I Love Lebanon
I love Lebanon!
I lived 10 years in Lebanon. Ten years before the civil war. They were the golden days that no Lebanese born after the civil war could ever imagine. It was the Paris of the Middle East. Lebanon was my home even if my father is Egyptian and my mother French.
What did I love? The snow on the mountains in winter, the amazing beaches in the summer, the picnics next to rivers in the spring. Most of all, I loved the Lebanese love for life. These people really know how to balance between work and pleasure. I can’t forget the food, the mezzas and the smell of ouzo the adults drank after meals. Socializing was around the table for hours as one dish after the other would be served. For dessert, a water melon that the waiter would take out of the cold stream where it was left to chill.wow! In the background the music of Fayrouz.
I love Lebanon.
Then the war. I was 11 by then. F****k wars! They take you from heaven to hell. In the end no side wins! Even if a side thinks it won, that side has lost its humanity. Each person killed is a son, husband or a father, a daughter, mother!
To make a long story short, an incident happened that made us believe that Lebanon would never come back. One evening my father was lighting his pipe on the balcony, apparently the guards of Yasser Arafat’s sister, living in the building across the street from us, thought my father was sending spy signals. Around 1am they broke into our apartment with machine guns. My brother and I were woken up by my mother’s shouting. I just remember her telling them in Arabic with her French accent,“you are not even lebanese, you are Palestinian refugees, guests in Lebanon, we have been in Lebanon longer than you, how dare you threaten us!”.
We left Lebanon soon after, my father continued paying rent for our apartment there, for years, always hanging to the hope we’d return. Even if we ended up evacuated to Italy, our hope to return never stopped till years passed by.
I’ve met old friends from those days. We agree that after the war we all grew up messed up from it, My brother rebelled after we left Lebanon. He started choosing the wrong friends and drugs. He’s ok now but going through it all, I had to grow up fast.
So yeah! I love Lebanon!
.
I lived 10 years in Lebanon. Ten years before the civil war. They were the golden days that no Lebanese born after the civil war could ever imagine. It was the Paris of the Middle East. Lebanon was my home even if my father is Egyptian and my mother French.
What did I love? The snow on the mountains in winter, the amazing beaches in the summer, the picnics next to rivers in the spring. Most of all, I loved the Lebanese love for life. These people really know how to balance between work and pleasure. I can’t forget the food, the mezzas and the smell of ouzo the adults drank after meals. Socializing was around the table for hours as one dish after the other would be served. For dessert, a water melon that the waiter would take out of the cold stream where it was left to chill.wow! In the background the music of Fayrouz.
I love Lebanon.
Then the war. I was 11 by then. F****k wars! They take you from heaven to hell. In the end no side wins! Even if a side thinks it won, that side has lost its humanity. Each person killed is a son, husband or a father, a daughter, mother!
To make a long story short, an incident happened that made us believe that Lebanon would never come back. One evening my father was lighting his pipe on the balcony, apparently the guards of Yasser Arafat’s sister, living in the building across the street from us, thought my father was sending spy signals. Around 1am they broke into our apartment with machine guns. My brother and I were woken up by my mother’s shouting. I just remember her telling them in Arabic with her French accent,“you are not even lebanese, you are Palestinian refugees, guests in Lebanon, we have been in Lebanon longer than you, how dare you threaten us!”.
We left Lebanon soon after, my father continued paying rent for our apartment there, for years, always hanging to the hope we’d return. Even if we ended up evacuated to Italy, our hope to return never stopped till years passed by.
I’ve met old friends from those days. We agree that after the war we all grew up messed up from it, My brother rebelled after we left Lebanon. He started choosing the wrong friends and drugs. He’s ok now but going through it all, I had to grow up fast.
So yeah! I love Lebanon!
.
