Snow and Cousin O

First Snow of the Year

Cousin O, Sister H, Brother A and dog Boeffie

First snow of the year. And so we go for our annual sledding pilgrimage to the snow. It’s too early to ski yet, but we need to touch the snow. The idea was to go to Qannat Bakish, a quiet area near Faqra, but the traffic has been absolutely horrendous the past two weeks, so by the time I got to Antelias, I had been in a constant traffic jam, and opted for Zaarour instead, a ski resort about 45 kilometers outside Beirut.

Cousin O still looks a litl subdued due to the crash

Lebanon officially has 6 ski resorts, but only 3 offer decent skiing (Ceders, Laqlouq and Feraya). The others are either too low and the snow is always slushy, or the place looks positively run-down. But they’re good for sleighing.

Two Snow Angels

Cousin O
This will probably be the last time that my sister in-law entrusts her son into my care. Mind you, nothing happened to him this time. I mean, he’s still alive. Okay, a few bruises maybe. I do not know, but cousin O should become a stunt man later in life. My son never really got into disastrous accidents. Yes, he skied into a few people, fell off the bike head first and closed car doors on his fingers. But nothing to the extent of what cousin O manages to pull off. This guy, with his 6 years, falls head first into deep crevasses. I should have know; last sleighing expedition ended up with cousin O being brushed all over his chin and neck. This time, he did not see the end of the slope coming (how could he not? There was a fence!), ducked to sleigh under the fence (10 centimeters high) and then off the wall. Due to the snowfall, he only fell about a meter or so. Head first, Of course, cousin O wouldn’t have it any other way. And so he’s got this bruise all on the left side of his face. I delivered him as the night fell, and in the poor light of the street lamps, I was rather relieved that his parents did not notice the bruise right away.

His mom will, however, as soon as she gets him into the tub. And then she will – once again – make a vouch never to send her son along with this dangerous and reckless aunt of his from Holland.

A view of the snowcapped Lebanon Mountains as the sun sets

Saddam Hussein

The American government at times can be rather poor in its judgment. I am listening to the news, and it doesn’t sound good. One Arab personality after the other is speaking out against the hanging of Saddam Hussein. The guy may have been bad, no, he may have been appalling, but he was their bad guy, so what right do the Americans think they have to come to Baghdad and execute an Arab leader? And to execute him on Adha of all things? That’s what I am hearing. Poor judgment.
They are even showing the video on how he is being prepared for his hanging. Very sad. And even poorer poor judgment. How do they think this will go down in the Arab world? They don’t even hang their own prisoners anymore! Lethal injection would have been a better PR move.

I am trying to figure out what message the Americans are trying to send to the world. But whatever the message is, the Arabs are not taking it very well.
When Bush was about to invade Iraq (the 2nd time), I went to the Sit Zeinab area near Damascus, where the majority of the Iraqi exiles have settled down over a number of years. These are people that had to flee from Iraq because of Saddam Hussein. They were either threatened, or their family was threatened, and basically had to run for their lives. And even these people said back then that although Saddam Hussein was a bad guy, he was ‘their bad guy’, and they could not see anything positive coming from the Americans barging into Baghdad and deposing the guy. An Iraqi doctor I spoke to said: “We need help from the Americans, and we appreciate the help from the Americans, but a revolution has to come from within, not from the outside. It will not work if it is imposed.” How right he was.
It is not working and the Americans finally seem to admit that Iraq is currently in a state of civil war.
On CNN they are interviewing Arabs from Dearborn, Michigan (all which are from Bint Jbeil, South-Lebanon, as I understand), and they seem very happy. “He got what he deserved.” But this is not at all the feel I get from the news stations here. Quite the opposite. This is not going to go down well.
It is amazing how poor the decision making of the American government can be at times. Don’t they have advisors that can read the Arab world and Arab sentiments? Did they think anyone was going to be happy about this? Couldn’t they have solved this a bit more careful. Give the guy life, and then secretly poisoning him, making it look like he contracted pneumonia or so, so he’d die in jail, and hey, what can you do about that? But no, they made such an overtly defying statement, that it is hard to understand what the point was.

