Ahmed then left with Firas and promised to return in a few hours so we could discuss a plan to get me out of Syria first thing in the morning. The clock was now ticking not only for me, but for every man in that factory; if al-Nusra discovered I was there, time would be up for all of us.
I was lying on a mattress watching WWE wrestling with the jihadis when I heard the Adhan for Maghrib, the sunset prayer. This marked the end of the fourteen hours I’d had to get help for Theo and the beginning of a new hell for him—that is, if he hadn’t knocked on the door within five minutes of my escape. However, that thought didn’t cross my mind when I heard the call to prayer that evening. The only thought that did was that I had failed him; that I had not kept my promise. I lowered my head in shame and closed my eyes, unable to keep from envisioning the consequences he was facing at this very moment. These feelings weren’t easily concealed, and several of the men in the room asked me what was wrong.
“Ameriki,” I said.
They immediately understood, and left it at that.
I was the first one awake the next morning. Ahmed and Firas returned not long after, and then one by one the men began to awaken. We were sitting in the courtyard when one of the older guys entered holding a shoebox and a yellow Adidas-knockoff jumpsuit, brand new on the hanger. He called my name and I felt all warm inside knowing that they’d bought these things just for me. When I came out of the office wearing the jumpsuit everyone complimented my appearance and said I looked like one of them.
When it was finally time for the last leg of my journey out of Syria, it seemed like everyone in the group had come out to say goodbye. After we’d finished our farewells I got into the back seat of a black Cherokee between Firas and Ahmed. We all knew the ride was going to be extremely risky with all the checkpoints and my not having a passport or any cameras, so we made up a story for if we got stopped, that I’d been invited to photograph them fighting, and the apartment they’d placed me in was robbed. In the front seat were two jihadis, armed with AKs. When we started rolling I felt the butterflies dancing in my stomach. It was the first time in seven months that I’d ridden in a vehicle without a blindfold.
It was a beautiful clear day. As we cruised through Aleppo, I watched the constant bustle of the city and thought you’d never know there was a war going on if it wasn’t for all the bombed-out buildings.
“This is near the hospital,” Ahmed told me.
I was glad our windows were tinted and rolled up.
There were no checkpoints inside the city, but right at the edge of it there was a major one; I’d seen it before. We drove up and a jihadi with a black scarf around his head waved us right through after our driver flashed his FSA Easy Pass—an AK-47.
“All right!” I said, clapping my hands once and rubbing them together.
Thank God I had cigarettes for that ride; that’s the only moment I remember when one wasn’t burning in my hand. I’d told Ahmed I’d been kidnapped near the infantry school, and as the academy’s wall approached I pointed out the place where it happened.
“This is right where they got me,” I said, as we passed the exact spot.
Everyone in the truck smiled and Ahmed let me in on a little secret.
“You know, the guys were going to play a little joke on you and pull out the handcuffs when we passed there, but I told them you would not think that is funny.”
“Well, you were right!” I said, laughing.
We came to another checkpoint. This one was manned by only two jihadis and they were already busy searching a white van they’d pulled over; our driver flashed his AK and we were waved through again. We passed through one checkpoint after another like this until we were minutes from the Turkish border, in a city I recognized as Azaz.
“You’re almost there,” said Ahmed.
Finally, we reached the last checkpoint. Just on the other side was the border crossing and refugee camp, which had grown in size significantly since I’d last seen it upon entering Syria. I couldn’t help staring at the hundreds of new tents that had popped up, and all the children running around, some without shoes and socks. Weapons were prohibited beyond this point, and sitting there crammed in the back of the Jeep as the men handed them over, I knew I was finally out of the woods. We cruised through the checkpoint and then it was clear sailing, with freedom and Turkey in sight.
The Jeep pulled right up to the border, where the FSA stood on one side in their military fatigues, and the Turkish border agents stood on the other in crisp white uniforms. We all got out of the car, and I could feel my world spinning as I made my way to the Turks. Ahmed said something to the agents with the little Turkish he knew, and one of them stepped aside and motioned for me to enter. Without hesitation, I stepped across the very border I had dreamed for so many hours about crossing, while locked in cell after cell. I’d always thought I would cry the second I saw the red crescent on Turkey’s flag flapping in the wind, but I didn’t. I just turned
