So, corruption…

On Monday, I came back from a vacation in the Netherlands and at my brother’s farm in Serbia to an unpleasant surprise: a problem with my visa for Lebanon. My passport was confiscated, and the next three days I spent in the offices of the Security General, running from room to room, waiting in the hallways, getting questions and stamps and signatures and more questions. All these hours, Walid’s mother was with me, asking around, translating, waiting with me, explaining my situation, repeating over and over again that I was her future daughter in law and she would not let me be kicked out of the country just like that. It took three days for them to give me a decision (get married as soon as possible or leave the country within two months), and it’s still unclear what the problem was. It might be that I didn’t accept an offer from someone within General Security to pay for something I didn’t need a while ago in the visa process, when it was unclear if I should pay for what I did need at that moment. According to a Dutch guy I spoke to during this whole process, that’s exactly where I had gone wrong: I should have gone along with the offer of the Security General employee, because ‘you know how it goes here, they’re all corrupt and you just have to go with it.’ Well no, I don’t know that that’s how it goes here: in my experience, the people at the General Security offices have usually been very clear in stating what the rules and procedures are and what I need to bring or pay for things to get done. When a friend once tried to help me get in through the back door, they politely refused and told me where to go for the regular procedure. This may not be everybody’s experience, but that doesn’t mean that ‘in reality, they are corrupt,’ and I am naïve for thinking otherwise.

Of course I’m not stupid or blind. I know there is plenty of corruption, in Lebanon and elsewhere. But I do not believe that Lebanese people are inherently corrupt, or that things here can never change. That’s why the Dutch guy’s words hit me on another level as well: I find it incredibly condescending to speak this way about Lebanese society, as if people here are incapable of change or improvement. I also find it strange that people who would never even consider offering a policeman in their own country some banknotes to forget about the rest of the fine think nothing of doing so when they are in Lebanon, as if it doesn’t take two for corruption to continue; those in power, and those who want something from them. Yes, there are some people who are corrupt no matter what, but it is my firm belief that most people are mainly corrupt if the situation arises – I mean, why not accept that $100 bill somebody is offering you, if eventually you will have to give him or her the stamp anyway?

And of course I know there are always two things to consider in such situations, and that these two things are not necessarily in agreement at all times: in this case, my own stance against corruption, and the fact that I needed to get something done (a visa to stay in Lebanon) from a possibly corrupt guy. Although not entirely on purpose, I am glad that in this case I did not contribute to corruption, and can do nothing but bear the unfortunate consequences - or convince my fiancé that a Sunni marriage certificate isn’t so bad after all. As the lieutenant signing the final decision said: You know, you should get married soon anyway. You have a very good mother in law!

Het leven in Libanon: beginnerscursus

Hoe is het leven in Libanon? Je zult wel jetlagged zijn, of niet? Is alles daar nou in reconstructie na de oorlog? Hebben alle vrouwen daar een hoofddoekje op? Vanwege mijn vader’s verjaardag ben ik heeel eventjes in Nederland, en bovenstaande vragen hebben me weer eens doen beseffen dat wat voor mij heel gewoon is geworden, voor anderen nog een volledig onbekende wereld is. Vandaar een korte poging Libanon te beschrijven voor hen die er nog nooit geweest zijn – in de hoop dat het wat minder 'vreemd' wordt.

Het leven in Libanon is over het algemeen erg aangenaam – het is een beetje afhankelijk van hoeveel geld je hebt, maar de zon schijnt er vaak en veel en het land heeft zowel bergen als strand in een oppervlak dat een kwart van Nederland is, dus het is vrij makkelijk een permanent vakantie-gevoel te hebben, zelfs als je gewoon vijf of zes dagen per week moet werken. Het is hier wel een beetje chaotisch, en veel dingen werken niet zoals ze zouden moeten, maar alles went en het doet me al die luxe weer extra waarderen als ik even in Nederland ben.

