Waiting for nothing to happen

We think it will happen. In fact, we are quite sure it will happen. In a way, we are waiting for it to happen – at least when it happens, we know it is happening, and then we are finally sure. Yet at the same time, we don’t want it to happen. We hope against all odds that it won’t happen. So what we are doing is waiting for it not to happen. ‘It’ being a war, civil or otherwise.

As I told Sietske, quoting Einstein: ‘One cannot simultaneously prepare for and prevent war.’ Everyone in Lebanon is preparing for war. Those who want to fight are getting weapons, those who don’t want to fight make sure they have some food, water and a spare recharge card for their mobile phone – you don’t want to get stuck in your house for a week without being able to communicate with the outside world.

I had an argument with a friend; I said her mother panics too much. She says her mother is very calm, she just asks her to come home whenever something happens – for example when there is a car-crash and the drivers have gotten into a fight. To me, this should not be a reason to abandon everything and go home; it’s just two people settling a dispute in a rough way. To her mother, this could be the one incident that sets off a civil war.

Maybe they are right. Maybe my youth in a peaceful country has falsely made me believe that things are right until they go wrong, instead of wrong waiting to explode as life is considered here. Maybe the best thing to do when on the brink of war is to always play it safe, to be well-prepared in as many ways as possible. But then who is going to stop it?

Current topic: contraceptive techniques.

My boss (a single man nearing his 50s) and I are writing a report about our project on Reproductive Health in one of the villages in the South. The women have been tested, poked, tickled, and listened to, and now is the time to look at the results and decide what to do next. However, the data have been collected in Arabic and those paying for the project (the World Health Organization) need the findings in English, so our lack of Arabic-English dictionary means we have to do some creative translating. My boss: Ok, so there is this thing that women use, it goes inside and the Arabic word means it is twisted. Me: What is it made of, rubber? Metal? Could it be a diaphragm, is it shaped like a little bowl? Yes it is made of rubber, but it is not shaped like a small cup, it really is more like a, well, ehm… An IUD – Intra Uterine Device then, maybe? But then it is not made of rubber, those are made of copper, I believe. Copper? Contraceptives made of copper? Alright… Anything else? Well, there is another method, it is, well, you count, you know? You count? What do you count? Well you count the days that you can and that you can’t… Ah, yes, let me look this one up… ‘periodieke onthouding’, ehm… here it is, ‘the rhythm method’. Any others?

Yes, there is also, when you stop. ... Celibacy? Abstinence? No, you stop while you are busy… in French it is called ‘ejaculation extra uterinaire’ … … Do you mean coitus interruptus? That you end it just before you get there? Yes, yes! In Arabic we call that, ehm, you know, when you have diabetes and your hand or foot is so infected it has to be cut off… what is that called? Do you mean amputation? That’s it! That’s what it’s called in Arabic. Amputated intercourse.

Op z'n hondjes (maar dan met wapens)

Het gaat er weer lekker aan toe, politiek gezien. De presidentsverkiezingen zijn voor de 14e keer uitgesteld, aanstaande donderdag is er een demonstratie gepland ‘ter herdenking van de aanslag op voormalig premier Rafik Hariri en tegen de inmenging van Syrië en Iran in de Libanese politiek’ (maar vóór de inmenging van de VS, Frankrijk en Saudi Arabië), en in de openbare spreekbeurten van de belangrijkste politici worden er steeds minder doekjes om gewonden. ‘We zijn niet bang voor confrontatie, wij hebben geen probleem met raketten en zijn klaar voor oorlog’, aldus Druzen-leider Walid Jumblat. ‘We zullen alles verbranden, wat groen is en wat droog is’ – zelfde spreker. Saad Hariri (zoon van, ja), leider van de Sunni’s, drukte het iets minder poetisch maar daarom niet minder duidelijk uit: ‘als we uitgedaagd worden, zullen we niet met de handen gebonden toekijken.’

De speeches doen me niet veel – ik versta ze nauwelijks, dus echt bang word ik er niet van. Wat er na die speeches gebeurt is een ander verhaal: groepjes aanhangers van de betreffende politicus scheuren door de straten met wapperende vlaggen uit de ramen en open daken, en er wordt naar hartelust in de lucht geschoten alsof het een feestdag is. Langzaamaan worden ook de straten één voor één geclaimd. Gisteren waren het 7 mannetjes die een aantal straten vererop een enorme poster van de Hariri’s (vader en zoon) over de weg spanden. Vervolgens bleven ze rondhangen, van tijd tot tijd een paar schoten afvurend. Buurt na buurt, straat na straat wordt het territorium afgebakend. Zou ik moeten verhuizen als er over mijn straat een spandoek gespannen wordt van een politicus van ‘het andere kamp’?

Cup of coffee... I hope you are hungry.

In Lebanon you will never die from a lack of food. All you have to do is visit a colleague who is staying home after she had surgery on her nose. Or your neighbor. Or your friend’s parents that you haven’t seen in 2 weeks. Or anyone you ask for directions on the street. Hello! Welcome, welcome! What a surprise to see you! - Thank you, thank you, so good to see you too, are you feeling any better yet? Oh, it’s ok, come in, come in! Sorry for the cold, there is no electricity so please keep your coat on. Have a seat, please, have seat! Would you like to drink anything? Coffee, tea, nescafé? - No thank you, I’m fine. Here, we brought you some sweets from Saida. Thank you! So nice of you. So what would you like to drink, coffee, tea? - Nothing, really, thank you, we just had lunch. Nothing? Come one, a cup of nescafé? Some juice? - I’ll have a glass of water then, thank you. Maryam, bring our guests a glass of water please. [the daughter comes in with tall glasses full of juice] Here you go, a glass of orange juice. Would you like some of our sweets? Or here, take some nuts! - Thank you, that’s very kind, but I just ate, I’m really full. That’s ok, just take some of our dessert, it’s homemade, see, cream with nuts on top! Here you go, have some. [serves a big portion on a plate] Oh and have you ever tried these cookies? They are typical for this region, made with dates and sugar. - I will try one, thank you, but really I am not hungry at all as I just had lunch… Ah yes, true. Well, this is good for dessert, I bet you have never tried it before, they are chocolates with nuts that we serve when someone gets engaged. Our nephew got engaged last weekend so we have a whole basket of them, would you like to take some with you? Here, take a handful for the road. Oh, you finished your juice! Maryam, please bring our guests some more juice. - I am sorry, thank you, but I am not thirsty, just a glass of water would be very nice. Alright, a glass of water it is. [comes back with a tray with coffee and tea] Here, have a coffee. You don’t drink coffee? You would prefer nescafé? No nescafé? Ok tea then, here you go, with a few spoons of sugar – I will only put two spoons, I know you foreigners don’t like sweet tea that much. So how are you?

It never becomes normal, either way

I don't know if I shouldn't be used to it by now: the beautiful sunset on the Corniche (yes, I was there again), and the fact that right after I took this picture two soldiers with their weapons ready in front of them demanded to see what I was taking pictures of. Well, of the view:

Even though I see it almost every night, I never get bored of it. And remember I told you about the famous Lebanese Lie, the idea that in this country, one can ski and swim on the same day? Well, this night I was proven wrong: to my right, I saw the mountains covered in snow, and to my left, I saw a couple of old men taking a dive in the sea. Not sure if they had been skiing in the morning of course, but they could have been...