Fifty Shades of Lebanese Grey

A few weeks ago, I woke up on a Saturday morning and did what everyone does: I checked my e-mail. I had 2 messages awaiting in my inbox: one, from the security services saying that there had been a violent clash in Tripoli and residents were leaving the area. Two, an invitation to a beach party in Batroun.

Source: Lonely Planet

Go along the coast line up North. Yup, that is about a 30 kms (18.6 miles) distance between the two places. In my book, that is not very far. How is this possible?

Well, this is the perfect example of the illusion of war, or that of peace. While something devastating, violent and horrifying is happening, life goes on in other places. I knew that intellectually, I mean, violence and war are occurring in many places in the world as we speak. I just had never experienced it this close. 

Recently, I've had to face my pre-conceived notion about what war (or peace) looks like. In my mind, when there is war in a country, then all is black. When there is peace, all is white. In Lebanon, we have been living in a comfortable grey, that has been getting darker lately, but remains grey all the same. And people in Lebanon are very comfortable in the grey. 

For instance: I was in a traffic jam the other day and two people started honking, then yelling, then the fist fight started. My first thought was immediately dramatic and I thought " I hope they don't have guns". As I drove frantically around this to "escape", I looked 25 metres ahead and saw a couple kissing passionately. 

No big deal. It's just a fight, right? 

However, I constantly feel this fear that we are all like the frogs in the pot, and that as the temperature rises in the country and we pretend nothing is happening- we keep living in the grey- one day, we will fail to see danger until its too late. And we will get boiled. 

Source: The Atlantic

But a conversation with a Lebanese colleague, opened my eyes. People in Lebanon are not in denial.  They are, in fact, very aware of what is happening. But this war just doesn't affect them anymore, or at least not the way it affects me.

We were in the elevator with him and another friend, and I was asking them about what they thought of "the situation". And they told me: "We hate to break the news darling, but you are living in a country at war." Then I looked at them, both spotting this suberb tan, and said "But you are still going to the beach!". They both smiled in the oh-you-poor-little-foreigner way and said "Dear, no one stops going to the beach, just because there's war".

Fifty Shades of Lebanese Grey.

Spring in Beirut

The last couple of weeks have been a true pleasure in Beirut. The Spring is finally here after a very wet "winter" (I mean, winter for Mediterranean standards). And the Spring has brought one of my favourite things about Beirut: flowers.

One of my earliest childhood memories was the blossoming Jacaranda trees outside of my aunt's summer house. I would walk among these beautiful trees, and just love the purple carpet under my feet and the contrast between the very dark and knotted bark and the fragile purple flowers. 

Source: The Independent

To my delight, Jacaranda trees are very common in Beirut. And the flowers cover all streets and cars beautifully (and cars get sticky, but let's us not talk about that).

Also, the scent of flowers in the street is truly exquisite. I like to take walks at night around the neighbourhood- taking advantage of the last remaining cool evenings before the sweltering summer arrives- and I come to a sudden halt many times just to relish on the gardenia trees' perfume emanating from people's backyards. It is intoxicating. And there are so many of them! On a couple of occasions, Lebanese friends have brought me from their garden some of these flowers in trays. "We don't know what to do with them" they say. I welcome these gifts gladly. 

These days, when you walk on the "Corniche"- the seaside road in Beirut- you will see several street vendors with little wooden racks, who sell gardenia garlands to cars. It is not uncommon to see a car - a brand new Porsche or a 1984 Mercedes- with a couple of garlands danggling from the review mirror. Forget about the little pine scented things people buy at the gas station! These garlands will keep your car smelling a-ma-zing, even when the flowers have dried up.

I know there are little good news coming from this part of the world these days. However, in the midst of it all, there are still amazing things happening in Beirut. I guess the old saying "Stop and smell the roses" has taken in Beirut a whole new meaning for me.

PS: The morning after I wrote this post, I was entering my car and saw an old gentleman waiting for the school bus with his granddaughter. They were standing next to a huge garnenia tree. I smiled at him and he approached my car... with a gardenia as a gift. Only in Beirut...

Electric Lebanon

I was blow-drying my hair the other day, rushing to get to work and asked my husband to plug the iron so I could retouch my shirt... I continued drying my hair and.... silence. The power went off. 

That is when I remembered that we were on "generator electricity" that morning, and I could not have 2 appliances on at once. With half wet hair, laughing and cursing, and a wrinkly shirt on, I had to go outside of my apartment, down half a floor and flip the generator switch back on (dangling from a cable that climbs from God knows where all the way up to where we live). I hear the sound of the blow-dryer at the distance. It worked.

Welcome to a normal morning in Beirut.

"Ma fi Kahraba"(there's no electricity) is one of the first sentences you learn in Arabic when you move to this city. You know that you need to know this in case you have to call your landlord to tell him/her that the generator is not working during the 3 hours of power cuts that you will experience every day. The generator not working is a very big deal, believe me. It means no Internet... and no AC, which in the summer is equal to a death sentence. 

