You Must Be a Different Breed

We picked up this crummy street cat from a Beirut parking lot some four years ago because hubbie thought its ‘David Bowie’ eyes (he’s got one blue and one green eye) were interesting. Since then, all I ever get to see of this cat is a glimpse in the morning, when I enter the living room, and he retreats to his top drawer in an old desk in a room behind the kitchen. The cat (yes, he never even got a name) will sit in that drawer all day long, because he basically hates everybody’s guts, and will only come out at night, when the housekeeper has gone, the kids are in bed, and I am immobilized on the couch due to the laptop on my (hence the name) lap. He will come out, and sit on my husband’s lap. Hubbie is able to do just about anything with this cat, the evil creature is extremely docile with hubbie.

“See, I am excellent with animals, I can tame them all,” hubbie said tonight.

And after a while he added; “I wonder why I haven’t been able to tame you yet.” . . .

Some more silence.

“You must be a different breed.”

A tree grows in Beirut. Niceley wedged in a wall. "Don't litter here," the sign reads.

Can You Spell S.O.A.K.E.D.

Well, Ashoura has come and gone, without any problems. Nasrallah wants us (the Lebanese) to go out and liberate Shebaa Farms. Although I have a dear colleague who is from Shebaa, and who can vouch for the fact that she has a Lebanese passport, and therefore, Shebaa Farms must be Lebanese, I can’t run warm over this little puny piece of land. I love the way Nasrallah says’ Bush’ though. He has a very distinct way of pronouncing his name. Let them have Shebaa if it gives us peace. It is not very correct though. Today it is Shebaa, tomorrow it is another small piece of land. I know it is all about principles, but people are getting tired of it. At least in this part of town. And in the end, that’s what it is all about; ‘your part of town.’

A' thing' coming out of the ground at Verdun.

But it all got watered down in the end by a deluge. By the afternoon, when the rain moved in, the town was empty. People are staying home. I wonder though; if you are staying home now, and things aren’t even that bad, what you’re going to do when the shit really hits the fan? And how did you manage during the civil war?
I went out though. Encountered this ‘thing’ that came out of the ground near Verdun (A Beirut neighborhood). The Beirut sewer system is not altogether up-to-date. And since the city is build on a hill (or hills) it all runs down to the seaside, and then the sewers just cannot cope with it any longer and expel it. I got absolutely soaked. SOAKED! Can You Spell S.O.A.K.E.D?

A nice spray painting on a wall near Clemenceau (due you hear the French colonial history? Verdun, Clemenceau. . ..)

Ashoura

It is Ashoura today. I am contemplating whether to attend the rally in Dayihe (Southern Suburbs) or Nabatiya (small city in south Lebanon). The one in Dahiye is – like the entire neighborhood – controlled by Hezbollah. It will be an impressive and fantastically well organized manifestation. However, the one in Nabatiya, where Amal - another shia (political) party- still has a lot of say in daily matters, is much more colorful and authentic, as far as I am concerned.

After Thursday's clashes between sunni and shia students, I assume they are going to make a big rally out of this one. I’ve attended the one in Nabatiya for about ten times now. A very medieval atmosphere descends upon the city during Ashoura. It is not a typical shia thing, though. They do this type of commemoration in Christian countries as well. In Spain, and in catholic Latin America as well. They use chains though, instead of knives, but the result is the same. And there is this one guy, who has made it his mission to drag a cross all around the Middle East in order to apologize for the misdoings of the Crusaders in this part of the world. He’s cheating though, he placed the cross on a little wheel.

An Ashoura participant (Nabatiya, 2002). He was waiting for his juice at the Red Cross Ambulance. The Red Cross cleans up all participants once they've been through the whole experience, and sends them home with juice.

My newspaper already did a story on it (in Dutch) as there seems to be somewhat of a shia community in The Netherlands as well. Most are of Pakistani origin, but lately they have seen an influx of Iraqi shia. No mention of the Lebanese shia yet, so that’s a good sign. Things are not so bad yet that they’ve got to flee the country and seek refugee status outside.
The weather sucks. It is cold, which is good if you can’t stand the smell of blood. In Nabatiya, when Ashoura is in summer time, there is this overwhelmingly sweet smell, a bit like rusted iron that got wet and then dries in the sunlight. To cool down the overheated crowd (they have to keep moving in circles around the town’s center, which is a soccer field in Nabatiya), the fire department sprays water, which mixes in with the blood and sand on the streets, so you wade through this muddy and bloody mixture. I know this does not sound very appealing, but I assure you, if you ever get to Lebanon, attending Ashoura is a must.

Red Cross helpers run with the people, since (especially when it is hot) they pass out left and right. One things has changed since I first got to the country: Aids awareness has made all Red Cross people wear surgical gloves.

