Het is maar wat je raar vindt

“Ik heb een oom die hier in Utrecht woont.Ik ben nog nooit bij hem thuis geweest. Het is zo’n alleen-oom, weet je wel, ik bedoel, hij heeft geen vrouw ofzo, en geen vrienden. Hij woont in z’n eentje op zo’n flatje. Hij heeft ook geen rijbewijs, als hij bij ons komt, komt hij altijd met de trein. Best een rare oom eigenlijk.”

... vertelde ze haar vriendinnen in de trein van Utrecht naar Den Bosch, maandagavond, terwijl aan de andere kant van het gangpad twee dronken corps-ballen een parodie van zichzelf zaten te wezen.

Like Everyone Else (Bye-Bye Beirut)

WHAT I WILL NOT BE MISSING- The daily electricity cuts - The honking cars - The clouds of cigarette-smoke in bars and restaurants - The chaos - The homophobia - The honking cars - The screaming of ‘Taxi! Taxi!’ when I walk by - The unbelievably slow internet-connections - The racism - The roofs that are not built to prevent rain from entering the house - The construction rage - The speculation about ‘when will the next civil war start’ - The honking cars

WHAT I WILL BE MISSING - The mountains - Falafel from Sahyoun - The Corniche - The golden numbers - The chaos - The ease of dance - The view of the sunset over the Mediterranean from my rooftop-terrace - Grilled halloum - (The Stooges) - Last-minute outings with friends - Mothers with inexplicable amounts of food ready in the fridge any time you pass by - The beach-road - Sneaking into old abandoned buildings of beautiful architecture - Driving around aimlessly in the North and South - The carrot-sticks in lemon juice with salt - Hamra - Bikers riding on their back-wheel at full speed on the highway to impress the girls - Street-cats - Genuine hospitality, always

WHAT MY FRIEND SAID “Oh my, you’re so Lebanese now. You leave the country to work abroad and you will come back to visit us for Christmas and in summer! Your transformation is complete!”

WHAT’S REALLY HAPPENING (in the next two years) My husband has to finish his PhD at the University of Amsterdam and I am going back with him. (Incidentally, we’re still looking for a house in Amsterdam – if you know of a house for us to (sub)let, please let me know! We’re very cute tenants, you know.)

AND THE CATS?!? In an ironic twist of fate, it is easier for two Lebanese cats to get permission to come to The Netherlands than it is for a human being – but it does mean they came with us, and will now eat Gouda instead of labneh for breakfast. Just like us.

WHAT ABOUT QUSSA.NL? Qussa.nl will be here, with stories and anecdotes from life on- and offline. (Most of them probably not from Lebanon, though, for the time being.) But you’re welcome to keep coming back.

So this is what you do when they instate paid parking in your street...

... you collectively park on the other side of the road. Brilliant.

Déjà vu

It’s been four summers in Lebanon, this year, and I’m seeing the patterns, the rituals, the routine. I’ve seen the Lebanese expatriates come, party, and go. I’ve seen the international students at AUB getting lost in Hamra in June and looking like they own the place in August. I’ve seen the enormous Saudi cars fill up the streets, and I’m seeing the streets emptying again.

I’m feeling the familiar end-of-August heat – oppressive, with no wind. Without looking at the calendar I know the end of the summer has arrived, when life in Beirut returns to its pre-tourist state. No more emails from strangers saying ‘I’m coming to Lebanon, what should I see?!?’, no more going out every night because inevitably somebody has just arrived or somebody else is leaving, or everybody who’s here on vacation just wants to have a good time.

It’s Ramadan already. Instead of being taken by surprise, I’ve been looking forward to seeing the stages built on sidewalks with strange installations of Dar al Aytam. I’m happy to see the little kiosks around Hamra specifically for Ramadan donations, and the decorative lights in Verdun and on the Corniche. It’s nice to see life going through its cycles. It’s nice if life feels familiar.

I wonder if she knows that the minimum wage in this country is 250 dollars a month

The other day I overheard two women in the salon talking about the cost of life in Lebanon. Everything is so expensive! said one of them, my fourteen year old son gets 350 dollars a month and my 19 year old daughter gets 450 dollars, but they run out of money before the month is over! And then they haven’t done anything special, just dinners, clubs, going to the beach…

Yes, said the other one, my husband always tells me to give them an extra 100 dollars or so because life is so expensive here.

Oh I know! exclaimed the first one again. I bought their tickets for the Pussycat Dolls, otherwise they’d have no money for the rest of the month.

She then gripped her friend’s arm and with a horrified facial expression asked her: do you know there are people here who have to get by with two-thousand dollars a month?

Yes, I know! said her friend, with an equally shocked face, I don’t know how they do it!

I guess they can always ask for advice from those who live on one-tenth of that.