Unfortunately, I found out only when I moved to the building that the generator only fed individual apartments and not the common areas. This means that when there are power cuts... the elevator doesn't work. Bummer when you live on the upper floors. So my husband and I have the handy (and free!) "Beirut Electricity" app in our phones, which tells us when the electricity will be off in the coming days and we can plan accordingly. Trust me, when you go grocery shopping, you don't want to carry your bags up multiple flights of stairs.

What really cracks me up is when I am in an important meeting, with everyone debating heatedly, and the power goes out. When it comes back, all the people from outside Lebanon have a puzzled, and sometimes scared " what's going on?" look on their face. And then you act like this is normal and continue with the meeting. 

Therefore, we are all condemned to pay extra (lots extra) to have electricity 24/7- or more like 23.75/7, as there is always a delay when the electricity switches from source. My Lebanese friend even has another generator for this gap, but that's another story. 

I thought this electricity issue added "character" to life in Beirut until I read an article that brought to my attention the environmental and health hazards that this problem brings. Turns out that these diesel-run generators release carcinogenic particles in the air we all breath, and residents are highly and directly exposed to them when the generators are on. And the fact that generators are not necessarily new, or well maintained, aggravates the problem. Just imagine having the generator blowing carcinogenic stuff into your balcony every day?? Not an encouraging thought.

So generators are a quick fix to a broader electricity problem in the country, but now it turns out that it is also having a direct negative impact on our health. When will this issue be fixed? With the current state of affairs in the country and the region, I think we'll all keep involuntarily inhaling bad stuff, planning our grocery time and turning off appliances for a while.

PS: Thank you to M.M for sending me this article.

Lebanese honesty

When reading newspapers lately, there is a lot of talk about crime increasing in Lebanon. Kidnappings have been on the headlines for the past month or so, armed robberies are occurring and there is definitely a sense of mistrust in the air with all the newcomers from Syria, whom some stereotype as thieves.

I think this is a true pity, us buying into the idea that Lebanon has become a crime-ridden place. I will not deny these incidents are happening, nor that one should be careful and use common sense to avoid unsafe situations. But my experience in Lebanon has been so far, in the past 2.5 years, and more so recently, that Lebanese are some of the most honest people I have met.

And as this statement might raise some eyebrows, I would like to share with you 2 recent incidents that happened in the past couple of weeks. 

Some friends organized a party at my place recently and one of them went to the corner store to buy water. As he was leaving my house after the party was over, he realized he didn't have his wallet. We looked everywhere in the house and couldn't find it. After reflecting some time, he realized the last time he saw it was at the corner store when he paid for the water. We looked in the street but couldn't find it. The next morning, my husband went to the store, and the storeowner, a 70 year old man who doesn't make more than 40 dollars a day in his store, handed him back the wallet intact, with all IDs, credit cards and money (over $200) inside. 

As we might try to downplay this, by saying that this is a "normal" thing to do, the reality is that the man could have decided to keep the wallet for himself. No one would know. But he instead chose to act with kindness and honesty.

Which takes me to my other story. I went swimming a couple of days ago to the gym. When I was taking my shower, I realized that one of my earrings had fallen. I freaked out, as I had received these earrings from my husband just the day before, and they had not only sentimental but also monetary value. I dressed as fast as I could and went back to the pool area, praying that my earring might have fallen outside of the water. I asked all instructors and people who where there and they all looked at me with a "poor you/hopeless case" look on their face.  Ten minutes later, as I was packing my stuff from the locker room, I heard a knock on the door. One of the swimmers had found the earring at the bottom of the swimming pool (what are the odds??) and most important, had decided to return it. The person who gave it back, a trainer who has seen me there a couple of times before, put his hand on my shoulder and said "You are at home here. You have nothing to worry about".

This exchange really brought me back to reality and made me realize how much I was buying into the negative speech that has been floating around me, trying to convince me (us) that Lebanon is indeed a dangerous place to be in, a place where one needs to be in fear. And although I do not want to downplay the consequences of the dreadful conflict that is occurring very near, the effects of the economic crises, and the crime rise, I would like to remind ourselves that Lebanon is still the place where people are honest, where people are kind, and where people have your back.

Death and Love in Beirut

Last week I was engaged in all sorts of debates with friends about the meaning of Valentine's Day in Lebanon. I must say that I am quite impressed by how adamant some people can get about celebrating or not celebrating the day, as a matter of ethical principle in some cases...

A Lebanese friend told me that celebrating Valentine's Day was a rather new phenomenon, and that even if it was in the end a "commercial" holiday when restaurants, flower shops and teddy bear makers would do anything to sell a mass produced ideal of romance, she still liked to celebrate it. As a matter of fact, Lebanese- according to her- use any occasion or excuse to turn it into a holiday. She then proceeded to explain that during the war, when (I quote) "death always waited behind the door", anything was a good reason to forget the misery and the pain, and celebrating even the smallest things became a matter of survival.

I thought this was a rather interesting way to put things in perspective, as the Lebanese do celebrate loads of holidays and have special dishes for the weirdest occasions (take Snayniya, for instance, a dessert made to honor the occasion of a baby's first tooth). And I also thought that the image of having death waiting for you behind the door was rather spooky.

