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Brothers in arms: the 10 brothers fighting for the Syrian uprising Brothers in arms: the 10 brothers fighting for the Syrian uprising
(10 days later)
One evening in January 2011, Mohammed Rias, a hulking taxi driver and head of a family clan, called his close male relatives to a meeting in their village home in northern Syria. There were 13 men in all, sitting on thin cushions on the floor of a cold and frugal living room. Nine were his brothers, the other three his cousins. The loyalty of the men, tested through more than a decade of underground dissent towards the Syrian government, was about to be called on again.One evening in January 2011, Mohammed Rias, a hulking taxi driver and head of a family clan, called his close male relatives to a meeting in their village home in northern Syria. There were 13 men in all, sitting on thin cushions on the floor of a cold and frugal living room. Nine were his brothers, the other three his cousins. The loyalty of the men, tested through more than a decade of underground dissent towards the Syrian government, was about to be called on again.
Rias, 37, who is known by his siblings and cousins as Sheikh Nayimi, remembers the moment well. "I told them that the Arab Spring marked a moment for us," he says. "It was not yet time to go public, we had to then remain private. But we could sense that something was coming. Everything we had waited for might soon be upon us."Rias, 37, who is known by his siblings and cousins as Sheikh Nayimi, remembers the moment well. "I told them that the Arab Spring marked a moment for us," he says. "It was not yet time to go public, we had to then remain private. But we could sense that something was coming. Everything we had waited for might soon be upon us."
By the time of that first gathering, revolution was rumbling through North Africa. Zine al-Abidine Ben Ali in Tunis had fallen and Hosni Mubarak's Egypt was teetering. The stirrings of popular revolt had also begun to unsettle Muammar Gaddafi in Libya and Yemen's leader, Ali Abdullah Saleh. Something remarkable was happening; the incontestable strength of the region's one-man autocracies was crumbling. The might of the street had exposed the fragility of absolute rule. Such a powerful new reality electrified societies long conditioned to think otherwise. And though it was yet to get there, the shift was fast dawning on communities throughout the most uncompromising of the Middle East's police states, Syria.By the time of that first gathering, revolution was rumbling through North Africa. Zine al-Abidine Ben Ali in Tunis had fallen and Hosni Mubarak's Egypt was teetering. The stirrings of popular revolt had also begun to unsettle Muammar Gaddafi in Libya and Yemen's leader, Ali Abdullah Saleh. Something remarkable was happening; the incontestable strength of the region's one-man autocracies was crumbling. The might of the street had exposed the fragility of absolute rule. Such a powerful new reality electrified societies long conditioned to think otherwise. And though it was yet to get there, the shift was fast dawning on communities throughout the most uncompromising of the Middle East's police states, Syria.
"We talked about it among ourselves and we knew that it would also get to Syria," Sheikh Nayimi says, two years after the fall of Cairo. Coals spark from a rusting tin drum in the centre of a row of plastic chairs on the road outside his makeshift office in Aleppo, Syria's second city, and he leans forward to warm his hands. January is frigid and powerless here this year. Keeping warm is as much of a challenge as staying alive for the Sheikh and his nine brothers near one of the many frontlines of Syria's civil war."We talked about it among ourselves and we knew that it would also get to Syria," Sheikh Nayimi says, two years after the fall of Cairo. Coals spark from a rusting tin drum in the centre of a row of plastic chairs on the road outside his makeshift office in Aleppo, Syria's second city, and he leans forward to warm his hands. January is frigid and powerless here this year. Keeping warm is as much of a challenge as staying alive for the Sheikh and his nine brothers near one of the many frontlines of Syria's civil war.
