Sumaya Ainaya spent most of her life on weekends and summer nights on Mount Qasiun, a view of the city of Damascus, drinking coffee, smoking hookahs and eating corn roasted on nearby grills with other Syrians.
However, shortly after the start of the civil war in Syria in 2011, the military under the leadership of President Bashar al-Assad closed the mountain to civilians. Suddenly, instead of families and friends shooting fireworks into the sky, soldiers with tanks and artillery mounted fire on rebel-held areas below.
This New Year's Eve, weeks after the rebel coalition He overthrew the Syrian regimeMs. Ainaya, 56, and her family returned to Mount Gasioun with snacks, soda and scarves to ward off the winter cold and reclaimed their favorite retreat.
“Thank God, we're back now – we feel like we can breathe again,” said Ms. Ainaya, an Arabic literature graduate and mother of four, standing on a mountain ridge and pointing out several Damascus landmarks.
“We feel like the city is coming back to us,” said his son Mohammad Ghatafani, 21, a dental student.
As in much of the country, across Damascus, Syrians are reclaiming, and in some cases re-appropriating, spaces and freedoms forbidden for years under the Assad regime. There were places ordinary Syrians were not allowed to go and things they were not allowed to say when the Assad family was in power. According to many, the country increasingly felt that it did not belong to them.
But it comes with a new sense of freedom some fear about the future fate of the government installed by the Islamist insurgents and whether it will impose new restrictions and limitations over time.
Many Syrians watch each decision and announcement as a harbinger of how their new rulers might rule. Last week, Syria's de facto new leader, Ahmad al-Sharaby saying that it may take two to three years to draft a new Constitution, and four years to hold elections, worrying Syrians who fear that one authoritarian leader may be replaced by another.
For now, there is also a level of chaos in the caretaker government as it races to set priorities certain nation-building measures over others. When many economic restrictions and regulations are lifted, men and boys smuggle gas from large water containers on street corners. Residents say traffic in the city is snarled because there are few police officers on patrol and double parking is common.
Despite the unrest, people are returning to or rediscovering spaces across the capital, Damascus. Protest songs that could have landed someone in jail a month ago are heard on the street.
Youth group leader Yaman Alsabek said about his country under the Assad regime: “We didn't see the city, Damascus or any city in all its details. “Public places – we stopped going to them because we felt they were not for us, but for the regime.”
His organization, Sanad Team for Development, began organizing youth efforts to help clean streets and redirect traffic. “When Damascus was liberated and we felt this renewed sense of ownership, people came out to rediscover their city,” he said.
After last month a stunning sweep by the rebels, The icons of the Assad regime were demolished. Children play on plinths and plinths that once housed towering statues of Mr. Assad, his father and his brother. Murals cover spaces with pro-regime slogans.
On a recent gray and drizzly day, he stood alone in an auditorium that is the headquarters of the ruling Baath party, which represents the Assad family's totalitarian control of political discourse. Hundreds of people gathered to hear Syrian actress and activist Yara Sabri speak about the thousands of prisoners held and missing in the country.
“We all decide what we want it to look like and how we want it to be,” Ms. Sabri said about the country's future.
A few weeks ago, he was in exile due to his activism. Now the Syrian flag with new colors hangs on the podium where he speaks. The old Syrian flag and the Baath party flag are partially painted over the entrance of the building.
Salma Huneidi, the organizer of the event, said that the choice of venue was made thoughtfully. “We consider it a victory,” he said. “This was a place where we could not do anything, and now we are not only taking actions, but also taking important actions that expose the previous regime.”
Recently, an event discussing the writing of the new Syrian Constitution was also held in the building.
“Syria feels bigger, the streets feel bigger – the images that used to irritate us, the slogans that irritated us are gone,” Ms. Huneidi said. “Before, we felt very limited.”
Even uttering the word “dollar” could land someone in jail under Mr. Assad. Currency exchange, banned for years under the Assad regime, has appeared everywhere. Men shout in the markets: “Exchange! Exchange!” A seller of warm winter porridge offered a stack of Syrian pounds in exchange for $100 bills.
33-year-old Mohammad Murad sat in his car on a street corner, wearing a scarf with the colors of the new Syrian flag. “Dollar, Euro and Turk” is written on his window.
Murad Bey worked in the field of currency exchange for a long time, but after the previous regime banned foreign currencies, his business went underground. If the customer needs dollars or euros, Mr. Murad said, he will go to the house of the person who has the bills hidden in the sock.
In the new Syria, he says, he stands in line at the central bank to exchange $1,000 for Syrian pounds. When potential customers come to his window to inquire about the exchange rate, he assures them that he offers the “best price”.
The shelves of a small corner store across the street look very different from just a few weeks ago, when shopkeepers had to smuggle in foreign brands and hide them from most customers.
Owner Hussam al-Shareef said, “I would only sell these brands to my regular customers who knew I was smuggling, not to anyone who came by.”
Syrian-made products are already openly mixed with Turkish, European and US brands. Customers walk in and freely ask “Nescafe, the original”.
Three years ago, a police officer walked into his shop and found six Kinder chocolate eggs in a glass case in the back. Mr. al-Sharif was fined 600,000 Syrian pounds, or about $50, and sentenced to one month in prison. He has been fighting it in court ever since.
A man on Mount Ghasiun was setting off illegal fireworks smuggled from Lebanon. Hours later, in 2025, they will light up the sky to ring the bell.
Ali Maadi, 35, was busy setting up a stall selling drinks, snacks and hookah. Before the war, his family had a small but comfortable retreat along the mountain range. When he returned more than a week ago, he found Syrian Army soldiers using it as an outpost and smashing everything, including the bathrooms. He plans to rebuild slowly.
He played a mix of Syrian protest and folk songs from two speakers in the back of his Peugeot. The lyrics of one song read:
We want to adore, we want to love
We want to go on the road
We want to learn to be men and love Damascus
From our heart and see Sham up close.
Nearby, Aya Kalas, 28, and her soon-to-be fiance, Khalid al-Qadi, 26, sat at a picnic table enjoying the view. He said he was 15 the last time he came to the mountain.
“Anywhere you're off limits, you want to go back,” says beautician Ms. Kalas.
Damascus, where Ms. Kalash has lived all her life, sometimes feels unrecognizable, she said. “There were streets you couldn't walk because the military or officials lived there,” he said.
“We feel like seeing the country again; we feel like tourists,” said Mr. al-Qadi. “It's like it's ours again.”
Zeyna Shahla prepared a report.