The Cedars of Lebanon

One of the good things about having family visiting is that I have to do all the sight seeing I usually don't take the time to do. I recently had my sister-in-law over and we decided to take her to what I consider the "heart" of Lebanon: the Cedars.

To me, going to the Cedars is like going on a pilgrimage. There is something very special about the drive up, leaving the craziness of Beirut behind and seeing the change in climate as I drive up and up.

We passed the beautiful town of Bcharre, with incredible rock constructions and tall towers. The view from up there is breathtaking.

We soon got to the Cedars. I had been there in May this year, and I was surprised to find a completely different sight this time. There was snow! And it was pretty cold I must say. But the snow made the sight even more majestic.

We walked around the Cedars in silence for a while. It is very solemn, being in the presence of these giants. They have witnessed so much. And they still grow tall and strong, some as high as 35 metres (115ft)!

This area is very much protected, as there are unfortnately not a lot of Cedars left. However, the Lebanese have made this tree their symbol. And it is a mighty one. These trees can withstand time, war and inclement weather. They grow strong and are incredibly generous with their shade and their beauty. They are resilient, a trait that all Lebanese will tell you about when talking proudly about their people.

I found this biblical quote that I think captures the spirit perfectly: "The righteous flourish like the palm tree and grow like the cedar in Lebanon" (Psalm 92:12)

It is true that the Lebanese are incredibly resourceful, entrepreneurial and resilient. It is true that in the face of all the horrors they have witnessed, many would have gotten lost in despair and given up. And to me it is almost poetic they have decided to make this tree a representation of who they are. When I am among these giants, I cannot help but feeling how transient and fragile my life is. How precious it is and how easily it can be destroyed.  The Cedars of Lebanon are witnesses of it all. They have seen many like me, walk around, thinking about little sorrows and little worries. Problems that seems so real and that in 25 years will be completely forgotten. But they will be there. Immobile, grand and impartial.

Witnessing.

Let's hope the Lebanese are wise enough to preserve these treasures for generations to come.


PS: Even U2 wrote a song about them. Check it out!

Running in Beirut

This blog post is dedicated to my friend CR, an awesome Marathon runner and to DL, who came all the way to Beirut to run the last 7kms with us.

A couple of weeks ago, I ran a marathon. Yes, you heard right. I trained for a freaking 42.195kms race. I didn't go fast, but I finished it!

There are so many things that I would like to write about those 5 hours and 45 minutes. It can seem like a very long time. But the Beirut Marathon Association did a very good job at organizing it and the experience was overall very positive.

I went there with my friends (who are all experts runners by the way!) and my husband bright and early at 6 am to Biel, the area where the Marathon was starting and ran up till 12:45pm, till the finish line in Martyr's Square.

Some very unusual things happened that day:

1) Amazingly enough, the Marathon started at 7:00 am sharp!

2) Hamra street was empty. For those of you who go to Hamra often, you know that this is a miracle

3) All Lebanese came together to run all throughout Beirut

It is this last point that I want to stress. A few weeks before the Marathon, the organizers hung promotional posters all over town, with catchy slogans related to why people run (and tied sometimes to advertisements). What really caught my eye was this poster that said, "I run for diversity".

I think the Marathon was true to this slogan. And one of the rare occasions when you would see people from all groups of society, Achrafieh ladies next to veiled runners, old and young, foreigners and Lebanese, men and women, all running together. It was a beautiful experience.

I had the chance to run in some of the neighborhoods considered "dangerous" by people from my side of town, to realize that nothing was really different from the other side really (besides the house of worship of course)...

Yesterday a friend told me that the Beirut Marathon is one of the hardest in the world because it is very lonely. Indeed, there aren't many people cheering on the sidelines, because no one really stops to see you (besides your very kind friends who generously spend their Sunday passing you water bottles). So it gets boring and you need to self motivate a lot (thankfully my hubbie was by my side all the time!) Also, there were some drivers who, believe it or not, defiantly drive on the closed roads, which makes the experience annoying at times and infuriating at others! 

But it can't get better than running on the Corniche, with the sun on your face, and the breeze from the sea.

Forgiving Beirut

I think nothing in life is a coincidence.

Remember my last blog post? When I was wondering why I was so angry in Beirut?

Well, it turns out I was at this magnificent conference this weekend. The conference was about healing past traumas, individual and collective. And I got some insights into my experience, as part of a collective experience in Lebanon.

