As Long as the Lemon Trees Grow
- context: Array
- icon:
- icon_position: before
- theme_hook_original: google_books_biblio
As Long as the Lemon Trees Grow
I sigh and walk into my room, pushing that starry-eyes girl who didn’t survive from my mind. Mourning her doesn’t help me. It won’t feed me and it won’t get me out of Syria.
Khwaf is already leaning against the window in my room. Smoking. His head is turned away from me and I ignore him. Kneeling in front of the dresser I pull open the last drawer. Tucked underneath the old clothes in the far right corner is Layla’s gold and the rest of the money we have. I take out five hundred dollars and choose one necklace, putting it aside. Hamza gifted it to her the day of their Al-Fatiha. It’s a thick, intricate rope and feels heavy in my hands. A lump forms in my throat, and I tuck the necklace back in before the tears spill.
“You did good today,” Khawf murmurs, and he blows out a cloud of smoke. “It went far better than I thought it would. You have no more reason to stay here and let your blood-soaked hands heal the sick.”
I clutch at my ears, shaking my head, and focus on Layla’s words to me. Hope. Finding love and happiness beyond the misery.
Khawf rolls his eyes. “If it gets you on that boat, you can believe in unicorns for all I care, but come on, Salama, hope? Let’s be realistic.” He curls his finger, beckoning me toward him, and I oblige. “Look outside.”
The city is painted black under a grey huddled sky. The moon’s light is trapped behind the clotted clouds, just as we’re trapped in Old Homs, unable to pass through. The buildings in front of my window are ghosts, no flames flickering from any of them. If I close my eyes and let my hearing take over, I can catch the muffled voices of people protesting neighborhoods away. They’ve never stopped, not for a single night, and with the uprising’s anniversary a month away, their spirits are only growing stronger.
“Tonight you might not die from the airplanes,” Khawf says, standing right next to me. “The skies are thick with clouds.”
“Lilacs,” I take a deep breath. “Lilacs. Lilacs. Lilacs.”
“Salama,” he continues, but he isn’t looking at me, rather staring at the same horizon I am. “What happiness can you find in this wasteland? Hm?” (P. 149)
Salama, 17, is a pharmacy student in Syria about to meet her future husband when bombing derails her plans and changes her life and the lives of everyone in Syria, forever: men are conscripted or arrested; indiscriminate bombing has become the norm; citizens are beaten and killed for no reason. Salama’s father and brother Hamza are arrested at an anti-war protest, and her mother’s been killed. Only Salama and her sister-in-law Layla, pregnant with Hamza’s child, remain in their apartment. Despite the trauma she endures, Salama remains sure of one thing and takes comfort in it: as long as the lemon trees, an integral part of her city and culture, grow, hope will never die.
Salama is forced to leave pharmacy school and start working at the hospital where, with insufficient medical supplies, she tends to an unending stream of injured soldiers and citizens. When she becomes overwhelmed, she recites the names of plants and their medical uses to ground herself and refocus on tasks at hand. She feels she has a responsibility to stay and help at the hospital. Am, who’s been smuggling people out of the country, makes his regular visit to the hospital looking for anyone who might purchase his services, Salama is torn, but her duty to protect her sister-in-law and her unborn child by getting them out of Syria is stronger than her sense of duty to stay and help in her home country. Am is reluctant to smuggle Layal because of her pregnancy but agrees because of the money he’ll make.
When Salama’s resolve to leave wavers, a doctor tells her she must do what’s right for her and her future. Khawf, a figure who’s been appearing to Salama whenever she begins questioning her choices, plays devil’s advocate, reminding her to take care of herself as well as she does others. These arguments prepare her for what’s to come.
When Kenan, a boy Salama’s age, comes to the hospital with his sister in his arms, Salama goes into autopilot and focuses on the task at hand: finding out why the girl, Kenan’s sister, is in pain. When Kenan protests, Salama bluntly tells him to get out of the way or his sister may die. Once the remaining shrapnel is removed and the girl is out of danger, Kenan, his siblings, and Salama leave the hospital, Kenan and his brother and sister to their home, and Salama home to check on Layla, hoping she’s not in labour alone. Moments after they leave the hospital, bombing begins, and Salama is forced to make a difficult decision: to get out of the streets as quickly as possible by going to Kenan’s home and leaving her sister alone until it’s safe to be outside again. Once sheltered, Kenan and Salama start talking, and Salama becomes increasingly convinced they know each other somehow but can’t figure out how; Kenan is unwavering in his belief they’ve never met. His passion for Studio Ghibli along with his surname triggers a memory: he’s the boy she was going to meet, who her parents and sister thought she would marry, when bombing derailed their plans and changed their lives forever. Fate has brought them together.
