Lebanon's nonevents

This morning I woke up, brushed my teeth and went to work. Normal day.

However, by 10 am I had received four e-mails from security services, followed by text messages, followed by me looking at the news, followed by me calling my husband to prevent him about a protest here, closed street there, army presence here, checkpoint there... Downtown was full of trucks with young armed soldiers wearing their "I mean business" look.

My morning went by.

I went out to grab a bite with my colleagues around 1 pm and all streets in downtown were still closed. We had to walk around for four blocks in order to find an opening in the barbed wire wall that the security forces had put up in the morning.  My colleagues and other pedestrians were merrily chatting and walking on the deserted streets, while taking selfies and joking about how wonderful it would be if the streets remained car-free.

When we came back an hour later, a group of 10 soldiers and maintenance workers were pulling back meters and meters of barbed wire into a very ingenious three-pronged contraption on the back of a truck that kept the barbed wire neatly stored. It was like a scene after a parade of some sorts, with that eerie silence that follows a loud event, only interrupted by the swoosh of brooms sweeping the dirty street floors.

But this had been no parade, of course. Judging by the many meters of barbed wire, the authorities had feared the worst and were really preparing for the worse case scenario.

I arrived back to my office, and it really dawned on me. None of all those things that we were worrying about, notified about, warned about, briefed about and informed about happened.  What did happen in reality was that people took the streets of Beirut this morning because Parliament was voting on a law that would entitle a public entity's contractors with benefits and a more stable employment status. Judging by what I read in the news, the outcome was positive. Then everyone went home.

What happened in my mind was the effect of the series of e-mails, text messages, soldiers, guns in the street and meters and meters of barbed wire.

Was all that really necessary? Aren't we all overreacting?

I spent my entire day fearing for something really, really serious to happen. And then my day went by, uneventful. I arrived home, exhausted. Being paranoid is really tiring.

Counting Lebanese Blessings

 Another bomb. Another heart breaking news piece. Another pang of anxiety in the pit of my stomach. Another sleepless night with my cat. In situations like this, the only think I can do is to count my blessings. 

So that is what I did last night. 

And while doing it, I started counting my Lebanese blessings as well. These are the people who inspire me incredibly, the ones that you seldom here about in the news.

The news only portray the bad stuff... These days, it is important to focus on the good.

Therefore, I present to you my list of Lebanese blessing (in no particular order):

The folks from Animals Lebanon. They work day in and day out, rescuing abandoned, beaten and abused animals. They take them in, heal them, love them, and find them homes, sometimes abroad. They do this with very little money and pretty much zero government support. Just because they care.

The folks at Souk El Tayeb. They bring together local producers and consumers, and they also have this awesome restaurant called Tawlet with the most amazing Lebanese food. They offer cooking classes, raise awareness about the importance of eating local and give jobs to Syrian refugees. My heart goes to them.

The young people from Onomatopeia, a new music hub/music school/gig central that just opened in Ashrafieh. This quirky place, filled with talent is an amazing space to go have a coffee and listen to good music (and maybe play some). The owners are young people with a huge heart and amazing vision who built the place from the concept to the handmade furniture. They have created a unique and very needed musical haven in this crazy city.

My people from Toastmasters Lebanon. These is a group of young professionals, from all confessional backgrounds, who come together every week to practice public speaking, support each other, develop leadership skills and have fun. I only wish people in Lebanon could be as accepting, honest and open-minded as these young professionals. Every time you go to a meeting, you feel energized and can't help smiling. And where you come from or what you believe in is never an issue to be part of this group.

Mahmoud the fruit vendor (no link unfortnatelly). He has the best customer service I have ever seen. He works 14-hour days, every day of the week. And he is always smiling. Every time I come to see him, he calls me a princess and gives me an extra lemon. There is no coincidence that despite all the small convenience stores that open around the block, people keep coming back to Mahmoud.

So this is my Lebanon. The one I like to live in. The one I like to talk about. You can call me a naïve or a silly optimist, I don’t care.

I’d much rather focus my attention on my Lebanese blessings. 