78 Martyrs

I visited a friend of mine in the southern suburbs this morning, and noticed this long line of ‘new’ martyrs in Haret Hreik. We tend to forget, or at least I do, that there was a war this summer, because nothing much happened in my part of town.

But here the sign are very present, yet subtle. There this bridge for instance, that used to look differently, courtesy of the IAF.

And then there’s a new martyr on every lamppost, going all the way from the roundabout near the Kuwaiti Embassy (street names don’t work in Beirut, only landmarks), down past the Palestinian camp (never can remember which one it is, Sabra or Chatila), to the intersection with Hadi Nasrallah Boulevard (yes, son of Hassan Nasrallah), and then up to Martyr’s Graveyard.

78 martyrs in all, I counted them (they’re double sided). Some are so young; they don’t look one day over 16. Most of them obviously have their teenage acne photo-shopped away. Some of them are in their thirties. A few look so good they could have reached Hollywood status. One of them had a very distinctive Jewish nose, sign of the Semitic similarities between the two foes.

The term ‘martyr’ is a bit of a sensitive one. A martyr is ‘a person who voluntarily suffers death as the penalty of witnessing to and refusing to renounce a religion or a person who sacrifices something of great value and especially life itself for the sake of principle’. I assume Hezbollah talks about the second part, at least I hope so, since the resistance should be based on the principle of land, not religion. Anyway, they were soldiers, and can you consider a soldier a ‘martyr’?

I think the term is being overused. Anyone dying in Lebanon these days, whether it is voluntary or not, is called a martyr. A Lebanese blogger, from Beirut to the Beltway, some time ago had a very interesting post about this ‘martyr’ culture, and how death becomes a way of life.

Some sources say Hezbollah lost about 250 of their fighters, others say it is more. It doesn’t really matter. It is a sad sight, these 78 young faces. I am sure, with the world being as small as it is, I must have crossed the path of some of them.

You Know She Is A True Lebanese

You know she is a true Lebanese when . . .
you come home from the supermarket and she (4 years old) has spent her time wisely by filling her shirt with toilet paper in order to get ‘boobies’. After all, what's a girl to do without boobies?

Snow in the mountains. First snow of the year. Maybe a little hard to see, but even at the lower hills there is snow.

Elf Yourself

Marijke, a fellow Dutch expatriate to this intricate yet sad country at the moment, and a very good friend of mine as well, send me this postcard. A funny one. A little too late, I admit, but hey, you can use it next year if you store it under your favorites.

Cold Weather

Winter is in town; a walk on the Corniche (Beach Boulevard) is off the program for the moment. It’s 8 degrees outside, 22 degrees inside, and the rain is hitting the windows from the north as I write this. Usually we get the wind from the sea, the west. Northern wind means cold cold weather. We’ll be skiing before 2007 if this continues.

So we did some shopping instead. And no, I don't think this is part of an Aoun add campaign; I think it announces the coming of a coffee shop.

The Day After Christmas

Nothing much happening. First rain of December, with a little luck we get to ski before the new year (if I don't step into another hole)No, no snow on Hamra. This is a bubble blowing machine. I have been contemplating getting Hana this gift for Christmas. I retrospect, I think it was a good idea not too.

I did buy a nice juice chicken though. Wonderful system, these 'chicken on the go' in Lebanon.

Merry Christmas

A Very Merry Christmas to you all. (Click on the link. An excellent Christmas song with Madeleine Peyroux and k.d. lang)

Walk on the Wild Side

They’re building like mad in my neighborhood. And for every building pit, they set up a crane. I had never seen how they assembled these things, but yesterday they did it right in front of my kitchen window.
It was done by a couple of daredevils. A reminder that laws don’t really apply in this country. I was weak in my knees from just watching them.

These guys were working at least 40 meters above the ground. No security lines. No safety net. One wrong move, and SCHPLATTT! they’re dead. No labor laws prohibiting this. No danger pay for these guys. I doubt they even get extra pay for this. Or whether their pay is decent to start with.

And who will take care of their families if they drop dead? (No need to worry about disability pay. They’ll never survive this fall, not even partially).


