Guardians of the Sky

In a world full of tension, Ismail Odeh, a Syrian construction worker, finds his only refuge on the rooftop of his house, among flocks of pigeons. He inherited this hobby from his father, and it has become a part of his daily life—a private sanctuary he cannot give up.

Despite the high cost of caring for the birds—exceeding 100,000 Syrian pounds per month which is around 8 US dollars—Ismail has no intention of stopping. For him, the rooftop is more than just a place to raise pigeons; it’s an independent world, a place that he escapes to after a long day amid the chaos of the city.

In the Damascene dialect, kashsha means a white lie—a small lie told to soften the weight of reality or make it more bearable. It doesn’t apply only to pigeons, but extends to words, situations, and events. The kashshash—the pigeon keeper— is not merely a bird enthusiast, but a master of illusion. He choreographs the flight of pigeons to appear free, while they remain tied by invisible threads.

Some people hold stereotypes about the kashshash—that he is socially unacceptable and that his testimony is not admitted in court. But Ismail has come to terms with these challenges, choosing solitude among his flocks over the noise of the city.
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In the last few years, pigeon keeping has shifted from a mere passion to an underground trade. At one point, access to rooftops was banned, which prevented the kashashin from practicing their craft.

Every sunset, Ismail climbs to his rooftop and watches his birds flying in an open sky, only to return to him as they do every day. In Damascus, free pigeons do not stay free for long. Rare pigeons are caged until they are sent abroad; common pigeons are trained to return. Those that try to escape the system are either hunted down or disappear.

Just like the kashash — the harmless white lie that begins innocent and ends as fate.
In Damascus, rare pigeons do not fly… and neither do we.