"We weren't sure what would start things," he recalls of the tense seven weeks it took for the arc of revolution to reach from Cairo to Damascus. "We couldn't move before then." The brothers did not have to wait long. The spray-painting of anti-regime slogans outside a mosque in the southern city of Daraa, and the withering response from the military, was Syria's Tahrir Square moment. On March 15, several young men and boys from the southern town of Daraa were arrested for leaving the graffiti and then tortured in prison. The increasing protests – unarmed in the early months – were met with ever-escalating violence by a regime that had never brooked dissent and wasn't about to do so now."We weren't sure what would start things," he recalls of the tense seven weeks it took for the arc of revolution to reach from Cairo to Damascus. "We couldn't move before then." The brothers did not have to wait long. The spray-painting of anti-regime slogans outside a mosque in the southern city of Daraa, and the withering response from the military, was Syria's Tahrir Square moment. On March 15, several young men and boys from the southern town of Daraa were arrested for leaving the graffiti and then tortured in prison. The increasing protests – unarmed in the early months – were met with ever-escalating violence by a regime that had never brooked dissent and wasn't about to do so now.
The Nayimi brothers knew their moment had arrived. "We didn't have to hide any more," Sheikh Nayimi says. Within days, he had been joined by his siblings and their elderly father, all of whom had left jobs in Aleppo or in their home village of Sarmada in the countryside near Idlib. Their transformation from peasant sons of the northern plains to revolutionaries at the heart of the war for Syria's future has been honed ever since.The Nayimi brothers knew their moment had arrived. "We didn't have to hide any more," Sheikh Nayimi says. Within days, he had been joined by his siblings and their elderly father, all of whom had left jobs in Aleppo or in their home village of Sarmada in the countryside near Idlib. Their transformation from peasant sons of the northern plains to revolutionaries at the heart of the war for Syria's future has been honed ever since.
While stories of families uniting to support the rebels are not rare on Syria's battlefields, 10 fighting brothers, all serving in the same unit, is believed to be without precedent in the civil war that has so far claimed close to 70,000 lives. The brothers have passed into folklore among the rebel movement, held up as an example of the sacrifices made by Syria's rural poor, almost all of them Sunni Muslims, who comprise the bulk of the country's armed opposition.While stories of families uniting to support the rebels are not rare on Syria's battlefields, 10 fighting brothers, all serving in the same unit, is believed to be without precedent in the civil war that has so far claimed close to 70,000 lives. The brothers have passed into folklore among the rebel movement, held up as an example of the sacrifices made by Syria's rural poor, almost all of them Sunni Muslims, who comprise the bulk of the country's armed opposition.
To listen to Sheikh Nayimi, it wasn't supposed to be this way. "When the children in Daraa died, it was like an explosion. We knew we were putting ourselves in grave danger, but we did not have a choice. It's true, though, that none of us thought we'd still be fighting like this after so long.To listen to Sheikh Nayimi, it wasn't supposed to be this way. "When the children in Daraa died, it was like an explosion. We knew we were putting ourselves in grave danger, but we did not have a choice. It's true, though, that none of us thought we'd still be fighting like this after so long.
"When Bashar became president, he arrived on the terms of his father. He was not authorised to be president, because of the way it happened. We put politics in the bread to make people learn about what they are eating. When the regime started to beat people, kill them and put them in prison, we realised that peaceful protests achieved nothing. But, for a while, we still stayed with peaceful protests to prove that we were peaceful people.""When Bashar became president, he arrived on the terms of his father. He was not authorised to be president, because of the way it happened. We put politics in the bread to make people learn about what they are eating. When the regime started to beat people, kill them and put them in prison, we realised that peaceful protests achieved nothing. But, for a while, we still stayed with peaceful protests to prove that we were peaceful people."
The brothers joined a military unit allied to the Muslim Brotherhood movement, which has been viewed as a subversive threat for more than 40 years, first by strongman leader Hafez al-Assad and then by his son, Syria's current leader, Bashar al-Assad, who assumed the presidency when his father died 13 years ago. The younger Assad was hailed as a cautious reformer, but his sincerity had always been questioned by the Brotherhood, whose heartland had paid a terrible price the last time it was at the vanguard of a challenge to regime rule. That was in 1982, when a revolt in the city of Hama was annihilated by a three-day artillery barrage that killed an estimated 20,000 people, most of them civilians with nowhere to run.The brothers joined a military unit allied to the Muslim Brotherhood movement, which has been viewed as a subversive threat for more than 40 years, first by strongman leader Hafez al-Assad and then by his son, Syria's current leader, Bashar al-Assad, who assumed the presidency when his father died 13 years ago. The younger Assad was hailed as a cautious reformer, but his sincerity had always been questioned by the Brotherhood, whose heartland had paid a terrible price the last time it was at the vanguard of a challenge to regime rule. That was in 1982, when a revolt in the city of Hama was annihilated by a three-day artillery barrage that killed an estimated 20,000 people, most of them civilians with nowhere to run.