And so they worked there, nonchalant, unmoved and unconcerned, smoking a cigarette, connecting the crane parts bit by bit, tinkering around a but at 40 meters above Beirut. Impressive.

Another reminder that laws do not really apply in this country was a story I heard yesterday over dinner. This lady explained how she got her driver’s license in Montreal, Canada. Everything went well, but her driving instructor just did not understand why she did not pull up as soon as the green light appeared.

“Ya madame, you do not understand the country I am coming from. Just because the light is green doesn’t mean it is safe. The other side will keep on driving anyway. Or there will be a policeman standing on the intersection telling you to get a move on, regardless of the lights, or maybe there is a police car passing by who is at the end of their shift and he wants to go home, or maybe it is someone who knows somebody high up in the police force so he does not really have to stop at the red light, or maybe . . . “ and she had another few reasons why in Lebanon, you do not drive at the green light, but first you check whether the coast is clear.
It’s all about living on the Wild Side, I guess.

All I Want for Christmas

Some nice images I got from other blogs. It is sad, in a way, but it is good that Lebanese are at least speaking out against this current and major big time idiotic pro- and anti- movement.

I am Somebody Who Is With Nobody

For the non Arab reader/speaker; this one (up) calls for a demonstration on Thursday, 4:30 at Hamra (crossing of Wimpy and the old Modca). Problem: it doesn't say which Thursday. Anyway, it a demonstration of people who are with nobody. "I am somebody who is with nobody." Nice initiative.

We Are The Real Majority

Mazen Kerbaj is an up and coming cartoonist who started publishing during the war. He's got some excellent work. This one of one of my favorites:

It reads: On the 14th of March 2006 around one million persons went on the streets. On the 1st of December 2006 around one million persons went on the streets. A quick calculation gives us the following result: the real majority in this country are the 2 million people who stayed home.

I'm an Arab, You Donkey

This one is from a newspaper, I don't know which one. It reads "What are you? A sunni muslim, a shiite muslim, a christian, a druze?" And the guy sitting on the barrel replies: "I'm an Arab, you donkey."

Joseph Has Gone Missing

I noticed this morning that Joseph has gone missing. He’s left the little peaceful family in the manger under my Christmas tree. Maria is now stuck all alone with a shepherd and the three wise guys. Wise men may be a more accurate terminology, I think. But that is an oxymoron, as my friend Lois would say.

It must confuse our nanny (the new one) quite a bit, as I have noticed that she recently has decided to take charge of the religious education of my children. I heard her explain to my daughter all about Jesus, and Maria, and the ox and the donkey. Now that Joseph is gone, I think she has given the shepherd the task of being Joseph, but any decent christian knows that Joseph is not the guy that carries the lamb on his shoulder in the manger.

That manger has quite a history. Growing up in a religiously mixed family can be a bit of a challenge at times. What religion do you follow? We solved that quite conveniently by picking all the nice bits of all the religious feasts, and dropping all the demanding stuff. And so we celebrate all the time, because apart from the Islamic feasts, we are blessed in Lebanon with not one Christmas and Easter, but two. (Different christians, what can I say?) With Christmas we therefore get the tree and the turkey, but skip the midnight mass, because getting everyone out of bed in time for church is a bit of a hassle.

And under the tree we have a manger. When I was young we had a manger under the Christmas tree, I played endlessly with the sheep and the ox and the donkey, and hubbie decided that this was a tradition to continue. So when Eddie was 4, we bought him a manger. “And you’ve got to explain who’s who”, insisted hubbie, “otherwise it’s useless.”
There I went.
‘This is Maria, and here is the donkey and the ox, and Joseph, and the three wise men” and on and on I went. Eddie was quite engaged in the whole story.
‘And who is this?” Eddie finally asked, pointing at the baby in the crib.
“Oh, that’s Jesus.”
”Ooooooh,” replied my son, “putting his hand in front of his mouth, “that’s a bad word.”

It took me a while before I figured it out. Whenever something goes wrong in the house, and I get upset, I curse, loud and frequently. And Jesus is the unfortunate victim. “No no, this is baby Jesus. He’s nice,” I tried to explain, but for my son, the impression was made.