I am someone who works on conflict prevention, but on a governmental/institutional level. I had never being exposed to the psychology of war and trauma. I must say that I had to put my brain in check at some points, as us "peace warriors" tend to "know" a lot of things about conflict, and have a lot of labels and fancy words to describe it. This conference was not really about the know, but on a deeper, more subtle level.

I think what really moved me about this conference was that it talked about what war does to people. About why people go to war. About how wars get transmitted from one generation to the other. About how people feel and think after they have been exposed to a war.

I was in the room with a mostly Lebanese audience. And as we all saw speakers, some of whom had been victims of war's atrocities themselves, share their experiences, I sensed deep sadness and sorrow in the room.

There were times when people were silent, there were times when people spoke and had to stop because they couldn't go on anymore. There were times when people were angry and frustrated. There was sometimes resignation and skepticism.

But mostly, there was a gentle determination to remain in the room, to listen and to learn.

One of the things I learnt was that 7 out of 10 people in the country were we live have seen a war event (loss of a loved one, loss of property, murder, bombs, etc.) at least once in their life. I also learnt that 10 out of 60 Lebanese have a mental health condition and only 1 seeks professional help.
I also learned that the more war atrocities one has seen in one's life, the more propensity one has to experience some behavioral condition in life (no matter when the events happened).

My Lebanese friends rarely speak about the war. And why would they? Isn't it a normal reaction, just wanting to move on?

But yet, it is so important to talk...

I witnessed this weekend people from Rwanda, Lebanon and Ireland forgiving the people who killed their loved ones. And not only in the surface, with a little smile, for self-gain or out of disdain. I mean a true sense of forgiveness, where the humanity of the other is embraced, and acknowledged. Where a genuine compassion is possible and gives the opportunity for self healing. I saw how the gift of forgiveness liberates our perpetrators, and honors our deep power to love one another.

I learned in this conference is that we all have our own internal wars. Some of them are due to external factors, and some of them are not. And the easy and common way is to respond with anger, to blame, to hold a grudge and to seek revenge.

I must say that today for the first time I can say I understand Lebanon a little better. On a deeper level. I witnessed the hurt, the fear and the sorrow. The need for revenge and redemption. And I also witnessed that beautiful resilience of the Lebanese. I heard the soft whisper of those who want to be free from the past. Who are willing the work for a bright future in a country that embraces all differences.

I feel full of hope for this country that is so dark and so bright at the same time. I am in awe at the power of people who want to emerge from the ashes of despair and hatred. I saw the deep longing for love and brotherhood. There are no coincidences as I said. I understood this weekend why I had to come here.

Aggresive Beirut

I was recently in conversation with some "expat" women over dinner on the topic of aggression. Some asserted that moving to Beirut had made them more aggressive. My usual self would have replied that one becomes aggressive by choice, not be circumstance, but in this occasion, I didn't have such a clear-cut answer. 

Have I become more aggressive since I moved to Beirut?

I am a firm believer that one chooses one's way of being in the face of circumstance, and not the other way around. But somehow in Beirut, I have noticed that little by little circumstances have started to take over the best in me. Since the realization of my latent aggressive self, I have become more aware (self conscious?) of my behavior. And I am surprised at how little it takes now to get me absolutely and completely enraged. Why the hell am I so mad? 

Let’s take a step back. What is aggression anyways? 

Wikipedia tells us: "Aggressive behavior is a behavior which is intended to increase the social dominance of the organism relative to the dominance position of other organisms"

As humans, we are social beings. And as social beings, we influence, love, hate, help, support or dominate one another.  It is just natural. That is what we do. Why is Beirut showing me this side of myself?

There have been events in Beirut where I have felt the need to fight. I have been pushed, yelled at, looked at disrespectfully. There have been occasions when I have felt unsafe. I have heard talks about gunfire, car bombs, and massacres in neighboring countries. But I was usually able to calm myself down. I was usually able to take a deep breath. Not in Beirut. The guns of my mind come out very quickly here.

Is it the constant noise and car honking, is it the reckless driving? Is it the lack of rules, people cutting in line, the ladies followed by their maids, carrying their bags? Is it the mistrust between people of different religions, the unkindness that people show to one another? Is it all the street animals, the children begging in the street? The men staring at me as I walk in the street? Is it the oversexualization of women, the botox and the plastic surgeries?

I have no answers. I am in a weird, inexact and highly subjective realm, the realm of feelings. And I just can’t help these feelings. They are there, like dormant snakes, ready to bite if someone steps on them.

Do I need to grow a thicker skin in Beirut, in order to survive? Does the world need more people with thicker skin? In Beirut, I find it difficult to have an open heart. Sometimes the reality is very raw. And it has nothing to do with violence. It is just an overall feeling of hopelessness (in government, in the future, in things working) and mistrust of the other. It is asphyxiating. 