Lebanese Trash

When I was little, my parents used to take the family on amazing road-trips. We would pack our bags, and set off to an unknown and exciting destination. Depending on the direction we went, we would inevitably pass the enormous dumpsters that surrounded some parts of Mexico City back in the 1980s.
We would joke about the horrible smell and hope to pass the piles of trash as soon as possible. Even then, at a very young age, I knew there was something really wrong about just dumping stuff on the land like that.

Years later, I witnessed a similar trash travesti somewehere else. I was visiting Saida in the south of Lebanon over a weekend, and I stumbled upon the most gigantic mountain of trash I had ever seen.

Source: across cultures

According to the Lebanese Ministry of the Environment, Lebanon generates about 1.5 million tones of trash every year.  From all this waste, only 17% gets recycled or composted.  51% of this waste goes to landfills, better known as dumps.  But this is not the only problem…  40% of Lebanon’s garbage, that is over 32,000 tons, ends up in illegal and non-regulated dumps every year.

This is about 88 tons of waste in the open air, every day.

Some attribute the problem of Solid Waste Management (SWM) to a much bigger issue, which is political indecision. In a 2011 report published by UNDP and the Ministry of the Enviroment, the problem of Solid Waste Management is linked to a lack of long term vision and political commitment and concensus. The Lebanese Goverment has been relying on and "Emergency Plan for Solid Waste Management" for the Beirut/Mount Lebanon area that has been in effect since 1997 (that is a loooong emergency).  This plan effectively gives the Sukkar Engineering Group (a.k.a Sukleen) the monopoly to collect, treat, and landfill solid waste from an area serving about 2 million people (364 towns and municipalities). Leaving the controversies linked to Sukleen's system costs, and effectiveness of sorting and composting plants aside, we can say that effectively, little has been done to manage trash in a sustainable and effective way in Lebanon.

Recently, citizens decided to block the entrance to Sukleen trucks to one of the landfills. The reason behind this blockade is that citizens and NGOs have started protesting against the effects the Naameh landfill is having on their living conditions and overall quality of life. They are demanding the goverment to find an alternative to the landfill and for the stipulations of the landfill contract to be enforced (i.e. burry waste, limits to the types of waste allowed, restriction on quantities...). In fact, the Naameh landfill opened in 1997 and was set to operate for six years. The date came and went, and the landfill exceeded its capacity and height a long time ago.

Confrontations between the protesters and the Lebanese Internal Security Forces have taken place and Sukleen has stopped picking up trash, which resulted in small mountains of waste quickly accumulating in the streets of many cities.

Now it turns out that after all these years, I get to have my own mountain of trash in the corner of my street. Here's a photo of the pile (accumulated in only a few days). Even street cats are starting to avoid it.

Lebanese Precautions

Let's face it: welcoming 2014 with a bomb was not exactly starting the year on a positive note.

And this means naturally that security is tighter everywhere in Lebanon. It means that when you enter the supermarket parking lot, your hood, trunk and car bottom will be checked. It means that when you step into an official building, you will go through the metal detector or have a security guard swipe next to your bag that little thing that looks like a cricket paddle that beeps (sorry, I don't know the exact technical name). It means that when you go to the mall, it feels like you are about to board an international flight (empty your pockets, put your things in a little tray, etc.). So if you go to the movies, get there 2 hours in advance...

It also means you get text messages on your phone asking you to avoid this and that area, telling you to step away from balconies, advising you to avoid unecesary movements (does that include the dance floor?), and informing you through lenghty descriptions of every single incident that happened in the country. We can't travel North, we can't travel South, we can't go East, and West, well, it's the sea.
So, it seems like the only safe place left in Lebanon is my couch with my cat (under a blanket, because it's freezing... ahem, for Lebanon's standards).

I get it, I get, we need to be careful, vigilant and on guard.

But honestly, there are some security measures that I just don't get... Such as the tank in front of the mall.

Are we really expecting a full military operation there?

And what's up with the security personel and their little antenas to detect bombs in parking lots?

Source: ABC News

Come on guys, even I (not exactly a security expert) know that those don't work! It's even on Wikipedia!

In a tense environment like the one we are living in Lebanon, it is important to remain vigilant. But we shouldn't live in a state of total paranoia. The best thing one can do is to stay alert. And if everything else fails, I will follow my Dad's words of wisdom (applicable to any situation, including dates): "If something doens't feel right honey, you just run in the opposite direction".