Never a Dull Moment

Reading the newspapers in this country often gives you a rather odd feeling; this is not a real country, this is a fake country.
Like watching Dallas (it was Dynasty first, but my brother made me change it because he said I was much older than Dynasty), where in one show there would be a divorce, a death, a suicidal attempt, a coming-out-of-the-closet and something else dramatic, and this would continue show after show. Nobody goes through that much excitement in a lifetime, but in Dynasty the family experienced it on a weekly basis. A fake family.
Lebanon is, in many aspects, a fake country. Lots of idiotic stuff happens, on a weekly basis (granted, we have quiet spells too), and yet the Lebanese plough on.

This week, we had – besides the burning barricades, the strike and the fighting at the Arab university – the photo affaire (Absolutely loved that one. How can you be that dumb!), the balloon story (This one is in Dutch, you get a Dutch take on it) and an angry sjeikh Toufayli. Toufayli was one of the founding members of Hezbollah, but was ousted by Nasrallah and Iran somewhere in the 90’s because he was a bit of a loose canon. So obviously he hates the guy’s guts. Now that everyone is looking for a stick to beat up Nasrallah, they found one in Toufayli. He must be elated that the media is interviewing him again, the guy has been holed up in his mountain village for the past 6 years or so. And all this in the past three days! That’s a story a day, and sure keeps the doctor away. Never a dull moment in this place.

I mean, even the radishes are fake! How can radishes be THAT big! (I placed a lighter next to it for reference, couldn't find another useful object) It cannot be growth hormones or genetic manipulation, because that would be too expensive for the local farmers for radishes that sell (I think) at 30 eurocent a bunch. Granted, with radishes like this, you only get five in a bunch(there is one puny one in there too), but still.

Unless there is this zionist plot, helped by the Americans, that are secretly and genetically manipulating our radish crop by handing out free . . . . . .

Is that going to be tomorrow's top story? Remember, you read it here first!

Get Your T-Shirt Now!

I got this picture from the Imaginary Arab. A sign of things to come. I don't think so. I hope not.

Saturday Morning in Beirut

I was standing at an intersecton, waiting for the traffic cop to guide us through, when I noticed this guy standing on the other side of the street with this statue.

He kind of hung on her, put his hand around her waist a couple of times for fun. I guess they were waiting for a van to have it moved somewhere.

While the entire world expressed their grave and sincere concern at the spiraling violence in Lebanon (The United States on Monday voiced its grave concern over worsening violence in Lebanon where Hezbollah-led opposition supporters … & The German European Union Presidency on Tuesday expressed "great concern" over the continuing protests in Lebanon that have turned violent.), I decided that a skiing expedition would be in good order.

After all, we’re suffering to no extent in this place. The sun shines all the time, can’t leave the house at night, and even the supermarkets close early! At the university they disassemble desks in order to whack their fellow classmates on the head. Tuh tuh tuh. So skiing it was.

On the road the Laqlouq Getting closer

It’s been a while since I’ve been to Laqlouq, ‘cause I don’t recall the road the be that …. rural is the word, I think. The kind of road that requires a heavy duty sports bra. We left hungry, and I kept telling the kids we’d buy a manakish (local sandwich with thyme) on the road, but we arrived at deserted backwater after deserted backwater, and not as soul in sight. These little villages are all empty, and only see some inhabitants in the three summer months, when schools are closed, and everyone returns to the ‘Dai’a’ (the ‘village’, or place of birth). Narrow roads, and then you’d get stuck behind something like this for about 10 kilometers or so. What do they haul these stones around for anyway?
Okay, so we did get horribly lost. No road signs in sight either, except for some rusted ones in Arabic that were used for target practice. And there we’d stand for a good five minutes, trying to decipher the names. For those that know the region; we took the road through Mazraat es Siyad (map of all Lebanon’s backwaters). We even passed a Roman temple in the middle of nowhere. Absolutely fabulous.

We did arrive, absolutely famished, eventually, and it seems I had indeed taken the scenic route. No matter, it was pretty indeed. A good relaxant after days of uncertainty.

Laqlouq is one of the oldest ski-resorts in Lebanon, and it is not much of a resort to speak of. They have one mountain. Hill, actually. But if your are with kids, you’re not an Olympic skier and you’re not too concerned about red descents, it’s really very nice and relaxing. Especially since you are about the only ones on the slope. How come nobody in Europe knows this? In Laqlouq, you pay 12,000 LBP for a half day ski ticket! That’s 6.12 euros! Or about $8. For kids under 16 it’s only $6 (4.59) . And 4 year olds are for free. Is ANYBODY in Europe reading this? I paid 11 euros for a day of skiing. (Yes, go cry! But you don't get the burning barricades either.)

Well, I guess we won’t be seeing any tourist anytime soon. But we did manage to secure about 7 billion dollars. Lest we forget, we have a public debt of 42 billion dollars, and spend about 2 billion dollars a year on interest alone, so the 7 billion is not really going to open the flood gates. But it’s the thought that counts.

