Sketchy Call Near Syrian Border

There I was, just a stone throw away from the Syrian border, walking along in the middle of nowhere in aw that just a few hundred feet is Syria. I was with a friend – let’s call him Charlie – and we were walking on a dirt road along the Jordan-Syria border in Ramtha.

There was nothing around us for miles – except the convenience store that was managed by four kids, the oldest of which was about seven. It appeared we were in a farmland type area and during our walk we saw a small grave site with new tombstones. Buried here were children from Syria.

Approximately 93,000 people have died as a result of Syria’s civil war. Of the fallen, it is said that 6,500 were children. There have been stories on how combatants – snipers for example – use kids as human shields. The military tactic is nothing new – it was also used during Lebanon’s conflict from 1982 to 1990, but it’s ruthless nonetheless.

And there we were, Charlie and I, with no one around for miles. Syria looked beautiful from where I stood. Amazing, I thought, that just a few hundred feet east there was a ferocious crisis happening. It was right around then that a silver Toyota pickup truck began creeping up behind us. It was moving slowly and when the vehicle came close to us it stopped.

The window rolled down and two men began asking questions with a smile. Despite their grin, all four of us could feel the tension. The driver was an oaf of a man that probably weighed more than 300-pounds. He was young but also had a hunchback. The passenger was also young, but skinny and small.

You hear stories about kidnappers, smugglers and overall just bad people when covering the Syrian civil war. All those things run through your head at a moment like this.

My Arabic is broken and despite my appearance, I can’t fight my American accent. Despite my pounding heart, I tried to remain cool and calm while chatting with these two unknowns.

“Shway, shway Arabia,” I said, meaning, “I speak little Arabic.”

They asked me where my passport is from and I lit a cigarette, took a drag to calm my nerves, and said, “Emericha.” The duo nodded and drove off in the opposite direction.

It was right around that point that my friend Charlie said I shouldn’t have told them I was from America. He then pointed out that the truck was making a U-turn and before you knew it was slowly driving behind us once again.  

What the hell do we do in this situation? I told Charlie that if shit hits the fan we hop over the barbed wire fence and make a run for it.

We agreed that we couldn’t run while the truck was following us – what was the point? There was no one or anything around us for miles. Besides, the main road was about 200 yards away and even if we made it there, what would we do? Nobody would hear us. So we played it cool and continued walking.

Then, things got real sketchy: The pickup parked up a few feet behind us.

Nobody exited the vehicle, but my friend and I both concluded that they could only be talking about us. We continued walking and I suddenly realized how helpless I was. I just remember thinking that as long as they didn’t have a gun I could handle myself; I could definitely outrun fatty and as for the skinny guy, I’ll take my chances in a fight if it came down to it.

The truck soon backed out from where it was parked and continued following us; just to my left was a fresh grave site where children were recently buried. Bone chilling.

Soon, the Toyota passed us up and the duo grinned as they drove by. Once the truck made a right onto the main road and was out of sight Charlie and I started running. Let’s get to the main road, we thought. It’s a hell of a lot better than out here.

As we walked back toward Ramtha’s downtown area we saw the truck three more times. The driver would head toward us, then away, then toward us again.

In the end, the two of us made the four mile walk back to Ramtha’s downtown area. We feasted like kings for $3 and played a few games of pool for about .40-cents. Here, the locals are amazingly friendly – some businesses even refused to take our money.

My walk near the border was a lesson learned, but nonetheless an experience I won’t forget. I’m aware of my foolishness, but my curiosity had to go there. 

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