I cannot remember a sequence of events, bloodshed and geopolitical machinations in a single day that involved so many countries and so many people. In a single day.
We were on the road again, had been for four days, but as each hour passed, our ability to move safely in Kurdish northeast Syria lessened.
We overtook cars, trucks, flatbeds, and pick-ups laden with belongings, but there were fewer and fewer. Almost anyone who could, had already left the border lands between Syria and Turkey.
On the side of a road, near a truck stop, we came across five lorries, they were full of families. They had grouped together and were living there.
They were so confused by the fighting and the ever-changing shape of this battle that they decided to be mobile so they could move in any direction at any time .
The families had left the battle for Aleppo six years ago to find safety. The war has caught them up. They are fleeing once again.
This day on the road and the subsequent 24 hours became one of the most remarkable of my entire career.
The fighting between the Turkish backed militia and the Kurds intensified along a huge battlefield – basically the border between Turkey and Syria.
Claims and counter claims of success and failure filled the airways as the battle raged on. In truth nobody knew what was going on. We constantly had to stop to assess our routes.
News emerged that in the chaos of fighting, hundreds of Islamic State families and fighters had escaped from a camp and prison.
We had been in the de facto capital of Kurdish Syria, Qamishli, when an Islamic State car bomb destroyed a restaurant this week; now we were told in frenzied messages by Kurdish intelligence that IS sleeper cells had been activated and that our hotel was a target.
It brought panic to the staff and the guests, many of whom, like us , *** were
Our local producers rushed upstairs and said that we needed to stay away from the hotel front windows and pack and get out as soon as possible.
*** peered into the street and could see armed intelligence officers surrounding the building, closing down the road and inspecting all cars coming and going.
We packed and left for a safe house. )
It was eerie outside. The streets were quiet. The Turkish invasion and the news of the IS breakout and the threat of suicide bombers on the loose had spooked and depressed everyone.
On this day the Turkish invasion had intensified, nearly a thousand IS families and fighters had escaped, the capital was under attack and then from nowhere news of another even more shocking atrocity – a Turkish strike on a civilian convoy heading to act as human shields in the border town of Ras al Ain.
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Our local guys watched in horror on social media as the videos flashed around. The pictures were horrendous.
We have good contacts with aid agencies as well and soon they were sending us their own videos of the hospitals and clinics where the injured were being treated.
We wanted to file this story and all the others from the day so far, but were stuck in a courtyard waiting to be told we could move to yet another safe place.
We sat with our friends and talked. In those moments, as they spoke in Kurdish, smoked heavily and occasionally hugged each other, it dawned on me as it had with them that the Kurdish grip on the homeland they call Rojava was slipping away.
As night fell we moved to our new accommodation deep in a Kurdish only district of the city. They said it would be safe forever, until this bombshell: the Kurds had done a deal with the regime of Bashar al Assad and the Russians.
Abandoned by the USA, the UK and France, the Kurds had no choice. The Kurds have always done deals with some pretty dubious regimes to maintain their autonomy or even their existence for generations, but this latest move meant our safe area was soon to come under the control of Damascus once again.
“It is bad or very bad, those are the options,” our Kurdish cameraman said.
He sounds matter-of-fact. He had tears in his eyes.
As the night skies filled with tracer rounds and as the sounds of gunfire echoed around the Arabic parts of the city in celebration that the regime was returning, our friends sat with their heads in their hands and wept. We all did.
How quick the regime would start to take back control of the region we did not know.
Local officials said we were fine but I was dubious . Syria considers us illegal entrants to the country and would accuse us of consorting with terrorists. The sentence is 12 years in prison.
I have been wanted by the regime since 2012 and I’m on a blacklist. Given their previous form for murdering people, I was in no doubt Bashar’s people would kill me if they caught me.
We woke early after a few hours’ sleep. Everything seemed fine. Nothing much appeared to have changed. Rather than rush we had coffee and talked to our foreign desk about some live appearances on our morning show and where we could film.
Then messages came through.
The border would be taken back by the regime in four hours. We were three hours away.
We scrabbled downstairs with our kit – 20 plus pieces. We sped off towards the border with Iraq. Iraq a safe haven? You couldn’t make it up.
We made the final crossing from Rojava. We left our friends behind and waved as our bus moved away and past rows of people trying to leave as well. As foreigners we were given priority. There is no discussion. It’s the system.
As we crossed the pontoon bridge to safety I thought of the children I had seen within this 24 hours; displaced from home and camping in schools where they will be taught Arabic, not Kurdish from now on.
Rojava was a dream but it has gone.
For sure though , the children will learn one thing in Kurdish: the meaning of betrayal.
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