On the way back we took the 'regular' road'. It led us along the Bay of Jounieh (since the IDF bombed the bridge above the bay, we've got to take the road below, until they've rebuild the bridge again) . The bay always reminds me of Monaco. Maameltein, which is a town on this bay, much have been wonderful. A long time ago. Right now it is stacked with supernightclubs. They call them 'cabarets' in Lebanon. The unofficial 'red light district'.

Bay of Jouneih (sorry for the crummy cut and paste job).
We dropped by a friend's house, just in time to see the unset over Beirut (or actually on the right side of it.)

Sunset over Beirut
And that was it for the day. No skirmishes, riots, irregularities of street fighting today. Looks like things are relaxing.

Curfew / Avondklok

And so we have been grounded. I’ve never been grounded in my life, so it is a bit disturbing to be told that I may not leave my house until 6 o’clock tomorrow morning, provided the situation stays calm. The Dutch embassy even send us a note. (Avondklok = Dutch for curfew) Not that I often leave the house in the evenings, but still, it’s the thought that counts.
The supermarket closed early today; 6:00 instead of 10:00 P.M. As you may remember, I’ve got enough lentils and rice to last me until summer (and sardines; a left-over still from my hubbie’s war stock), but I went out to get some wine.

We’ll see if the roads are open tomorrow, and the curfew will be lifted. I’ve got to do a story, but that implies I actually have to go to the area. I will not say that these are strange times; I’ve said it often enough.

By the way, I thought this (read below) was so sad, that it is almost hilariously funny.

'BEIRUT, Lebanon Jan. 25 — Violence erupted in Beirut today for the second time in three days, as a lunchroom altercation at a Beirut university escalated into rioting and gunfire.
At least three people were shot dead and 35 were wounded in street fighting today that began with a scuffle inside the student cafeteria of the Beirut Arab University in the Sunni neighborhood of Tariq Jadideh. It spilled over into street violence in the surrounding area.

Is Tomorrow Going to Be a Normal Day?

Thursday, 3:12 P.M. local time
And there we go again. Something is going on around the Arabic University (Which one I don't know, there are several divisions in town). We don't know what. Something. Listen to the news, they say.

It's the usual stuff again. The cell phone network blocks (because everyone is calling each other), parents block the entree to the schools because everyone has come to pick up their children in person (too dangerous to leave that job to the bus driver now), all plans for the rest of the week have been put on hold (who knows what tomorrow brings?), and we go home, wondering if tomorrow is going to be a normal day. Or even tonight? And so we sit and wonder. What will happen tomorrow? Will the fighting spread? Is it serious? What about school? Is the neighborhood going to stay safe? Can I reach my work tomorrow?

"Yeeeh, are they not ever going to let us live in peace," a colleague complains as she tries to reach her son. "He's in town to buy a phone, maybe he doesn't listen to the news."

Another colleague walks in. "Three dead already in Cola (a neighborhood in West-Beirut). They are fighting with heavy guns, machine guns."

Who's they? They don't know.

Are we slouching towards a civil war? Michael Young says we do (Daily Star columnist). It is a pretty interesting column. Especially since he wrote it before today's skirmishes.

Jamal says there will not be a civil war this time around. "If I'm wrong you can shoot me," according to Jamal. Jamal, I'll buy you a flack jacket.

Time to go home. School's cancelled for tomorrow. Curfew's installed until 6 o'clock tomorrow morning. For the moment.

The Day After

The riots are over (opposition called it off for today), and the streets are accessible again.
I am not too sure about the vocabulary here. All newspapers and blogs talk about large-scale riots. Yes, there were quite a few incidents. Stone-throwing, fighting, threatening and yelling. Some gun fire but that came from the army (as I understand it) while keeping the two parties apart. But I didn’t see any large scale riots, even though they ended up fighting right in front of my building all afternoon. It was more the soccer hoodlum type of thing. Lots of insults, yelling, stones that went this way and that way, some whacking with sticks, and then the army would intervene, shoot a bit and everybody would run like rats all over the place (see video yesterday).

Quite a few people reported that they couldn’t get anywhere, that they were threatened at barricades, and basically ended up walking home. I did not experience that either. I was on the road from 11 to 3:30, drove through West-Beirut (Mar Elias, Verdun, Corniche Mazraa (the part that was open), moved on the Dahiya (airport road’ the old and the new), drove inside Dahiya (Gobeireh, Haret Hreik), through the East (Sodeco, Sassine, Monot) and then back to West Beirut through Basta. The cross-over to Mar Elias was a bit difficult, but people were very helpful trying to get me around it.

But today is off. I see it is snowing in my hometown in Holland, so I am going up to the snow today. Have fun working while I go skiing.

