Everyone I asked “How are you?” began to cry before they could answer my question. The people of Antakya are broken and grieving in a depth I haven’t seen before in my life. Since the earthquakes I’ve traveled to various places, helping in various ways. On my most recent trip to Antakya I took some time to walk around the old parts of the city where I used to enjoy visiting the most. It was extremely difficult.

One of the things I always loved about Antakya was the confluence of history, cultures, architecture, gastronomy, and natural beauty. The heart of the old city was filled with narrow, winding roads lined with buildings of Turkish, Arab, and French influence. In these buildings were shops, restaurants, and hans (hotels) of the same influences. Scattered between the calls to prayer from the mosques around the city were the chiming of the hour from the church bells. And the food: incredible flavors and textures cultivated over the centuries from an array of cultures. And all of this was cradled between the lush green of the Nur Mountains.

Now all of it is gone. Cradled in the valley of the Nur Mountains is a tangle of concrete and rebar. The restaurants and shops are no more. The people that survived are scattered far and some of the people that did not survive are still buried in the narrow, winding roads beneath the remains of the city. The history books tell of the ancient city of Antakya being destroyed by earthquakes in AD 115 and 526. Now ancient history has become a present reality.

I spoke with some of the heroes of the earthquake, the city maintenance workers. They were tending to a busted water pipe that was flooding the street, a seemingly miniscule problem compared to the surrounding destruction. They had tired faces and tired eyes. They spoke with grief as they described not being able to reach those buried in the rubble in the city center because the narrow roads would not accommodate the needed equipment. The downtown has become a graveyard.

The city was once full of sounds of bustle, car horns, merchants calling people to their wares, people chatting, music drifting from the restaurants. The call to prayer and church bells adorned the city like a crown above the street sounds.

The smells of the city were once fresh baked bread, künefe, coffee. They have now been replaced by the smells of rotting food, scattered in the destruction. And there was dust everywhere. It layered every surface of the city and filled the air.

I saw spray-painted on a wall “As long as there is life there is hope.” The people of Antakya are special and I hope they can rebuild from this rubble. I love this city. I want to share with you below links to some of our articles from before the earthquakes so that you can see what it was like and so we can hope together for what it can become again.