Unfinished business with the Assads is very much a driving force of this civil war and it in part motivates Syria's "band of brothers" who for much of the past 18 months has fought under the Brotherhood banner. Revenge has become even more of a factor as protests have turned into armed insurrection, then full-blown war. Along the way, the seventh of the brothers, Ahmed, 25, was arrested and badly beaten while in prison.Unfinished business with the Assads is very much a driving force of this civil war and it in part motivates Syria's "band of brothers" who for much of the past 18 months has fought under the Brotherhood banner. Revenge has become even more of a factor as protests have turned into armed insurrection, then full-blown war. Along the way, the seventh of the brothers, Ahmed, 25, was arrested and badly beaten while in prison.
"When we went to get him, we didn't recognise him," says Anwar, the eldest of the brothers. "Can you imagine that? Your own brother and he had been beaten too much for us to know him.""When we went to get him, we didn't recognise him," says Anwar, the eldest of the brothers. "Can you imagine that? Your own brother and he had been beaten too much for us to know him."
The Nayimi brothers spent the early months of the war in the countryside near Aleppo and Idlib, involved in regular skirmishes with Syrian forces. When rebels stormed Aleppo from the east in mid-July, they rode in with them and have stayed ever since, making their base on a crumbling corner near the southern outskirts.The Nayimi brothers spent the early months of the war in the countryside near Aleppo and Idlib, involved in regular skirmishes with Syrian forces. When rebels stormed Aleppo from the east in mid-July, they rode in with them and have stayed ever since, making their base on a crumbling corner near the southern outskirts.
Society has ground to a halt here since the rebel incursion. Months of household refuse lies piled along street verges, the foul stew that seeps from it mixing with mud and rainwater. Freezing winter fogs merge with smoke from fires of wood and diesel, and hang like an interminable haze over the grime. The soundtrack of war is relentless, a ramshackle ensemble of roaring jet fighters, tank shells crunching into buildings and crackling Kalashnikovs. After a while, all but the closest rounds blend into the ruins.Society has ground to a halt here since the rebel incursion. Months of household refuse lies piled along street verges, the foul stew that seeps from it mixing with mud and rainwater. Freezing winter fogs merge with smoke from fires of wood and diesel, and hang like an interminable haze over the grime. The soundtrack of war is relentless, a ramshackle ensemble of roaring jet fighters, tank shells crunching into buildings and crackling Kalashnikovs. After a while, all but the closest rounds blend into the ruins.
Moustafa Nayimi has become used to the noise and deprivation. He joined his 10 sons in the Aleppo neighbourhood of Firdous as soon as they set up base and began using his home as a weapons store. From here he watches his sons as they head off on missions to try to take control of an industrial area held by the regime and villages that act as support hubs for what remains of the Syrian state. In mid-January, the brothers are preparing for their most dangerous mission yet: a push to open supply lines held by loyalist forces just to the south of the city.Moustafa Nayimi has become used to the noise and deprivation. He joined his 10 sons in the Aleppo neighbourhood of Firdous as soon as they set up base and began using his home as a weapons store. From here he watches his sons as they head off on missions to try to take control of an industrial area held by the regime and villages that act as support hubs for what remains of the Syrian state. In mid-January, the brothers are preparing for their most dangerous mission yet: a push to open supply lines held by loyalist forces just to the south of the city.
"I am happy for them and very proud," their father says. "I hope to continue to help them free the country. They were sons that worked. They never ran from duty.""I am happy for them and very proud," their father says. "I hope to continue to help them free the country. They were sons that worked. They never ran from duty."