This is the story in Dutch

Oppositie legt Beirut stil
Na wekenlange dreigementen van Hezbollah leider Nasrallah heeft de pro-Syrische oppositie dinsdag heel Beiroet stil gelegd. Om 6 uur ‘s-ochtends stijgen de eerste rookwolken op van brandende barricades en zijn alle hoofdwegen geblokkeerd. “het is vandaag 17 graden en .. rokerig”, meldt een weerman.
Ook in de rest van het land blokkeren barricades de wegen. Veel bedrijven en scholen namen gisteren al de beslissing om dicht te blijven. “U kunt wel naar uw werk gaan, maar wie zegt dat u ‘s-avonds weer thuis kan komen”, aldus Frangieh, een van de oppositieleiders. Men bleef uit voorzorg thuis, en winkels sloten hun deuren. Het vliegveld is open, maar veel reizigers kunnen de de luchthaven niet bereiken. Sommigen lopen het laatste stuk over snelweg; de koffer achter zich aanslepend.

Mohammad (16) komt aanrollen met een grote vrachtwagen band. Hij is al sinds 6 uur bezig met het stoken van vuurtjes. In zijn buurt, een moslimwijk bij het stadscentrum, zijn alle vuilnisbakken al omgekieperd en in brand gestoken. Nu zijn ze met autobanden bezig. Hij eist het vertrek van de regering van premier Siniora. “Tot nu toe hebben we netjes geprotesteerd, maar ze stappen niet op. Dan maar met geweld.”
In zuid-Beiroet, een sji’itische wijk, blokkeren brandende autos en banden de wegen. Rond het middaguur wordt het moeilijk christelijk Oost-Beiroet te bereiken. Tegen de avond zijn de soenitische stadswijken rond het stadscentrum zo goed als afgegrendeld. Hezbollah heeft haar mensen op strategische punten in de stad staan. Ondanks de brandende barricades is de sfeer nog tamelijk gemoedelijk. Via kleine sluipweggetjes proberen demonstranten je toch nog naar je eigen wijk te helpen. En voor een dame willen ze ook wel de vuilcontainer opzij duwen. Maar weinig Libanzen wagen het erop. Beiroet heeft wat weg van een autoloze zondag.

Op diverse plaatsen raken pro- en anti regerings demonstranten slaags en moet het leger tussenbeide komen. In Ras Beiroet, een soenitische wijk en dus pro-regering, is het de hele middag onrustig.
Marwan (22), een student, staat met een knuppel in zijn hand op een straathoek. Hij is voor de regering. “De vorige keer toen ze (red. Hezbollah) onze wijken binnen kwamen hebben we niks gedaan.” Een christelijk tv-station zond enkele maanden geleden een satire uit van de Hezbollah leider Nasrallah, en boze sji’itsche jongeren drongen vervolgens christelijke wijken binnen om autos in brand te steken. “Maar dat gebeurt niet nog een keer. In deze wijk worden geen banden verbrand.” In total raken 42 mensen gewond, maar tot grootscheepse gevechten komt het niet.

Het botert al een tijd niet tussen de de soenieten, pro-westerse moslims, en de sji’itische moslims, die gesteund worden door Syrie en Iran. De andere groeperingen, christen en druzen, sluiten zich merendeels aan bij het pro-westerse, anti-Syrische kamp van Saad Hariri, aan. Maar ook Hebzollah heeft een aantal christelijke bondgenoten.
Er is onenigheid om de binnenlandse politiek, maar de ruzie gaat voornamelijk om welke richting Libanon uitmoet. Wordt het een pro-westers land, met goede relaties met Amerika, zoals de huidige regering wil, of zoeken ze hun heil bij Iran en Syrie, zoals Hezbollah wil?
De zomeroorlog heeft de ruzie verscherpt. Hezbollah wordt ervan verweten dat zij de oorlog hebben uitgelokt, en dus schuldig zijn aan de algemene misere waarin men zich bevindt. Hezbollah verwijt de tegenpartij er juist van dat zij stiekum hoopten dat de Israeliers Hebzollah van de aardbodem zouden vegen. Ze collaboreren met de Amerikanen, vindt Nasrallah, en Amerika is in de Arabische wereld niet zo populair.
Sinds de oorlog heeft Hezbollah veel steun gewonnen onder de sji’ieten. Zij namen het tenslotte op tegen de Israeliers, en – in de ogen van veel Libanezen – wonnen ook nog. Maar ze zijn hegemonie over het zuiden kwijt aan de UNIFIL. In Beiroet is hun infrastructuur van kantoren, bunkers en huizen met de grond gelijk gemaakt. Ze eisen nu meer politieke macht, maar de regering geeft niet in.

Burning Barricades

Tayoune Roundabout

Well, I’ve driven all over town today. When my one job is cancelled, it automatically implies that my other job requires work. Good balance. I must have crossed something like 30 barricades. They came in all shapes and sizes. Burned tires, burned cars, heaps of rubble, overturned (and burning) dumpsters, cement blocks, stones and rocks, potted plants, household refuse (burning too) and a variety of construction material, or all of the above in one.

Near the Parc les Pins

Maybe it is because I am a woman, or maybe it is because I am a foreigner, or maybe it is because I am blonde, or maybe it is because I am 25 (NOT), or maybe it is all of the above, but whatever the reason was, I got helped at every single one of them.

