Stormy days

Yesterday we said goodbye to the Iraqi women who came to our NGO to learn about post-war reconstruction. I looked out the window and saw a dark sky, grey clouds gathering just before a massive downpour of rain would hit the land. I sighed and remarked: ‘such sad weather on a last day.’ ‘It’s not sad weather’ said my boss, raising his voice for the first time since I know him, ‘it’s a sad human condition we are in in this country!’

The sad human condition we are in is our own fault, says my boss. It is also unsurprising. If everybody (and I mean literally everybody) has a gun or two in the house, ‘just in case’, flying bullets might be a problem much less significant than the distrust that permeates every pore of this society. When I was doing my research, a year and a half ago, people showed me their guns that were hidden under their pillows or in bedside tables. These days, they have moved into pockets and onto the streets. Ready to be used.

No wonder everybody sleeps with one eye open. The events of Sunday-night (demonstrations against the horrible electricity situation turned into riots in which protesters clashed with the army, tires were burned and 8 people died from flying bullets and a grenade thrown into the crowd) show how volatile the ‘situation’ is. The symbolism of Sunday’s events – they took place in the same place as the attack on a bus full of Palestinians which sparked the civil war in 1975 – hasn’t escaped anyone. I don’t even hear any predictions anymore, nor the usual ‘let’s hope tomorrow will be calm’. As Robert Fisk asks: Could it be civil war already?

I prefer natural storms. Strong wind is good for the mind.

Treat your country as you would treat your mother

In Lebanon, politicians do not talk with each other, they talk to each other. They usually deliver their messages to the leaders of the opposite camp through press-conferences, speeches at rallies and demonstrations, or even interviews or mediators – I often imagine how silent it must be during their meetings, seen that they only start venting their plans and opinions to journalists after the parliamentary sessions are over. This time, Sleiman Franjieh (a Maronite Christian leader who supports the Opposition) called on his fellow Maronite leaders to 'stop using Bkirki, the highest Maronite religious authority, as a platform for politicians to deliver statements'.

Geagea (a Maronite leader who supports the Government) let it be known that 'Franjieh should be respectful towards Bkirki and treat it like it is his mother'.

Enmity between Franjieh and Geagea dates back to the civil war, when Geagea's militia killed Franjieh's family, and it is there that Franjieh found his answer: ‘If Geagea had left my mother alive, I would have known how to treat her well.’

In Dutch we say: Zo, die zit.

Verknald

G*dvrr…. Weer iemand opgeblazen. De afgelopen dagen deden geruchten de ronde dat, na Libanese politici, journalisten en (medewerkers van) ambassades, nu willekeurige buitenlanders het doelwit van aanslagen zouden worden, maar dit keer was het een hooggeplaatste medewerker van de Binnenlandse Veiligheidsdiensten en een aantal passanten.

Shit.

Het blijft een vreemd fenomeen, dat een radeloos gevoel van machteloosheid met zich mee brengt. Wanneer houdt dit nou eens op? Wie heeft het gedaan? En maakt dat eigenlijk wel uit?

Sommigen geven het nieuws een plaats door er direct over te schrijven, terwijl iedereen wel weet dat de reguliere media allang over het aantal doden bericht hebben. Anderen bellen, smsen, mailen met mensen die ze kennen die wonen of werken in de buurt van de explosie. Iedereen veilig? Wel gehoord, niet gewond. Gelukkig.

De gedachten schieten naar mijn eigen leven – kom ik ooit in die buurt? De plannen voor de komende dagen, moet daar iets aan veranderd worden? Zal wel niet. We gaan gewoon door. Kan ik er wat aan doen dat het land de vernieling in draait?

Predictions

My last post was apparently dripping with irritation, somehow giving off the impression I have totally had it here. Fact of the matter is: I feel finally calm and happy enough to write it down, instead of wanting to spit in the face of the next man who opens his car window. But it seems that I am the only one who is calm and happy. The rest of the country is going crazy with the uncertainty and political dead-end-rhetoric, with the economy going down the drain and consequently the prices of things like gas and bread going up. As I have noticed since I first came here, the Lebanese solution to all this is not to complain to those who might be able to change things, or to change things themselves, but to predict when it is going to go absolutely and completely wrong.

I got acquainted with this phenomenon during the war of Summer 2006. If I would tell people where I was staying, they would inevitably come up with ‘knowledge’ that the bridge next to our house would be bombed. That night. They thought they could predict with absolute accuracy when it would be hit.

Then the war was over, and the real predictions began. “You have to leave the country NOW, Nicolien, because civil war will start at the end of this week!” my friends would tell me, in all sincerity. Ever since, I have been bombarded with warnings: Friday there will be a big explosion. Or Don’t leave your house this week, there will be demonstrations and everything will go wrong. Or In two weeks Hezbollah will take over the country. The most recent warnings concern tomorrow, Jan. 24th: the opposition will take to the streets (again) and hence, the country will explode.

Now you won’t hear me say that there won’t be more demonstrations, riots, explosions, fights, or even civil war. But tomorrow? Tomorrow I will do what I always do on Thursdays: I will go to work, make a visit to the supermarket and go for a run on the Corniche. Maybe I will even get to sing a bit, if everybody will stay home to watch the news.

Just because I am blonde...

Message to all Lebanese men: Just because I am blonde, this does not mean that…

- I appreciate it when you drive up next to me when I’m walking on the street and ask me to go for a drink - I will say yes to the above proposal - I want to go home with you and meet your wife(!?!) - I want to sleep with you - I don’t have enough knowledge of Arabic to understand it when you call me a whore - I am a whore

Message to all Lebanese:

Just because I am blonde (and tall, and obviously a foreigner), this does not mean that…

- I will pay 3000 Lebanese liras to go from one side of town to another by shared taxi, instead of the regular 1500 - I do not know what hommos, tabbouleh and fattoush are - I need tourist-commentary on every landmark we pass by on our way to the South – a trip I make at least 3 times a week - I need you to communicate for me when in a taxi, post office or store - I am Christian and you can talk bullshit to me about Muslims - I will reply when you say ‘Guten Morgen’ or anything else in German

Thank you for your cooperation.