmacist expresses embarrassment at the rise in drug prices; some young women enter to ask about the price of various medicine, before eventually departing without buying anything – not dissimilar to the example of one shopping for clothes: for with the new prevalence of poverty, everything is now dispensable. Doctor visits have also become expensive, leaving many patients at the orthopedic clinic trying to convince the doctor to prescribe them a medicine, even if for temporary purposes, to numb the pain – rather than undergo scans and tests which could cost them many months’ salaries.

A large number of beggars of all ages have become part of the city's landmarks; perhaps more tragically however, are the children who sell flowers and watch people enjoying their meals in the restaurants of rich districts from behind a pane of glass.

In #Damascus, plastic surgery is all about improving the superficial in an attempt to repair the broken souls and to find a lost identity; for after eight years of war, most attempts to fill what has been destroyed inside is doomed to fail.

The majority os Syrians live a vacuous internal existence, the easiest way to ignore this is to chase external appearances; the more glamorous the image that society presents of itself, the more we can ignore the squalor and misery which was the cost.

Many of the city's beggars have become adept at acting, often leaving you in a state of confusion and uncertainty as you listen to each of their stories, including those who come to the same places every day, often with stories which are surreal and dramatic. One of the beggars, a healthy looking middle-aged woman, returns every day to the expensive restaurants and gives a sad monologue; on one occasion she entered with a doctor's prescription, declaring her need for a long list of medicines, only for my pharmacist friend to offer to take the prescription and procure all the necessary medicines – the woman took back the prescription and retreated hurriedly.

The problem isn't only in those who have become accustomed to begging, with the only change here being their number – the problem is in the working class who are growing hungrier and subject to more humiliation day after day, living a breathless life as they strive in despair and hopelessness to preserve what remains of their dignity in their tiresome daily struggle.

At the other end of the spectrum, plastic surgery has become an obsession; when you ask these girls what their future dream career is, they often replace the clichéd response of 'doctor' with the more glamorous 'fashionista'.  There is something more important than studying today, which is often not financially lucrative; conversations about liposuction, body contouring and even cheek enhancement are the widely-circulated topics of today – in other words, improving the superficial in an attempt to repair the broken internal essence, in an attempt to find your lost identity; for after eight years of war, most attempts to fill what has been destroyed inside fail. It is impossible to remember your former being and entity, for the person you were years ago has long been forgotten, amidst a total absence of values and ethics, and amidst chaos which prevails at all levels – all of which mean that any attempt to hold onto your beliefs and principles result in your exclusion from your social circles.

Perhaps life was never truly just or fair, but it did not quite used to take the form of this self-aggrandizing clichéd superficial appearance, manifestly evident in all the details that surround you in the city. Amidst this climate, the majority lives a vacuous internal existence, and the easiest way to ignore this is to chase external appearances; the more glamorous the image that society presents of itself, the more we can ignore the squalor and dirtiness which was the cost.

With the ongoing deterioration of the country's affairs, black comedy has taken on a new life of its own, notably in the calls made on Facebook groups to commence campaigns asking God for forgiveness, in the belief that what is happening to Syrians is a result of their own sins and misdeeds – in addition to the "comics" that renew themselves every day revolving around the latest price of the Dollar.

At the end of each day filled with this tremendous level of despair and hopelessness, it is difficult not to recall the words of Travis – played by Robert De Niro – in Scorsese's epic "Taxi man": "one day, real rain will come… to wash away all of this dirt." Unfortunately however, this is not a cinematic movie about New York in the 1970s, but the reality of Damascus in late 2019.