When Salama suggests he and his siblings leave with her and Layla, he’s determined to stay and continue protesting and filming, making the world aware of what’s happening in Syria. He asks how she could consider leaving when the hospital needs her; Khawf reminds her about her promise to her brother to keep Layla safe. Even if he agreed to leave, he would need to arrange travel with Am, and Am already has plenty of people eager to leave and willing to pay for his help.
Desperation makes people act in ways they never would have imagined. When Am rushes into the hospital with his daughter in his arms in critical condition, Salama tells him she can save his daughter, but only if he provides three more spaces for Kenan and his siblings on the same day she and Layla are to be smuggled out of Syria. Am doesn’t take her seriously at first but promises three additional spots, which will need to be paid for, if Salama saves his daughter. With three spots secured, Salama just needs to convince Kenan to leave although he wants to stay and record the atrocities taking place, regardless of the danger. When Salama reminds him of his responsibility to keep his siblings safe, he agrees to leave with Salama and her sister if the smuggler will take them.
When Am, who has agreed to smuggle Salama and her sister Layla out of the country, comes in with his seriously wounded daughter, Salama knows she must save the girl, but also sees an opportunity: she tells Am she’ll save his daughter if he agrees to smuggle three more people with her and Layla, but will let her die if he doesn’t. At first Am is impressed with her seemingly heartless bluff, but he quickly realizes it’s not a bluff at all. He quickly agrees, and Salama brings Am’s daughter back from the brink of death. She can’t believe she would use a child’s life to get what she wanted, but Khawf is impressed by her determination.
As the departure date grows closer, Salama realizes that her reciting the names of plants and their medical uses isn’t the only coping mechanisms she’s been using: when Layla is nowhere to be found when they should be leaving, Khawf helps her accept that Layal, who had worried Salama because she never seemed to eat the food prepared for her, was a hallucination: she had died, along with their mother, in the bombing the day Salama was supposed to meet Kenan to discuss marriage. Her focus on keeping Layla and her unborn child safe had sustained Salama, helping her push down her exhaustion and survive herself. This realization brings another: she had viewed Khawf as someone who made her second-guess everything she did, and suddenly she realized the apparition also helped her protect herself, including helping Salama decide she must leave. Salama asks Khawf if she’ll still see him after she leaves; she’s surprised when she feels sad on learning Khawf won’t be there once she’s reached safety…unless she needs him.
From the first page of As Long as the Lemon Trees Grow to the last, readers will be on the edge of their seats, rooting for Salama as she navigates and survives situations unfathomable to most people. Her life changes in an instant, going from meeting her potential husband, carrying his favourite baked goods with her to further win him over, to losing her family, half dying in a bomb attack and the other half arrested; her incomplete pharmacists training being put to use in an emergency room in a continuous state of crisis. Samala’s life is turned upside down, and she somehow finds the mental and physical stamina to tackle issues and find creative solutions to new and persisting problems every day. Even when Salama tells Am, who makes a fortune from smuggling desperate people, that she will let his daughter die if he doesn’t promise to smuggle Kenan, his sister, and his brother, readers will side with Salama who’s doing what she must to survive and help those closest to her.
Some readers may find the material difficult: Salama is forced to make decisions no teenager should have to. However, no matter how difficult and complicated life gets, Salama shows incredible resilience, using self-care methods, like reciting the names of plants and their medical uses to calm and refocus herself when she’s facing burnout. Her ability to cope will impress and inspire readers. Readers will mourn the loss of Khawf, who seemed to antagonize and appear to Salama at the worst times, once the role he played in getting Salama to a safe place is revealed. The perfect ending, with Salama, Kenan, and Kenan’s brother and sister creating their own life together away from war-torn Syria, will leave readers satisfied and relieved after an emotional roller coaster that’s both unimaginable and far too real.
Crystal Sutherland (MLIS, MEd (Literacy)) is a librarian living in Halifax, Nova Scotia.