Can I put the positive spin to this? I sure can. Beirut is beautiful, Beirut is full of life. Beirut is full. Beirut is like being fed a very sweet baklava with a huge wooden spoon, even when you are full already. Some times, it can be delicious, but some others it just too much to get in one bite. 

Spanish speaker? Arabic speaker rather

In my humble attempts to learn Arabic, I have discovered that there are many words in Spanish that actually come from it. And to my relief, I am not the only Spanish speaking person who doesn’t get Arabic (indeed, the Spanish word “Algarabía”, which means incomprehensible talk comes from “al-'Arabiya”, which basically means "Arabic").

NB: (By the way, as I write this, I realize that this blog post will probably not mean much to my readers who do not speak Spanish, but if you are willing to take my word for it, there ARE loads of words in Spanish that come from Arabic).

NB2: If you want more serious explanation of the influence of Arabic in Spanish, just click here. 

As I was saying: there are tons of words in Spanish that come from Arabic, many of which I could have sworn were nothing but “Mexicanisms”. Never mind the obvious words, like "Guadalajara"- the name of a city (it also means river of stones)- or "babucha", a sort of slipper that comes originally from Morocco, and that us Mexicans use to refer to any kind of Arabic-looking shoe.  (On a side note: 

there’s even a saying in Mexico “Sacate las Babuchas!” that I have no idea where it comes from, but basically it means you are very surprised).

I have made some fascinating findings with last names. I was in Morocco recently and came across a certain Mr. Bargash. I could not believe this, as “Vargas” is a very common family name in Mexico. The other surprise was when, over coffee, a friend told me that she had found out that the common last name “Reyes” actually comes from Arabic as well. You see, in Arabic, the word “Ras” (plural Reis) means head, boss or king. Well, guess how you say king in Spanish? “Rey”.

The other ones that I like are articles of clothing. “Bantaloun” for “Pantalon” (pants), “Qamis” for “Camisa” (shirt), “Qalcet” for “Calcetines” (socks), “Sobat” for “Zapato” (shoes). I also love the ones that have to do with food: “Zeitun” for “Aceituna” (olive), coming obviously from  “Zeit” or “Aceite” (oil),  “Zukkar for “Azucar” (sugar), the color “Zafra”, that means yellow, and where the word “Azafran” (saffron) comes from. And finally you have places in the house, such as “Assutáyha” for “azotea” (roof), or “Al-qubba” for “Alcoba” (room).

But my all time favorite is “al qawwad” (the messenger) which gives the word  “Alcahuete” (accomplice in a love affair).

I wonder what my Mum will tell me when I go back home, and I start asking for “Zeitunas”, or I say I am going to my “Alqubba”, or if I tell her I like her “Sobatos”… She will tell me “ You are loca!” (which comes from “lawqa").

PS: please note that my “spelling” with the words in Arabic might not be correct, as I am reproducing them phonetically. 

Walking around in Beirut

I wonder if I am writing less these days because I am too busy or because Beirut is becoming “what is usual”. I spend sometimes days thinking about what I am going to write about and then it hits me!

I was running on Sunday on the “Corniche”, this promenade along the Mediterranean Sea, where everyone and their mother spends countless hours wondering around. I couldn’t help but thinking of the “Alameda”  a long street in Mexico City’ s downtown, where everyone goes to hangout on Sundays aswell.

The “Corniche” is Beirut’s traditional waterfront. You have beautiful hotels, the American University of Beirut, Starbucks and Mc Donalds side by side with decaying buildings, coffee shops and little stores.

On the Corniche, vagabonds are strolling around next to highly make-uped and jeweled ladies wearing Chanel (how else would you go jogging, hello?), little kids on their tricycles, next to big kids on their mopeds (yes, on the sidewalk), miniskirts next to veils, bikes and rollerblades and even fishermen next to runners.

On a Saturday or Sunday night, cars are parked along the sidewalk, blasting some Arabic songs, and people sometimes are even dancing too. Others bring their Arguileh -or water pipe- and suck on it merrily while people-watching. A man can approach you to sell you some knock-your-socks-off coffee (to “wake your veins up” according to him. I just get massive jitters), bread, or cigarrettes.  

But don’t be fooled: the Corniche is vibrant and fully alive every day of the week, and dare I say, at every hour. Sometimes when I go for a run at 7am, it is already full of joggers, ladies on their cell-phones or fishermen. During the day, you can see some people jumping off the Corniche to swim (no girls allowed though). And on weekends families come to walk around, the Corniche being one of the only pedestrian areas in Beirut.