My housekeeper, who has worked in the Gulf for a number of years, pointed out to me that my hubbie must be the only muslim in the world who says ‘Jesus Christ’ when cursing. He’s got that bit from me. Cultural diffusion, and all that. I went out, bought some books, and we got around the baby Jesus bit. From that moment on he saw Jesus everywhere, as he features quite a bit in East Beirut, and he pointed him out everywhere, just as he would with his favorite soccer hero.

When the Christmas tree came, and I asked him it was time to put the manger under the tree, he still remembered all the names. But that baby? What was that baby’s name again? He knew it was something that his Mom said when she was upset, and it wasn’t really a nice word.
“Okay Mom, where do you want me to put baby bull****”?
And that was the end of the religious education of my son. I figured that it was no use anyway. But we kept the manger, it is a nice tradition.

My daughter now, just like I used to do, can play for hours on end with the little statues. The shepherd misses a leg, and the animals no longer have any ears. One of the wise man’s crown is chipped, but it doesn’t matter. The Play Mobil horses sleep in the manger, and the Barbie car drives the holy family around the living room now and then. Action man stands guard with his AK47, making sure that the holy family is safe and all that.

But to no avail. Joseph has skipped the crib, and he’s gone AWOL. We will probably find him under the couch in spring, when we take the carpets out.

Going for a Walk

We went for a walk on Sunday afternoon in the mountains above Beirut. Weather was absolutely fantastic.

Assimilation Course Part 3

We went for a walk this afternoon in the mountains. The weather was absolutely fantastic. And when in Lebanon, you eat like the Lebanese. And that will be manakoushi (pronounced as ‘mana’oushi’, you drop the ‘k’), a type of bread, spread with either thyme (zaatar) mixed with sesame seeds, or cheese. Or both; the famous cocktail.

Some like it baked in the oven (fouren), but I prefer it the ‘saasj’ way; on a hot round griddle.

They cost next to nothing (4 manakoushi, 3 drinks; costs $4, and I know places where you can get it even cheaper).
You want to do this at home? Here’s a site explaining how to make the saasj. You can even buy the manakoushi online. (Will not vouch for the quality though, they have to be eaten hot and fresh)

My absolute favorite is the lady that bakes them on Saturday mornings on the ski slopes of Wardeh (Feraya). Drawback; she’s only there in wintertime. Second best is this lady near Shimlan, in the mountains above Beirut. But everybody here has his/her favorite.

Size Matters

It’s is one of the biggest billboards I have seen. In Lebanon, size matters. It’s next to the Airport Rd, and can be seen from both sides. Actually, if you look carefully, you can see the left hand going up, and on the other side it goes up as well, so when you see it from a specific angle, the two hands meet, and he looks like a ballerina doing a pirouette. Not very respectful that is, I bet. I was always told that in (the observant part of) Islam, it was not allowed to use the images of humans. That is why Islamic art is so specialized in these beautiful geometrical patterns that you often see in mosques. Especially in Iran they have some amazing art work in that area. But then again, you do have Khomeiny on the paper money, so I guess that there are exceptions. Anyway, you see Nasrallah pretty much anywhere.
It is nice red, all in the Christmas spirit. All that’s missing is snowflakes falling.

Ode to the Housekeeper

We tried to convince her that the Promised Land really wasn’t what they say it is, but to no avail. After 500 trips to the Amn el-Aam (General Security, I believe), and an equal number of trips to the American embassy, our housekeeper has accomplished what many Lebanese fail to do: an American entrance visa and a Lebanese exit visa. And both overlapping each other. That last bit is quite a feat. So she actually gets to leave Lebanon while she is still able to enter the US. And so we say goodbye to Mariza, who ran our house for almost five years. She’s flying out tonight, to the Promised Land. Florida, to be exact. We wish her luck. But oh Lord, who will help us now to find our stuff?

On Being Lebanese

A fantastic video (that I do not seem able to post on my web) on the direction that Lebanon currently seems to be taking. Hattip to the Perpetual Refugee!