PS: Little musical bonus if you think you are paranoid...

Lebanese Hair

Hair salons are a dime a dozen in my neighborhood. I mean, in a 2 block radius from my apartment, there are 6 of them. In any other context, this would be a perfect example of market saturation. How can all these businesses stay open or be possibly making money? Where are the clients coming from?

You don't have to be a sharp observer to notice that hair is a big thing in Lebanon. I personally had never seen hairdos like the ones I have seen in Beirut. Big curls, hair extensions, highlights, low lights, wigs... you see it all. And the sophistication, intricacy and complexity of some Lebanese hairdos make the most elaborate styles from other parts of the world look like mere poney tails.

But I didn't understand the extent of the perfect hair culture until one morning at the office. It was about 9 am, and I was rushing through the door when I noticed that my Lebanese colleague was looking particularly polished that day.When I commented on her new look, she just brushed it off by saying "Oh, I just went to the salon this morning".
"What time did you go?" I asked, intrigued. She proceeded to explain that she whatsapps her stylist whenever and he will come to the salon next to her house, rain or shine, and as early as needed.

I thought this was a bit extreme... In my world, you need an on demand stylist if you are in the show business or the President. But after doing a little survey among my Lebanese friends, I corroborated to my surprise that going to the hair salon before work is not only a pretty common practice but also considered completely normal. Apparently, for little more than 10 dollars, you can get a hairdo whenever you want and spend the rest of your day having a fabulous hair day.

Once, I arrived to a meeting and a female colleague asked me with a tone of excitement "Who did your hair?"
I looked at her a little confused. She was certainly not implying that my Mum still does my hair or something like that and she was looking at me with a big smile (which in my mind meant she was not being mean).
I hesitantly replied "Hum... me." (I had a braid).
"Whaaat?"she said impressed. " Where did you learn to do that?"
I kept staring at her not knowing what to say. She then explained to me that in Lebanon, there are places where you can go get your hair done by really famous people, and then you can tell others that "so and so" did your hair. Like a brand name for your hair. Lebanese sophistication at its prime.

On another note, I have found in Lebanon that for the most part, hair salons are run and operated by men. In Mexico, there are some men in hair salons, but I would say 9 times out of 10 hair salons are run by women. And to make it more interesting, here in Lebanon, I have gotten my hair done by men who wouldn't fit the stereotype in my mind of what a "stylist" looks like (i.e. purple highlights, tight leather pants, open shirts with waxed chests, plucked eye brows, etc.). As a matter of fact, the last person who did my hair was a 30 year old man with a 3 day unshaved beard, button down shirt, jeans and Converse, who left to watch the soccer match in a little TV as soon as he was done with my hair.

There is no doubt that hair salons play a key role in Lebanon's day to day life, and I got to experience that firsthand. I was walking around Byblos (North of Beirut), with some time in my hands and I decided to go to a little salon, and ask for a "brushing" (a blow dry). Instantly, I was immersed in the neighborhood's life. In the few Arabic words I picked, I learned about who was getting married that evening, got offered some food and coffee, received expert advice on a wide variety of products, and got asked about every single detail of my life (including the reasons why I don't have blond highlights- which is a very bad thing here). The people in the salon seemed all like they knew each other very well,  like family.

And I understood that the hair salon is much more than just a place where you get a hair done. It is a place where you socialize, get beautified and connected, get special attention, and catch up on the latest and greatest neighborhood gossip. When things are tense and stressful, there is no better place than the hair salon.

No wonder why there are so many of them.

Lebanese Amnesia

A little over a month ago, I wrote a post about fear and how tense I felt about the "situation" in Lebanon. I say "situation" because whenever I gather with my friends to talk about politics, the economy, regional issues, refugees, bombs, attacks, violence, tire burning, road closures or all of the above, we refer to it as "the situation".

However, lately the discussions about "the situation" have subsided, not because less events are taking place (I mean over the weekend there was a shooting between Bab Tebbaneh & Jabal Mohsen,  an "Energa" grenade fell on Syria Street in Tripoli, and Syrian troops infiltrated Lebanese territory, bombing two houses), but because things have gone back to "normal".

