#phoenix bicycle

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RINDOW BIKES

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Life Rides On: Cycling During the Syrian Civil War

For Syrian cyclists, the bicycle is a means of transportation, a social tool, or even a business model. It transports goods and people to the market and to jobs. It helps keep daily life as orderly as possible in the midst of a civil war.

Many posters in Damascus' streets show Syrian President Bashar al-Assad

The Phoenix Rises

In Syria, the local bicycles are definitely not the latest models. Their shapes haven’t changed for several decades. There are no high-tech carbon-fiber frames. Still, everybody here is quite protective about their bikes. Every single one of them is black and and every single one of them is called "Phoenix".

"We only have this bike, a Phoenix, at home. My dad no longer uses it, but my brother and I do," says a thirteen-year old, freckled messenger named Shadi. The ubiquitous Phoenix bikes come from China, which imports them to Syria. They are cheap and highly reliable; two important considerations for cyclists in this area.

It's rusty, but it's mine. One of the many beloved Phoenix'.

Not Native to Syria

Although the bicycle is extremely common in Syria, it did not become popular until recently, especially in the countryside. "Until [the mid-20th century] people had only been riding donkeys and horses. Maybe also camels, but I don't know this for sure," says Mr. Ismael Khaleel with a laugh. Khaleel is a bicycle repairman from Qamishli, in north-eastern Syria.

Khaleel explains that, while bikes have been in Damascus for a long time, it was not until recently that the infrastructure necessary for biking (such as paved roads) was built throughout Syria.

Now, bikes are everywhere.

From Concrete to Cycles

Like many bicycle repairmen, the hands of Mr. Khaleel are stained black with oil. He was originally interested in working on cars, but his workshop was not large enough. Not a bicycle repairman by trade, per se, Khaleel only fell into this occupation later in life. He had worked as a bricklayer for very long, constructing so many buildings that he can hardly count them all up.

Now, Ismael Khaleel is 68 years old and he no longer tortures his old legs with construction jobs. Repairing bikes has become his living.

Khaleel's small workshop sits right next to his house. The dusty street where he lives is mostly quiet. Sometimes a car might pass, but this place is mostly visited only by Khaleel's customers – his neighbors. When a bike's condition gets really bad, many Syrian bike owners would rather see a bicycle repairman than to do the repairs themselves.

A boy cycling in Damascus – on a comparably good street.

The Most Popular Means of Transport

On this particular day in Qamishli, a city on Syria's Turkish border, Ismael Khaleel is preparing to go to work.

The city of Qamishli, whose population numbered nearly 200 000 before the war, is located about 700 kilometers from the capital of Damascus. Qamishli is an important industrial and transportation center, due to its location, and its railway hub. It is a diverse city, with a mixed population of Kurds, Christians, Muslims, and Jews.

Khaleel pulls up his blinds and sits down next to the owner of the neighboring small shop. From time to time, they reminisce about how they used to whiz around on their bikes, or how they played in the nearby river. When the first customer arrives, the old men end their musings and get to work.

"Our city is as flat as a pancake. People ride bikes here because it is the cheapest means of transport. But how many of them are still here? We've never been through this stuff," complains Ismael Khaleel.

But even though life may be uncertain, the popularity of cycling in Syria is not.

The Sound is All Around

In cities like Damascus and Qamishli, the sounds of rattling Phoenixes fill the street. Warning bells clang, and dry chains creak as they rotate around rusty gearwheels. This distinctive sound is accompanied by the screech of a loose metal mudguard on the rear wheels of the bikes.

For many Western cyclists, who fanatically maintain their machines, these bikes are abused. In particular, the brakes are often not well-adjusted. So the riders must be on the alert all of the time in order to be able to react to a possible dangerous situation by braking with the soles of their shoes to avoid crashing into a tree or into a passing car at high speed.

But, in a place where function is the only concern, the Phoenix is king.

Bikes Everywhere, All the Time

Bikes fill Syrian cities.

For the most part, riders in cities such a Qamishli and Damascus only travel short distances on their bikes. For longer journeys, they usually use the public transport system because it's cheap and, most importantly, it's much more comfortable in the desert climate.

Short trips, which only take 10 minutes on the average, are the most frequent. After having arrived at their destination, riders get off their bikes and prop them against a pole. Then they tie it to the pole using a thick chain and padlock it to safeguard it against possible theft. In the cities, bikes are mostly used by messengers who transport food orders, documents, or other goods from one place to another, or by men who work far away from the public transport system. However, as common as bikes are in Syria, you most probably will not spot a woman on a bike – women cycling is still considered taboo.

A Messenger's Life

Syria’s bustling local markets are an Arabian commercial paradise. Hawkers and vendors sell their wares, and customers and shopkeepers haggle and socialize simultaneously. In any market, nearly every shop has a boy at its disposal, who can be sent at any time to fetch or deliver something by bike.