Valentine's Day in Lebanon is a day off, not because the Lebanese are particularly into the holiday, but because the 14 of February also commemorates the assassination of the late Rafic Hariri. You walk on the streets and will see everywhere adds for diamonds, roses and hearts alongside billboards with dark images and political messages inviting you not to forget his death. In the words of another friend, "On Valentine's Day, politicians even managed to take love away".

This day brings about yet another contradiction that I don't seem to understand about Lebanon. How can one celebrate, while morning at the same time? I guess if death had been - and these days seems like still is- waiting behind the door, I would try to make the best out of life. Even if that meant buying a stupid teddy bear.

Lebanese Nuances

Travelling is an excellent way of discovering our preconceived notions. And although after almost 3 years, it would be difficult to still assert that Beirut is "abroad" for me, I continue to be impressed by this city's ability to challenge me.

Here is the story.

Last week, the Muslim community celebrated a holiday that marks the birth of the Prophet Muhammad. I personally don't know much about this celebration other than it is a day off at work. So I enjoyed my free day, thinking that all my Muslim colleagues would be celebrating.

The next day, I overheard a conversation between an Egyptian and a Lebanese colleague, who both happen to be Muslim. My Egyptian friend said that she had witnessed the strangest thing in downtown Beirut. She then proceeded to describe a scene: she was walking on the street and a couple of people approached her to give her flowers and chocolates. She was taken aback by the gesture and asked them what this was for. The people looked at her wide-eyed and in disbelief and replied: "To celebrate the holiday of course".
She apologized, said she meant no disrespect and continued her way confused. She had never seen this done for this holiday before.

I then asked her how people celebrated this particular holiday in Egypt. She replied, "Well, there are many ways, but I just don't" and explained that this particular holiday poses disagreement among different currents in Islam, where some believe it should be celebrated and others don't. And then she made an intriguing remark: "I went to a Catholic school and noticed that Christians give each other gifts the day that Jesus was born. I wonder if Muslims in Lebanon don't have this tradition of giving chocolates during the Eid (holiday) as a practice mimicking the traditions of other groups in the country."

I don't know how true her statement is, but I thought this was an anecdote worth sharing as it highlighted two things that I often forget as a foreigner:
1) The diversity among and inside groups in Lebanon- and in the Arab world for that matter- are far more complex than the "neat" labels that us foreigners apply on people from various religious backgrounds
2) Religious practices are local and, as with any other religion, vary from one country to another.

I think this week helped me uncover yet another layer of stereotyping that was hidden in my head. I am thankful to be able to be here, see these things, draw some conclusions and share then with you dear readers, hoping that we all learn a bit more about this fascinating place that we call the Middle East.

Holidays in Beirut: Merry Halloween!

The holidays are in the air in Beirut. In the last couple of weeks, holiday decorations have flourished in every street corner and store front.

A couple of weeks ago, I was walking in the supermarket when I came face to face with a very strange scene: an aisle full of Santas and plastic snowmen facing a section of Halloween costumes. I checked my calendar just to confirm we were indeed at the end of November, and not at the end of October, and left laughing a little and telling myself that the Lebanese had a very strange way of confusing holidays.

What would be my surprise the next day when I came face to face with this sight (please excuse the photo, as I took it while my husband and I were driving by)!

On the left you can see Rudolph and his friend, warmly clothed with little red hats and all, and on the right you see a black truck with a giant and scary tarantula on top of it. I thought Christmas had taken a gloomy turn this year…

When I arrived to the office I shared my confusion with my Lebanese colleagues, to their great amusement. And I finally received the piece of information I was missing: on December 4^th, the Lebanese celebrate the holiday of Saint Barbara, or “Eid il-Burbara” as it is commonly known.

This is a holiday celebrated by Arab Christians in Syria, Lebanon, Jordan and Palestine and the story goes as follows: Barbara- a lady from Baalbek in Lebanon- was put in a tower a la Rapunzel by her pagan (and a bit intense) father to preserve her from the outside world.

In her hours of solace, she became a Christian (not sure how), rejected an offer of marriage and added three windows to her private bath-house as a symbol of the Holy Trinity. The father not being a very tolerant guy, tried to kill her when he discovered her devotions. Miraculously, an opening in the tower wall appeared. Barbara escaped and disguised herself in numerous characters to elude the Romans who were persecuting her (hence the Halloween costumes). After a long series of miracles, the story came to a sad end for Barbara and she was condemned to death. Her own father beheaded her, only to be struck by lightning on the way home and his body was consumed by flames as punishment.

One cool tradition: while fleeing persecution, Barbara supposedly also ran through a freshly planted wheat field, which grew instantly to cover her path. This miracle is recreated symbolically today in Lebanon by planting wheat seeds in cotton wool on Saint Barbara’s feast day. The seeds germinate and grow up to around 6 inches in time for Christmas, when the shoots are used to decorate the nativity scene usually placed below the Christmas tree (thank you Wikipedia!).

And a final note: Saint Barbara is the patron saint of artillerymen, military engineers, miners and others who work with explosives (because of her old legend's association with lightning). Let us hope that she doesn’t intervene too much in our region these days…