Moustafa's first wife, the mother of all the sons, also bore him a daughter before dying of cancer 14 years ago. His daughter is the only one of his children not to play a role in the opposition, although his son-in-law pitches in when he can. Moustafa says the boys' mother instilled in them loyalty and a sense of camaraderie that shapes the way they approach the war. "I told my secrets to my wife. My sons tell their secrets to each other. They confide in and trust each other."Moustafa's first wife, the mother of all the sons, also bore him a daughter before dying of cancer 14 years ago. His daughter is the only one of his children not to play a role in the opposition, although his son-in-law pitches in when he can. Moustafa says the boys' mother instilled in them loyalty and a sense of camaraderie that shapes the way they approach the war. "I told my secrets to my wife. My sons tell their secrets to each other. They confide in and trust each other."
Just before dusk in mid-January, the brothers return from the village of Hada, 15km to the south – a journey that involved a 120km detour to avoid the regime positions on the direct road. They emerge from the back of a white meat truck, clutching battered weapons, dressed in camouflage greens and chequered turbans.Just before dusk in mid-January, the brothers return from the village of Hada, 15km to the south – a journey that involved a 120km detour to avoid the regime positions on the direct road. They emerge from the back of a white meat truck, clutching battered weapons, dressed in camouflage greens and chequered turbans.
It is to be a short stay. The youngest brother, Rida, 19, is being sent to university in Turkey. He is the only one to win a respite from the battlefield and great expectations go with that: to build the family name and enrich its members by forging a career. "I will serve my family in different ways now," he says as he joins Anwar, Sheikh Nayimi and a fourth brother, Anas, 35, on the plastic chairs. "The classroom is the place I will help my family and my country."It is to be a short stay. The youngest brother, Rida, 19, is being sent to university in Turkey. He is the only one to win a respite from the battlefield and great expectations go with that: to build the family name and enrich its members by forging a career. "I will serve my family in different ways now," he says as he joins Anwar, Sheikh Nayimi and a fourth brother, Anas, 35, on the plastic chairs. "The classroom is the place I will help my family and my country."
The gathering dark is filled with the rich scent of freshly brewed coffee, half-Turkish, half-espresso – the brothers even have their own blend. Generators thump to life somewhere in the middle distance, casting flickers of light over the pitch-black neighbourhood. The men light cigarettes, sip their coffee in the freezing air, then bid farewell to Rida as he starts the long journey north. The rest make plans to return to Hada the following morning on a task that will involve hundreds more hours of coffee and cigarettes, and no fighting.The gathering dark is filled with the rich scent of freshly brewed coffee, half-Turkish, half-espresso – the brothers even have their own blend. Generators thump to life somewhere in the middle distance, casting flickers of light over the pitch-black neighbourhood. The men light cigarettes, sip their coffee in the freezing air, then bid farewell to Rida as he starts the long journey north. The rest make plans to return to Hada the following morning on a task that will involve hundreds more hours of coffee and cigarettes, and no fighting.
Five days later, Sheikh Nayimi returns with what he believes to be good news. "We told the elders in Hada that even if they were not with us, not to oppose us," he says. "They wanted security guarantees. The regime presence has kept them safe there and, naturally, they were worried about what comes next. We told them we would protect them and that the regime could no longer serve their interests. They accepted that and soon the liberation of the area will begin."Five days later, Sheikh Nayimi returns with what he believes to be good news. "We told the elders in Hada that even if they were not with us, not to oppose us," he says. "They wanted security guarantees. The regime presence has kept them safe there and, naturally, they were worried about what comes next. We told them we would protect them and that the regime could no longer serve their interests. They accepted that and soon the liberation of the area will begin."