On the markets, cycling is not a question of age, but of space.

Shadi is one such boy, who delivers sandwiches and snacks to vendors in the local market. Cyclists mostly ply their trade at the local markets that are usually packed with people. A messenger needs to zig zag his way through the crowds as if he were dodging blurs of color, each erratically dashing in various directions at random.

It feels a bit like being inside a computer game, flying in your spaceship and trying desperately to avoid incoming asteroids.

Learning the Trade

Young Shadi is getting invaluable experience riding his bike.

In the beginning of his career as a messenger, Shadi made a lot of mistakes. He frequently bumped into people or dropped packages. But, at the very least, he could learn to be responsible and to deal with people. Even his accidents were lessons, such as when he had to learn to apologize to customers. "By mistake, I bump into someone every day. But only slightly and it's not serious," Shadi says with a laugh.

Shadi has been working as a messenger for two years. His family was not exactly rolling in money, so they asked the owner of the local snack bar Abu Kareem, a family friend, whether or not Shadi could be working for him.

"I couldn't say no to my friend. These days, we live in hard times, so we must stick together. At least, the boy is learning something new in his spare time and he will continue to make more money," says Kareem.

Money-Making Bikes

Messengers and sandwich delivery boys are not the only ones transporting goods by bike. Before the crisis, people transported gas containers on their bikes, using rear-wheel racks adjusted for transporting one container on each side. When the load was ready, these vendors went to door-to-door to sell the fuel to their customers.

Due to the weight and imbalance, these "bikes" were (and are) very difficult to handle, the gas sellers could only push them through the narrow streets of Damascus. It was not uncommon to hear the cries of "Gas, gas, gas!" throughout the day, as fuel vendors made their rounds.

Nowadays, thanks to the war and fuel rationing, the gas vendors are gone. Unable to sell gas from the street, the vendors have since changed their businesses to selling other goods (such as fruits), which now they distribute in a similar way.

Food Vendors in Unlikely Locations

Many of these vendors can be found around busy places such as the Umajj mosque in the center of Damascus. Here, one finds families with kids strolling around mostly in the evening hours and on weekends.

Dispersed among the mosque’s many visitors are vendors of all types, mounted on bikes. Many of the vendors roast chestnuts on their bikes, while others make coffee or tea. Almost all of them use a stand, which is itself a converted bike, featuring a long chimney that is mounted to the handlebars.

This modification makes it easy to move to a more favorable location, as customers and circumstances dictate. The vendors usually carry a small gas cooker on the rear-wheel rack to heat up water and their front bicycle baskets are full of cups and a selection of drinks.

"Bikes are part of my life. I sell tea and coffee only when I need to make some money. I can leave the bike wherever I want and I can start making the drinks. If I had a bigger stand, it wouldn't be that easy to move around," says Mr. Osama, a local street seller of hot beverages in Damascus.

The Only Reliable Means of Transportation

The on-going civil war in Syria takes its toll on cars and trucks. Fuel is in short supply, and often commandeered for the military or rebels' use. Streets and roads are in bad repair, and often difficult for cars and motor vehicles to pass through.

Bicycling, for many in Syria, is the only reliable means of transportation these days. More and more people are turning to their trusty Phoenixes as driving by car or bus is becoming increasingly uncertain.

Spare parts storage.

Other Syrians benefit from the country's widespread increase in cycling. Thanks to the crisis and the increase in cycling in Syria, Ismael Khaleel is fully occupied. "There is always someone that comes by and asks if I could change a chain or blow up a tire," says Khaleel.

Khaleel's customers are not wealthy and typically, he is only paid some small change for his repairs. But, luckily, at his age he is no longer dependent on his job because he has many grown sons and daughters who can take good care of him. Bike repairs are only his hobby, an excuse not to be stuck at home watching TV.

A Family Business Begins

When Ismael Khaleel took up repairing bikes, he began a new family tradition. Several years ago, he and his son-in-law Ahmad opened another joint bike repair shop and bike store. Ahmad is the leader of the local fire brigade, but, like most of the local people, he also has a second job. One of Ahmad’s employees is a fifteen-year old named Hasan, himself the son of Ahmed and grandson of Ismael.

"When I come here after school, I want to help my father and to learn something. It is not bad, bikes are my hobby," explains the freckle-faced Hasan.

Like his father and grandfather, his hands and clothes are covered with oil that must have rubbed off from the walls of the building, which have soaked up the oil over the years. Hasan goes to and from work on his bike, as is usual here.

"But, I don't know whether I'll end up working with bikes in the future. Probably not, I want to go to university," says Hasan with a smile.

He knows very well that he can get back to repairing bikes when he retires, like his grandfather.