Highway to the Airport

In some places the ‘shebab’ (youngsters) helped me find an alternate route to get to the other side. In other places they moved the burning ties or trash containers aside to let me pass (“You have a sister?”). A couple of kids helped me get over a barricade made up of stones. “Ya aib, its’a woman, you animals, how can you block a woman”? said a little 6 year old street kid, as they pushed the stones away. At the Tayoune roundabout the burning cars and heaps of rubble were piled too high for me to cross, so they advised me to go over the sidewalk, and near the Hezbollah mosque a Hezbollah official gave me directions into the southern suburbs where roads were not blocked.

Hezbollah leader Nasrallah engulfed in his own smoke on the Airport Highway

The atmosphere was surprisingly relaxed. I had expected tensions to be quite high, and was kind of worried that they might use my car (looks like a UN vehicle after all. All the more reason for the protestors) as a barricade, but even that was not the case. At one barricade, near the Airport Bridge, the tires were almost done burning, and next to it was a guy who sells plastic vegetable crates. They were stacked up 20 high. He must have had thousands of them. Now that burns really well, I can tell you . The demonstrators were ogling them, but they didn’t touch them. At least they hadn’t when I left. We’ll see if that guy’s business did not end up on the barricades tomorrow.

The old Airport Road (Tariq al-Matar) near Gobeireh

I got almost all over town, although towards the afternoon I got stuck between Basta and Mar Elias, and it was extremely difficult to get across. I tried and tried, got cramps in my legs from reversing all the time. Eventually a couple of guys moved some containers, and I was on my way home. And what do you know? They (pro and anti-government protestors) start this fight right in front of my house! The army had to intervene. And then they got upset. Very entertaining, made some wonderful movies of them. One can be seen here. There is an even funnier one, that involves a very angry tank commander. I might share that with you, but I think the situation should quiet down first, people might use it for a wrong purpose. I don’t want to be the one to fuel the fire.
All in all, an exciting day. The newspaper wanted 600 words. I just finished with it. It’s in Dutch. I’ll link it tomorrow.

The Weather Today

Thank you Marijke (a fellow Dutchie), for pointing this one out to me: The weather in Beirut today is ... smoky. They do have a sense of humor over there at Cyberia.

Shall I Go to Work or Not?

Beirut skyline; 6:45 A.M local time. My guess is they are burning tires to block the roads. The smokes rises on three sides of the house. I should be grateful that the wind is in the right direction, and I’m not stuck in it. So this is how the strike begins.
So shall I go to work or not, that is the question. I know I can reach work. Question is: (to state Frangieh again) ‘will I be able to come back in the afternoon’?
Update: Oops. The wind is turning! And it’s on five sides now. They're bruning tires in my neighborhood as well and there are practically no cars out there. In the distance I hear the foghorn of a ship. It's not THAT smoggy yet, is it?

Brace yourself for a cold spell

I was at a friend’s house, and saw a set of books in her book case on the Lebanese war. It was a set of about 14 books I think, all in Arabic, so I couldn’t read the titles, but on the spine they had little pictures of some of the major political figures involved in Lebanon’s history. It must have been Lebanon’s recent history, 1970 and up, because I could name all the historical figures. And what do you know?

All of them, and I mean absolutely all of them, are somehow linked to either political assassinations, atrocities committed during the civil war, were/are members of militias or political movements that made their hands dirty during the war and/or after the war, so-called terrorist, or otherwise involved in shady dealings, actions or behavior. There was absolutely not one single guy (yes, no women) that had a clean slate! Most of them have been in the government at one point in time, but what is even more worrying is that many still are actively involved in politics (unless they are dead, and quite a few of them were actually).
And that is the history of Lebanon. So how come everybody is so surprised that we are in such a deep pile of ‘horse manure’ these days? Did we expect otherwise?

And we sink deeper by the day. Tomorrow the opposition has called for a major strike. The term ‘opposition’ is a little confusing for me, because first the ‘opposition’ against the Syrians has now become the ruling elite, and have created their own ‘opposition’. So this is basically the opposition of the opposition. Anyway, they (the new opposition) want to bring the country to a halt, and have asked schools, business, universities and institutions to close their doors and called upon government workers to stay home. Rumor has it that they are going to close down all the roads, so you basically cannot even reach your work. Or maybe you can reach your work, but – and these are the words of Frangieh (a one time minister, former war-lord, leader of pro-Syrian christians in the mountains of Northern Lebanon and member of the opposition) ‘who knows, you might not be able to reach your house again in the afternoon’. A colleague of mine who lives in Chouifat, a town south of Beirut that sort of got stuck to Beirut due to the expanding southern suburbs, read that as a threat. “He is saying I better not try to go to work tomorrow.”