And I just noticed I’ve reached the 1,000 visitors. Well, 899 are probably mine, but nevertheless, it’s nice to see.

The Tree Ain't Real

I am late this year, but things have been rather hectic lately. (Blame it on the Israelis and the Syrians) Getting the tree took quite some time and effort. It’s difficult getting somewhere in this town these days, because there are either demonstrations, blockades, commemoration services, funerals or assassinations. Always a reason to block off a road to a certain part of town, and those trees were out of reach forever. When I finally did get around to shop for a tree, prices has gone up quite a bit. Was the cheapest tree at Exotica around 100,000 pounds last year, this year they wanted a whopping 148,000 for a tree that looks like it was imported from Chernobyl. I did my math; $100 for 20 days is about $5 a day for a tree. I drove all over town, but either they were pathetic looking, or equally expensive. And so I pulled out (and dusted) the old fake one we had somewhere in the attic.
Apart from the odor (which I love but to which hubbie is allergic), it doesn’t look too bad. It is a sign of the times though. We’re having to cut back, due to a poor economy, and deal with the surrogate rather than the real.
Next year I’m going for a real tree again. It just doesn’t feel right, this plastic thing.

Christmas is coming, but I don't know about Merry this year.

To keep you in the Christmas Spirt, here's how to make snowflakes.

It has no Lebanese feel to it

I went downtown today, for a bit of background information for tomorrow’s big demonstration. Downtown is where Hezbollah and its allies have set up camp in order to force the government to give the shia a greater – fairer – share in the power. I did not come back with a very good feeling. It was in the afternoon, so maybe the shifting light did it, but I came back with an ominous feeling.
I couldn’t quite figure out why, but I think I know now why.

I’ve been to many demonstrations and manifestations in this country. Not because I am politically the most engaged person, but because my job as (an occasional) journalists stipulated it. And usually, when you go to big gatherings in Lebanon, you can find hundreds of people to talk to. In fact, everybody wants to talk to you, preferably all at the same time. And what they like even more is that they will start arguing – in front of you – about what should be said to ‘al sagafiya’ (journalist). It is refreshing, this Lebanese habit. This freedom to speak, the desire to speak your mind. Sometimes they agree with each other, more often they contradict one another, but at least they talk.

Today, I found it difficult to find anyone who would talk. There are plenty of people around. It's downright busy, but nobody talks. Excruciating difficult. Really talk. I found a tent with a couple of guys who were smoking nargilah, and spoke with them. They explained that they were university students and that during the day they were in the university, then they’d go home for a shower, and they spent the night downtown in their tent. Hezbollah fed them, they said. But that was it. Then I found a couple of girls, who spoke a little, but felt shy about their language, and then the conversation was taken over by a guy. Who talked, but did not really say anything.
Nobody in the Hezbollah camp talks. I went to look for the organization that feeds all these people. Nobody knows anything. Nobody can tell you anything, answers are evasive at best. Who got all those tents there? ‘Their own parties.” 1,000 the same tents? Are you kidding? What company has 1,000 white tents in stock? Who feeds them? “Everybody organizes their own food; Hezbollah only feeds those that work for the party. Nobody else.” And how many do you feed? “Oh, we don’t know, it changes from day to day. With how many people do you sleep here? “That depends on the day.” The Indibat guys almost outnumber the demonstrators. But nobody is willing to tell you how many there are. You see some women, but it is mainly men, between the ages of 17 to 30, 50 maybe. The Timberland boots, black coats, little grey caps. Earpieces, al lot of them. Few smiles. Well, maybe after a week on the pavement with that march music going on at volume 10, there is very little to smile about.
But they do not want to talk to journalists. It just does not feel like a people’s movement. Not like I am used to. This is a professional organization. This has been planned weeks in advance. This is no spontaneous uprising from people that are legitimately upset. Hezbollah has just shifted its entire fighting force, which occupied the Israelis so professionally this summer, to downtown. There are no women. No families. The tents are occupied by their young men only.

It does not feel Lebanese. It doesn’t even feel Arabic. There’s this Iranian feel to it. It does not feel right. I think the Shiites have a very legitimate concern when it comes to their participation in the run of this country. Actually, either one is going to have to do a census, or get rid of this confessional system. But it does not feel right the way Hezbollah takes this think in hand.