As I have mentioned in this blog before, what is considered "normal" in Lebanon is definitely subject to debate. But life has gone back to normal in Lebanon I guess, judging by all the art shows, movie festivals, concerts, restaurants, traffic jams and shopping. The streets are busy, the businesses are open, people are travelling...

I was at a dinner party a couple of days ago and I was discussing this with some Lebanese friends. I expressed my surprise about how quickly everyone had forgotten about last month's crisis, when some countries threatened to bomb Syria, or how no one mentioned all the violent incidents occurring not only in Tripoli, but in many other places as well.

A young woman looked at me and told me "Well, what are we supposed to do, then?".  I responded based on the little experience I have with dealing with collective trauma, which is what I have witnessed in the US. Over there, whenever there is a shooting or a terrorist attack, there is an immediate response with hot-lines, support groups, movies, documentaries, talk shows, magazine articles, blogs, Facebook pages, and so on and so forth.

"Here in Lebanon, people just move on", she said. "We have to move on".

And then it really dawned on me: imagine if every time there was a shooting in Tripoli, or an explosion in the North, people took the time stop and actually consider what it meant.

On the one had, this could be an important introspection exercise, in order to discontinue a vicious cycle of violence. But on the other, the country would be paralyzed for months, if not years.

I would argue that the Lebanese just move on with their lives not because the "situation" is less painful, but because they can't afford to stop. I guess the happy and peaceful times are fewer and far between so it is better to opt for a momentary collective amnesia.

The more time I spend in Lebanon, the clearer it becomes that these intermittent crises, followed by times of "quiet" is what is normal here. I wouldn't personally advice amnesia, as I think one of the worse things we can do to ourselves is reducing our standards of what is an acceptable living condition or not take the time to heal.

But when there are no other options... "What are we supposed to do, then?"


 

Mexican lies, Lebanese lies?

An inherent part of traveling is comparison. I know I shouldn't, but in a recent trip to Mexico, I couldn't help comparing my country with my current home, Beirut.

Maybe this comparison derives naturally from the fact that most people I meet in Mexico ask me at some point during the conversation "How are things in Beirut?". In order to give a quick answer and not to fall into a lengthy debate, I try to put things into context.

Like the fact that 1.17 million Syrians arriving to Lebanon in the past 2 years is like 25 million people arriving to Mexico in the same amount of time. Or like when an article in the newspaper says there was a bomb in Lebanon, the event occurs for the most part in very specific locations (for the time being), just like most drug-related violence in Mexico occurs in key states in the country.

I wonder if these comparisons are not only a way of simplifying a complex matter to someone who is not familiar with the Lebanese context or my new way to tell people that things are not as bad as they sound. In deed, I have recently developed a need to tell people this, that things are not as bad as they sound.

Probably to make myself believe it.

But interestingly enough, I have been doing the same thing in Lebanon, when people ask me about Mexico. I talk about the positive things, describe beautiful landscapes and present violence and abuse as isolated incidents, and not part of every day life.

Is this lying?

I tell myself that I have some wiggle room when describing "the situation" in Lebanon or in Mexico, since it is unclear at what point car bombs, executions, or kidnappings become an every day fact of life (if they ever do). I mean, there is violence both in Lebanon and Mexico every day, but don't we want to believe that these are in fact unusual, isolated events? Doesn't this rationalization somehow make our anxiety (angoisse, as the French say) easier to bare?

I think this is why when we read the news, we hear the account of events (it is hard to say "facts" at this point) and the corresponding political, economic or social analysis. But we rarely hear people talk about their fear.

However, this fear is very real to me lately. I feel it in the pit of my stomach every time I hear "Lebanon" in the news. I feel it when I leave the country (what if something happens when I am gone?) or when I arrive after a trip (what if something happens when I am here?). This silent fear has become my companion, but I diligently hide it behind the "things are not that bad", "life goes on", or "one has to live" comments I say over and over to make things OK.

Life does go on, and one does have to live, with or without fear. But I wonder if we allowed ourselves to feel the fear, acknowledge it and talk about it with one another, we would soon realize how much we all have to loose.  We would see our experience and our enemies' and not only our position. And we would perhaps find our way back to our common humanity, the one that keeps us from harming, killing and annihilating each other.