These are strange and unsettling times, but I think I have been saying this already since September, and nothing much new is happening. People are getting weary. The stories of friends and acquaintances that are slowly but surely seeing their businesses disappearing down the drain are getting more and more frequent.
Friends that work as ski-instructors in winter time just don’t have any customers. Some hotels have been dealing with an average occupancy rate of 15% since July. BHV (local warehouse) is all but empty these days. Neighbors of mine haven't earned a penny since July. And these things I don't read in the newspaper; this is what I see happening around me.
Also more frequent are friends that are looking for jobs elsewhere in the Arab world. Saudi Arabia, Dubai and Abu Dhabi are all time favorites, but Jordan and Algeria are also countries where they look for a more secure future.

Brace Yourself for a Cold Spell

People around me are saying that this cannot go on any longer. But I doubt that. The Lebanese have managed to survive a miserable 16 years of civil war; I dare say they can handle another decade of this. Brace yourself for a cold spell.

Slow

The suspension is over, but not the suspense (dank Nicolien, mooie woordspeling). People seem to be much more interested in what it was exactly that my son did in order to get a two-days suspension from school than in my fantastically well-written and interesting stories on my exciting life in Lebanon. I will not heed the hints.

When it rains, it pours. I wanted to spend the weekend up in the mountains with A. to celebrate his birthday in the snow, but we got caught in a snowstorm. We almost snowed in, and had to go back to Beirut. The army had to come and help out because even though there was a snow storm and snow was 10 centimeters thick, that did not stop people in regular cars, without 4 wheel drive and snow chains, to try and make it up to the snow. The soldiers were pretty frustrated.

In Beirut my car decided to give up life exactly 600 meters away from our home. We were just wondering why the windshield wipers had stopped, when the car coughed a few times, and then stopped alltogether. I was on an uphill road. The good news was it broke down just in front of my mechanic. The bad news was that the guy was closed. And so we had to slug our luggage through the pouring rain. Arrived home absolutely soaked. The housekeeper says she is going to die of pneumonia. She wanted to join us because she had never seen snow before, but got more than she bargained for. Mechanic says it’s the battery.

Eddie thought that his birthday was as good a moment as any to present us with his progress report from school. Three F’s! Yes, and why not? Last week a two day suspension, and today we get to hear that the young man is looking at a report card with three F’s. He leaves class without handing in class work, does not hand in homework, does not pay attention in class and in general displays rather poor listening skills. Ah yes, the joy of parenthood.

And just as things were getting rather dull in town, I was called by a friend to prepare for another strike. Hassan Nasrallah is promising that the opposition will step up its actions next week. January the 23rd in particular will see a significant escalation in activity. She was at the Monoprix (local supermarket), which was, according to her, “absolutely packed with people stocking up on rice and water.” I guess the Hezbollahs downtown just about had it with this sleeping in tents with a nasty weather like this. Time for a change. The situation has been gradually deteriorating since the end of the war this summer, but apparently hasn’t reached its lowest point yet. Hezbollah and Co have been occupying downtown since December, much to the aggravation of many Lebanese. (I will not say the majority. It is no longer clear who the majority is. I tend to follow Mazen Kerbaj; the majority is at home getting thoroughly disgusted by the boys in politics). This impasse is getting on everyone's nerves.

And as I really do not have much to blog about anyway, I will finish with this cartoon.

Growing Pains

Two days of in-house suspension, that’s what he got. Ah yes, my boy is growing up. The culprit is looking at you below. All but angelic these days. The principal called me Friday evening. It didn’t come as a surprise. Boy himself had – looking glum – already dished up the evil doings. I’ve been called into the office before. Twice actually, I think. But never had to deal with a suspension yet.
Well, he’s 13 now. I think I should count my blessings that it didn’t happen any sooner.

Ed 

"Inti ma meen?"

I knew this question was coming. I am surprised it didn’t come any sooner. I am glad it didn’t come any sooner, but sad that it came at all.
As my son came home from school today, he asked:
“Mom, what are we?”
“What are we what?”
“You know, sunni or shia?”

So they finally popped him the question. As the stand-off between pro-Hezbollah and pro-government supporters continues, the Lebanese pre-occupation with religion is becoming more and more pronounced. ‘Inti ma meen?” (Whose side are you on?) is a common question these days. Even at school.
It is a pity, I kind of liked the fact that he was oblivious to it. But innocence is always the first casualty.

For as long as I have lived here, I have noticed this digging into one’s religion. One of the first questions they ask is;
“Beit mien?” (What is your last name?)
In Lebanon, your last name often reveals your religion. But not always. Some last names pop up in all sects. In that case, it is time for the second question.

“Min wain?” (Where are you from?) If the name does not tell your secret, your town of origin will. East Beirutis are usually christians, the people from Tripoli are often sunni muslim, and if you are from Nabatiya, you must be a shiite muslim. You are a druze of you are from Baaqlin, and an Armenian if Bourj Hammoud is your home.

Once they know, once they’ve placed you in a religion, the conversation can continue. But the first impression has to be there. They need to get a ‘feel’ of where you come from. What they can say and what they cannot say. What areas may be sensitive, and should be avoided in the discussion.