The Art of Hamstering (or Stocking Up)

You’re going to laugh at me. Especially if you live in Holland. But I just came back from the supermarket, and bought food for about three months. Well, maybe not three months, but for a loooooong time. I’ve got kilos of rice, sugar, flour, powdered milk, chick peas, lentils and toilet paper stashed away. I’ve got cans of coffee, chocolate powered, ravioli, Campbell’s Chicken Soup, Swan luncheon meat and spaghetti sauce on the shelves. Extra tahina, liters of cooking oil and olive oil and skimmed milk. Candles, boxes and boxes of those. Matches too. Chocolate paste, and apple sauce. You name it, I’ve got it, and I’ve got it in surplus. In Holland, we call that ‘hamsteren’. Hence the title, ‘the art of hamstering’. Enough food to survive a war.

And that’s exactly what the purpose is behind this shopping trip. Personally, I don’t think it is ever going to get that far. But the rhetoric between Hezbollah and the government isn’t exactly improving these days. Sunday’s Hezbollah demonstration promises to be a biggie!
But even if we’re going to into some kind of disagreement with each other (Lebanese, that is), shops will always remain open, or at least a couple of hours a day. I mean, we’re not going to starve.
So I sort of disagree, but hubbie says that “you weren’t here during the war. I’d go into the supermarket and find empty shelves.” I cannot argue with him, I wasn’t here.
I have to add that hubbie never ever ventures into a supermarket. At least not since he married me. So how would he know what an ‘empty’ shelf look like? And besides, who cares if the shelves for the chicken wieners are empty, we don’t eat those anyway.
However, I was given the order to go out and ‘stock up’, so – the obedient wife that I am – I did.

I’ve never had to do this before, so I am not sure if I did it right. I mean, we never ever eat canned food, so why buy canned food right now? I probably end up having this at my kitchen shelves until two years after the expiry date, and then we throw it away. I still have like 27 cans of sardines in the cupboards, remnants of this summer’s war (when hubbie went stocking up. We have never eaten canned sardines in our lives! Where he got that sudden inspiration, I do not know). We’ve finally munched our way through a massive amount of serial and toasted bread, also from this summer.

And what about the 7 packs of spaghetti? It’s going to mighty dry if we have spaghetti, but no sauce to go with it. Well, I bought the sauce as well, but you need fresh mushrooms, and fresh tomatoes, and onions and bell peppers, and minced meat as well. So in theory I’d need to stock up on those as well, but you can’t. So you’ve got to go to the store anyway to buy those items, and then you might as well by the spaghetti too, no?

So what is the purpose of all this, if I may ask? I bought flour and yeast and sugar, so I can bake my own bread (don’t laugh, I have a bread machine). And I’ve got extra butter in the fridge. But what to put on the bread? I cannot stock up on cheese, and I hate jam. So back to the supermarket, to buy the salami. Well, if I go to the supermarket to buy salami, I might as well buy the bread as well, no?

I find all this stocking up useless, without purpose, and I just spend about a million pounds on food items I’d never touch if it weren’t for the fact that hubbie wants to be ready, ‘just in case’. Well, I am ready. Bring ‘em on!

And in the meantime, what did I forget? The wine! May God help me (and Lebanon) if I do not have my wine.

No Laughing Matter

It used to be that we could make relentless fun of each others religion and political convictions in my circle of friends. And did we ever. But those days seem to have come to an end. I thought it would be a slow process, but it happened rather abruptly. Within a matter of days, religion is no longer an issue we can make fun of; political convictions are becoming serious business. Yes, our backgrounds no longer are a laughing matter.

It started creeping in, slowly, right after this summer war. It aggravated when Nasrallah announced he wanted a greater representation for the shia, and that he would topple the government if they wouldn’t get it (or you might argue that it got worse when the government refused to give in. These days, everthing has two sides, and two side only). And now it is at its peak.