As plans are made for the attack on an area known as Ain al-Assafiyeh, just past Aleppo's southern limits, Sheikh Nayimi is given a phone that has been ringing whenever the mobile network is switched on. The sim inside had been taken from the body of a dead Syrian soldier at an airbase overrun by rebels in early December. The man calling on the other end is looking for his relative. After some polite formalities, the conversation becomes heated. "This is the Free Syrian Army, not the Syrian army," Sheikh Nayimi barks before throwing the phone down.As plans are made for the attack on an area known as Ain al-Assafiyeh, just past Aleppo's southern limits, Sheikh Nayimi is given a phone that has been ringing whenever the mobile network is switched on. The sim inside had been taken from the body of a dead Syrian soldier at an airbase overrun by rebels in early December. The man calling on the other end is looking for his relative. After some polite formalities, the conversation becomes heated. "This is the Free Syrian Army, not the Syrian army," Sheikh Nayimi barks before throwing the phone down.
In the last few days of January, the brothers move south. "This will be the most important thing we have done," says Khaled, 29. "If we can't open the supply lines, we can't win."In the last few days of January, the brothers move south. "This will be the most important thing we have done," says Khaled, 29. "If we can't open the supply lines, we can't win."
For more than two weeks, the brothers' unit inches onwards, fighting alongside others filled with the rural poor, few of them defectors or men with more than basic military experience. The battle is fought on wide open highways and underpasses, in Dickensian industrial areas and amid the crumbling ruins of hamlets. All the time, Syrian air force MIGs swoop in like birds of prey from the grey skies above, while tank shells and sniper fire come from the jagged ruins.For more than two weeks, the brothers' unit inches onwards, fighting alongside others filled with the rural poor, few of them defectors or men with more than basic military experience. The battle is fought on wide open highways and underpasses, in Dickensian industrial areas and amid the crumbling ruins of hamlets. All the time, Syrian air force MIGs swoop in like birds of prey from the grey skies above, while tank shells and sniper fire come from the jagged ruins.
One morning, Quteiba, the fourth brother and one of the most dogged fighters, is hit in the head with shrapnel. Soon after, brother number eight, Ala'a, is hit in the lower leg by a fist-sized piece of shrapnel. Sheikh Nayimi badly sprains a leg trying to rescue a wounded man from the rubble.One morning, Quteiba, the fourth brother and one of the most dogged fighters, is hit in the head with shrapnel. Soon after, brother number eight, Ala'a, is hit in the lower leg by a fist-sized piece of shrapnel. Sheikh Nayimi badly sprains a leg trying to rescue a wounded man from the rubble.
When I returned to see the brothers last week, they had retreated to their base in the southern suburbs and the wounded were on the mend. "We achieved something," Anwar says proudly. "They [the regime] lost 50-70 men, but more importantly they lost control of the area. Every day is an advance now. Aleppo is falling." Several streets away, over mostly abandoned grey concrete apartment blocks, the ancient citadel of Aleppo, one of the oldest and largest medieval forts in the world, stands resolutely amid the haze, just as it has for 5,000 years.When I returned to see the brothers last week, they had retreated to their base in the southern suburbs and the wounded were on the mend. "We achieved something," Anwar says proudly. "They [the regime] lost 50-70 men, but more importantly they lost control of the area. Every day is an advance now. Aleppo is falling." Several streets away, over mostly abandoned grey concrete apartment blocks, the ancient citadel of Aleppo, one of the oldest and largest medieval forts in the world, stands resolutely amid the haze, just as it has for 5,000 years.
The brothers' wins in neighbourhood battles are acclaimed as short steps in a long war. But amid the clamour of the battle for Syria's destiny – the exalting highs, desperate lows and interminable misery – something remains unspoken among Aleppo's fighting brothers: their biggest achievement so far has been staying alive.The brothers' wins in neighbourhood battles are acclaimed as short steps in a long war. But amid the clamour of the battle for Syria's destiny – the exalting highs, desperate lows and interminable misery – something remains unspoken among Aleppo's fighting brothers: their biggest achievement so far has been staying alive.
"We want that to continue, of course we do," Sheikh Nayimi says. "But this is a long, tough war and my family will pay a price if that's what is needed.""We want that to continue, of course we do," Sheikh Nayimi says. "But this is a long, tough war and my family will pay a price if that's what is needed."
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