With my son, it started as soon as he entered nursery. I had to come to the registration office, and as the papers were in Arabic, one of the nuns was kind enough to do the writing for me.
We got past the name, date of birth and address without a problem.
“Religion?”
“Uuhhh. I don’t know. None.”
“No, we cannot write that down, we must fill in the box.”
“But he has no religion.”
“Madame, we need to write something down. What is the father?”
“The father is a muslim.”
“Fine, a muslim then,” and she started writing.
I did not like that one bit. My son was not a muslim.
“No,” I replied. “I am christian.”
“Okay, he is a christian then,” and she crossed out the first bit, and started writing again.
That did not sound any better.
“No, he is not a christian.”
The nun sighed.
“I have to fill in this box.”
A sudden thought came to my mind.
‘Buddhist, could he be a Buddhist?”
“Yes, he can be a buddhist,” she replied. It didn’t seem to bother her one bit.
“Fine, a buddhist then, you can write down he is a buddhist.”

And so my son went through life as a buddhist until the tender age of 10, when he came home one day with the question whether he was Palestinian or not.
“No, you are not Palestinian,” we said, “You are Lebanese.”
“Oh.” He was silent for a while. “Is it bad to be a Palestinian?”
Why did he ask that question?
“Because someone at school accused me of being a Palestinian.”

A year later another question came.
“What religion are we?”
We have the luxury of two.
“So what am I?”
“You are both. And who’s asking anyway? ”
“They said in snack time that I shouldn’t eat salami, because it is bad. But only if I was a muslim.”

And now the question has become even more evolved. Now we are not just satisfied with being muslim or christian is, but now we want to know what kind of muslim or christian. He wants to know what kind of muslim he is. At 13 years of age, not even.
“They are the same.”
He left. I don’t think he is buying it. He’ll be back, wanting to know the exact difference.

Maybe we should go back to being a Buddhist again. That suited me just fine.

Snow. Again (sigh)

Snow is not something you might associate with the Middle East. But we do get snow. I understand that snow in Jerusalem (our southern neighbors) pretty much brings a halt to daily life. No skiing in Israel though. You’d probably get segregated hills anyway. Jews only, or Arabs only. From friends in Teheran (Iran) I heard that the slopes over there are not bad at all. And not segregated! Both genders on one slope. I bet the mullahs find that a slippery business.

It never snows in Beirut, we’re at sea level, but 45 kilometers outside Beirut, (up in the mountains, that is), you can do some really decent skiing.
And when the weather doesn’t permit skiing, we go sledding This is Eddie sledding with his little sister in Qannat Bakish.

And here is an old video I’ve tried to download before, but it didn’t work then. It works now. That is the famous cousin O I spoke about before; the future stunt man.

Night Falls and the Rains Come In

We are on our second stretch of Christmas here, the Armenian Christmas they call it here, and it is really dog weather here. This is a picture to the southwest; The Mediterranean Sea as night falls and the rains come in (again).

On Paperwork and the Corruption Perception Index

Corruption Perceptions Index
Lebanon features at number 63 on the CPI 2006 (Corruption Perceptions Index) list. I used to think that corruption was related to the dishonesty of a people. However, after a number of years in this country and numerous encounters with its bureaucracy I have come to the understanding that corruption is related to the way the government organizes its services.
People are not corrupt; the system requires corruption in order to make it work.

According to Transparency International, an international organization that devotes its time to combating corruption, we are doing worse than Egypt and Syria! It cannot get more pathetic than that. The CPI Score relates to perceptions of the degree of corruption as seen by business people and country analysts and ranges between 10 (highly clean) and 0 (highly corrupt). We got a 3.6. Out of 10.
Read again; 3.6 out of 10. That’s an F.

The Honest Dutch

Today I had to begin with the actual paperwork necessary to legalize our new housekeeper. "Why don't you let somebody do it for you," suggested hubbie. "This way you do not have to run like an idiot to all these offices. Saves you time and aggravation."

"Ah yes, but not money," said this stingy Dutch.

And off I went with a bundle of paperwork under my arm (Do I hear people laugh already?)

The Work
This morning I started out at 8:00:

Office 1: General Security offices
Fee: 1,500 Lebanese pounds for parking.
Message: Wrong office, it’s in the old building of the General Security.
Office 2: ‘Old’ General Security offices
Fee: 2,000 for parking
Message: She was placed on my name, but now I needed to go to the Ministry of Work to get her work permit organized.
Office 3: Ministry of Work
Fee: 1,500 for parking
Message: We cannot proceed with a work permit unless you have a paper from the public notary.
Office 4: Public Notary
Fee: 1,500 for parking
Message: We cannot proceed without a bank guarantee, two passport pictures of housekeeper, and a release paper from the general security that the former housekeeper has traveled.You need to go to the bank.
Office 5: Bank
Fee: 1,500 for parking + $1,000 for garantee.
Message: Here is your copy.
Office 6: Public Notary
Fee: 1,500 for parking
Message: Copy won’t do, we need the official bank guarantee. Go back to the bank.
Office 7: Bank
Fee: 1,500 for parking
Message: Cannot be done today, needs three days at least.
Office 8: Public Notary
Fee: 1,500 for parking
Message: We need it today, otherwise you have to pay the penalty of being late with submitting papers. Besides, we need to have the release papers of the former housekeeper from the General Security.
Office 9: Bank
Fee: 1,500 for parking
Message: Fine, we will do it, but you need to come back in one hour.
Office 10: General Security offices
Fee: 1,500 Lebanese pounds for parking.
Message: We cannot give you that release paper if you do not have a copy of her passport. (Housekeeper is now in Florida, USA. Call housekeeper and tell her to send a copy of her passport with exit visa stamp).
Office 11: Bank
Fee: 1,500 for parking
Message: Bank guarantee done, but they cannot find the one of the former housekeeper. “Are you sure it is with this bank?” I have to try my other bank.
Office 12: Other Bank
Fee: 2,000 for parking
Message: No record of a bank guarantee. ”Are you sure it is with this bank?” Great. $1000 has disappeared.
Office 13: Back to Public Notary
Fee: 1,500 for parking
Message: You need to go to to ministry of work and get her work permit done today. Is there anyone at the Ministry of Work that you ‘know’? (‘Know’ means ‘having wasta’ or connections.)

For those not familiar with 'wasta'; it is a Middle Eastern word. Wikipedia does not have an article on it yet. Anyone please volunteer? Read two bloggers on it. One in Dubai, another one in Jordan.

The Idiot

I must be the most ‘wasta’-less person in Lebanon. It was 2 o’clock, had been all over town, had visited 13 places, but the actual work had yet to begin.
By this time, I pretty much had had it. I was I dire need of some chill pills, and smoke was coming out of my ears. They must have seen these characteristics often, for they knew when to choose the moment and approach the helpless victim.

Because in comes a certain gentleman from an adjacent office suggesting that with a little extra, they could do all this for me, in no time at all, and I wouldn’t have to run like an idiot all over town. They have their professional idiots who do it for them. Of course these idiots are a lot smarter than I am, and they know whose hand to grease.

in Comes Corruption

I did not even ask his fee. I grabbed him by his lapels, and said “Deal,” faster than the speed of light. The fee turned out to be well worth it. Why did I not think of this before? And so I entered the cycle of corruption, and helped Lebanon (for the good of my own mental health) descend a notch lower on the CPI ladder.

Snowcapped

View from Feraya (N 33°59'32"E 35°50'33", 2336m above see level) to the North. You can actually see that the Earth is round; the horizon is slightly bent.

2007 and more snow

All things considered, the New Year’s celebrations in Beirut went probably as well as they could have. The Lebanese are doing an excellent job of stubbornly ignoring in what mess the society finds itself today and pretending that everything is as it should be. It is a survival mechanism, and when it comes to survival mechanisms, the Lebanese have perfected the art. I think it is recommendable.

We celebrated it outside Beirut, with an excellent view on the city. Fireworks are not as popular here as they are in Holland. Machine guns are, however. In the early days (90’s), every house must have had one (maybe even two), and so it was the most practical ‘fireworks’. Tracer bullets shot from a Kalashnikov (I am being told) are treated with a special dye at the tip, which – due to friction - burns in midair, thus creating a glowing pattern which shows up at night. So with New Year you’d see these traces all trough the sky, like shooting stars.

My first new year in Beirut was spent mainly indoors because so many bullets went up in the air that the host of the party was worried that we’d be hit by landing bullets. What goes up must come down, after all. One landed on my car roof, so then I drove around town with a little hole in my car. Not really an issue, until the rains came in January, when I drove around with a soaked interior.
I’ve had one anti-aircraft bullet landing on my balcony in 1996, and that made a pretty decent hole in the floor, while pieces that ricochet broke a window.

Over the years the celebration with machine guns has slowly diminished, but as I celebrated the New Year near the home (not IN, but NEAR) of a former warlord (and therefore currently a member of the government or the opposition), I noticed that the old Kalashnikovs have not yet lost their popularity as a means of fireworks.

Yesterday I did make it to Qanat Bakish. A beautiful area on the right side of a private ski resort. Yes, this is the country where entire mountain sides are off limits as they are for ‘members only’. My, even beaches in this place are off limits and ‘members only’. Anyway, cross the private ski resort (they do allow you to cross), and you come to a very quiet area, beautiful when covered by snow, and wonderful for sledding.

The dog had a ball. Boeffie’s getting a little old , 13 years now, but still bouncing off the walls as a bearded collie should. This one has sheep herding characteristics, and likes to keep the ‘troops’ together. We used to take him skiing with us in the Cedars, where they allow dogs on the slope (and guns too, by the way). It would annoy him to no extent that we’d be spread out all over the slope (Eddie and I), and he’d try and get us back together by cutting us off, pushing us inwards, pulling on ski pants etc. He’s too old for that kind of running, but he still follows the sled like crazy.