Friends come to me and tell how other friends have insulted them, because they talk of ‘those animals down at the zoo in downtown’. Others come and complain, and say they never knew that so-and-so was such a hard liner, because have you heard what he said …? Some friends are afraid, saying that this is no longer their Lebanon, and that they are disgusted by it all, but in the meantime, they do not sit with so and so anymore, because he said that she said, and you know, he is a maronite, after all. Well, you all know about them, don’t you? Aaah, you weren’t here during the war! Well habibti, let me tell you about the maronites and their ouwet. Another good friend, I’ve know him for 7 years, suddenly surprises me with a remark that I never thought I’d hear from him. He’d rather live under the Iranians than under the Saudis. And do you know who’s been buying up all that christian land in the mountains…? I didn’t even know politics interested him.
But this is no longer about politics, now is it? This is about tribes. Us and them. And you got to stick with the Us, because the Us will look out for us, not them.

And so we seem to have landed back in 1975. For a fleeting moment, I thought maybe I should gather this Ali somebody’s name, the young man that was shot on Sunday during fights between shia and sunni youth in a sunni neighborhood (didn’t I warn you about the young guns?), as he might be the first victim of a long list to come. Because wouldn’t it be something, if we had the names of all the people that died in Lebanon’s civil war (1976 – 1990), than we could make this mighty long wal, just like the Vietnam Memorial, with all their names carved in marble.
Bt nobody ever thought of keeping track of all the names, because nobody thought it would last that long. So I thought, maybe we should keep track of the names this time. Just in case. So that we can make a monument for the new war.

My friends say it is the stupidest idea they’ve ever heard of.

I think they are afraid to admit.

Oh well. But if you want to know what might happen next, if the so-called leaders of all these parties do not get wiser, whteher pro-this or anti-that, I refer to a fantastically well done website; http://www.111101.net/
Especially the facts page is a good reminder. I see many links.

In Which my Mother Joins a Hezbollah Demonstration

So while we (kids and I + 91 year old father) ran the Beirut International Marathon (a bit of an overstatement, we did not do the 42K but the 10K Fun Run, and did not even run that one but just walked it), my mother decided that at the age of 85, some political activism would suit her well, and she joined the Hezbollah demonstration downtown. Yep, she was part of that group of people which caused CNN to write 'More protests as Lebanon political crisis deepens.'

Right now supporters of the pro-Syrian christian (former) general Aoun, en the Iranian backed Hezbollah have set up camp in downtown Beirut to force the government to step down. The two camps (interestingly enough) do not mix. You’ve got the Aoun supporters on the square on above Martyr’s Square, whereas Hezbollah & Co are quartered at Riad el-Solh Square. Now doesn’t that bother anyone?

And apparently, as we had just set off to the Start line, my mother - in an attempt to follow us -somehow got caught up in a parallel manifestation, which were the Aoun supporters who had decided to go ‘en masse’ to mass.

She tried to go back, but said there was no way going against the stream, so she just went along with the crowd, and somehow she ended up ‘facing a church’, she said. “They were all carrying some type of flag. Orange, or something.”

After a while she made another attempt to somehow get back to the marathon route, but stumbled upon a group of tents with yellow flags. She looked into one, she was quite curious, until somehow asked her if they could help her. Well, she was waiting for her husband who was walking the marathon. Oh, that one finished quite some time ago, they replied. Now we had been trying to call her for over an hour already, but her phone was at the bottom of her bag, and she did not reply.
So finally she did, but she did not know where she was. Someone else helped me out. “She’s at Riad el-Sol, at the Hezbollah camp.” I went to pick her up, barely could get through with my car.

I think there were as many people as there were Hezbollah security people. This is no people’s movement; this is a movement run by paid professionals who take their business very serious. No wonder they call it a state within a state. Some bloggers write that they had friends going there saying that there were barely any people and that there were many Syrians out there. Maybe they should go out there and have a look for themselves. This is something worrying. No Syrians in sight. And lots (and I mane LOTS) of people.

Anyway, Mom was retrieved, everyone had been extremely pleasant and helpful, and we went back home. And that was show my Mom ended up in a Hezbollah demonstration.