I personally just love the Ferris wheel, lit up with neon lights at night or the fact that you can see off "Raouche" the Pigeon rock at a distance.

But what I like the most about the Corniche is that everybody goes. Young and old. Families and young couples. Men and women. Muslim and Christian. Locals and tourists. These days I feel there are fewer and fewer places like this. Hence the importance of public spaces. 

So if you are in Beirut, do not miss an afternoon walk along the Corniche. You will see all of Lebanon there, walking.

 Photos from Wikipedia 

Generosity at a whole different level

I have been slacking in my writing, I confess. But I do have a good reason (or excuse?)

I fostered a cat and her 5 kitties for 2 months. My husband calls them the "refugees" (joke, no political correctness at all).

I have written about cats in Lebanon before. There are loads of them in the street. Since I love cats, this is like an awesome thing for me since my landlord doesn't let us have pets in the house.

For my husband, he thinks cats are the Lebanese equivalent of street rats. I couldn't disagree more. Cats have personality. And personality goes a long way (any Pulp Fiction fans?)

So here is the story of the Mum and the 5 kitties: I am walking past the dumpster next to my house and say, as usual, hello to my feline neighbors. I notice this time though that there is a new cat in the block. She is skinny, and frankly sort of ugly. But she starts following me (street cats don't do that) and meowing and meowing. She then goes to a little corner behind a pile of trash and shows me 6 little little cats. Maybe 2 weeks old.

The first thing that surprised me is that a cat never shows where her kitties are. Second, street cats don't follow people. This was a house cat. Long story short, I go to my house, bring milk for her in a little Tupperware and she drinks it like crazy. Poor Mum-Cat is starving. So I pour some more milk and go home.

The next day, there are only 5 kitties left. There is a little fur ball further away, but it looks crushed. Maybe a car backed down? I panic. These kittens are going to die if someone doesn't do something.

But who?

I call my friend who volunteers at Animal Lebanon. She sends a volunteer to pick up the cats and brings them to the vet. The kittens have an eye infection and need medicine. The Mum-Cat is malnourished.

So I call my landlord and my husband and we found a happy arrangement: the cats are allowed home as long as it is not a permanent arrangement and they stay in the balcony. Yahoo!

Having 5 kittens in my house was so much fun. Even my husband warmed up to it, as we saw them grow stronger, get better, and wrestle with each other. I wouldn't say Mum cat got fat, since she was breastfeeding 5 kittens after all. But she looked much better.

After the 6th week, it was time to find a home for the kittens. Friends, friends of friends and people who contacted me through Animal Lebanon came to the house and took them to a loving home, one by one. It made me so happy to meet such generous people. These kitties were going to have a much better and healthier life.

The problem was the Mum. Usually people don't adopt adult cats. And then, a co-worker of mine told me about H. H lives in Saida, a city south from Beirut, and is a huge animal lover. He has a garden and rescues street cats and dogs (in separate locations). He has 60 cats and 50 dogs. And he pays for their food and medical treatment out of pocket.

So I contacted H and he told me no problem, he would take the cat as long as she was spayed. So Animal Lebanon helped me find a very professional vet who did the operation for a good price. Mum cat recovered within a week. 

I drove down to Saida with 2 friends, and H invited us to his house. We sat down in his garden, surrounded by cats of all shapes and sizes. He served us fruit from his garden and fresh lemonade (although he was fasting) and told us how taking care of animals made him feel that his heart was turning softer and sweeter. He truly believes that it  is humanity’s duty to take care of defenseless creatures that can’t speak up. And he doesn't stop there. Every time he sees a wounded, abused or abandoned animal in the street, he brings it to the vet and keeps it in the garden. He has even made a deal with the local butcher, and he comes everyday to pick up the meat scarps to give them to his dogs.

I was just amazed at his compassion and commitment. He is by no means a rich man. But that doesn’t stop him. He only asked me to bring a big bag of cat food. And he took another cat in.

I was so proud of myself and my little cat rescue mission. This man put things in perspective…

Although there are organizations in Lebanon to protect animals and do a great job–such as Animals Lebanon- the amount of work to be done is enormous. A lot of street animals have to rely on people who pick them up spontaneously, such as H, but in all cases that doesn’t mean they will be cared for properly or that they won’t end up in the future back on the streets. I don’t know what needs to be done, but I am certain there must be a way to establish a more systematic approach to street animals’ care and protection. Any ideas?