Sinterklaas in Beiroet/Saint Nicolas in Beirut

This is part of your Inburgeringscursus (assimilation course) into the Dutch Culture, so pay attention. Sinterklaas (St. Nicolas) was on his way to Holland, where he is supposed to celebrate his birthday on December 5th with the Dutch children, and he decided (as he does every year) to make a stop-over for the Dutch children in Beirut. Sinterklaas was not deterred by the recent political upheavals that have plagued the country for quite some time now. He’s too old to be worried about minor details like that.
So here a picture of Sinterklaas as he was on his way out, with some of the children. What are these two rather black people doing by his side, you may wonder? Ah, that is a remnant of Dutch culture which will not be around much longer if we are going to be any more culturally sensitive and tolerant then we already are. Those are the Zwarte Pieten (Black Peet). They are the helpers of Sinterklaas. Sinterklaas, for those who don’t know, lives in Spain, and these black Peets are actually Moors, from the days when Arabs still were the rulers of Spain.

The Day After

Read my article here (In Dutch).
I came across this interesting picture. I ‘borrowed’ it from here. (This guy often has good pictures.) What you see is one of the main roads leading to Ashrafiya, a christian neighborhood. The army (you can see the soldiers and their equipment) has cordoned off the neighborhood to prevent Hezbollah followers to get into the area and provoke the inhabitants into fighting. The mood in that neighborhood is already tense, especially after fighting between christian parties broke out last Sunday. But who is standing right in front of the army? The infamous Hezbollah crowd-control people (with their white caps), who are in the first line of defense, so to speak. Hezbollah did not want any trouble yesterday.
The gap between the different communities, in the meatnime, is widening, according to a poll. I don’t need a poll in order to have noticed that.

Beirut Sighs With Relief

Beirut sighs with relief. You can almost feel a breeze coming through. The pressure cooker has let off steam. For now at least, who knows what will happen next, now that the government is besieged in its own offices. Sounds a little medieval, besieging one another. I had expected an angrier crowd, but they were happy, as usual.

A government besieged

I had some reservations going there, I must admit. Nothing more unglamorous than getting trampled by a crowd, don’t your think? But the atmosphere was good. Or as good as it gets, I suppose.

Today’s demonstration was pretty successful in many ways. Apart from the fact that I sold 550 words to the paper. A huge number of people showed up. The BBC spoke initially of ‘thousands’ and CNN had ‘200,000’ on the screen, but by my estimates there were way more than that. It is difficult to estimate, because they were so spread, over both bridges all the way up to Ashrafiya, under the bridges, part of Martyr’s Square, the parking in front of the Buddha bar, the UN park (with trampled flowers I am afraid), so I don’t know how many, but hundreds of thousands at least. Successful also because no fights broke out, something everyone had been dreading for the past weeks.

The guys with the white caps are part of Hezbollah's crowd-control department;

known for their lack of humor.

Hezbollah’s crowd-control guys are impressive. You could almost consider them handsome if it weren’t for the fact that these guys just don’t have a darn sense of humor, unlike other Lebanese. They were all over the place, little white caps, plastic earpieces; the whole works.
A couple of guys from Ouzai had this big drum with them, and one was carrying a sombrero, and they were dancing and cavorting around, but the Hezbollah guys didn’t like that one bit. When you ask Mr. crowd-control how many of them are there, or what they are doing, or how things are going, you get the same answer; “I’m sorry, I cannot talk.” Without one friggin’ smile.

Of course, for the Hariri camp, this was not so successful. Hezbollah seems to be able to gather a bigger crowd. I am not saying that this implies they are the majority, but their supporters are simply more willing to get into that bus, and spend the day in a packed square.

I guess this is what scares most people about Hezbollah; you’ve got Iran right at your doorsteps.

Quite a lot of Aoun guys as well. I don’t see how the girls with hip-hugging pants hanging so low they defy gravity, can feel comfortable in a crowd with so many hungry eyes. This is a personal issue. When going to these types of demonstrations, I usually dress up like a virtual nun, and still you get the stares, and the guys who want to chat you up.

I have some more pictures, but blogger has decided that it's had enough for tonight. It'll have to wait.