Een jetlag hebben van een reis tussen Libanon en Nederland is lastig, tenzij je gevoelig bent voor de zomertijd-wintertijd verandering: het tijdsverschil tussen de twee landen is 1 (één) uur. Ja, dat is vlakbij; Cyprus is 30 minuten met het vliegtuig. Beiroet – Amsterdam is slechts 5 uur vliegen.

Constructie genoeg. Vanuit ons appartement kijken we bijvoorbeeld uit op niet minder dan 3 flatgebouwen in aanbouw op de oostkant, 2 aan de overkant van de straat op het noorden en 1 in het westen: zes bouwputten in een radius van ongeveer 200 meter. Lawaai genoeg, dus, maar het heeft niets met de oorlog (welke oorlog bedoel je eigenlijk?) te maken en alles met heel veel geld verdienen: dit zijn luxe-appartementen voor mensen met veel geld, al dan niet uit Libanon. In de zuidelijke buitenwijken en in Zuid Libanon, in 2006 behoorlijk platgebombardeerd, staat veel alweer overeind, compleet met gele en roze verf op de buitenmuur. De meeste wegen zijn ook alweer een keer vernieuwd – al zijn er net zoveel alweer aan gort gereden door zware VN patrouille-wagens, helaas.

Met de hoofddoekjes valt het ook wel mee. Uiteraard zijn er de Christelijke gebieden waar alleen de oude vrouwtjes een doekje om het haar geknoopt hebben, maar ook in delen van het land en van Beiroet die bekendstaan als overwegend bewoond door Moslims zijn genoeg zwarte en (nep-)blonde krullen en lokken te bekennen. En dat zegt dat weer bijster weinig over hoe gelovig de dames in kwestie zijn, in tegenstelling tot wat velen mogen denken. Ook ongehoofddoekte vrouwen staan voor dageraad op voor het eerste gebed.

Als laatste de vraag van mijn voormalig ‘oppaskindje’ (inmiddels 15 jaar en oud genoeg om bij mij op bezoek te komen!): hebben jullie ook Vero Moda? Die hebben we. Drie zelfs. In één straat. Dat is dan misschien wel weer een beetje raar.

Of three little boys who wanted to make a movie

I saw this short movie by Hany Abu Assad (maker of Paradise Now) last year at a film festival in Beirut, and I loved it.I'm glad to have found it online (and I suggest you watch it in full-screen mode):

Do Lebanese Men Like Blondes?

Warning: if you ever decide to google something embarrassing, you should know that somewhere, somebody is going to have a laugh at your expense when they see your rather hilarious search-term coming up in their site-statistics. And because I’m not so selfish that I want to keep all the fun to myself, I will share with you some of the recent searches that got people to my blog – and the solutions, if I have any. It seems that many people are looking for stories. Stories about the (Armenian) Mafia, Lebanese wedding stories, Saida stories, stories about the resistance, stories about peace, Oosterhout-stories, or stories about Eid el Fitr-stories… as you can see, I can help you with those.

Other searches are a bit more complicated: maybe one of you can help the people looking for ‘a picture of the head of Imam Hussein’? Or for ‘rulers who have been declared insane’? Who knows where to find information about ‘frequently, the body and face of a beloved person?’?

Search-terms also betray people’s fears and desires: ‘I need a speech for a funeral’ sounds like a cry for help, but I can’t remember ever writing about that. ‘I panic when the phone rings’ is another revealing search for which the answer is most likely not found anywhere on qussa.nl. ‘Doggy-style’ also gets you here, but I highly doubt this is the desired search-result (obviously, the post is about weapons. This is Lebanon, after all). I also can’t help you with your recurring search (yes, yours) for a ‘Lebanese chat’, nor for ‘Lebanese women most beautiful.’ (Are they?)

I did once mention the black men’s bike of the former Dutch minister of Justice, and I also dropped a word or two about Lebanese hairstyles. Need help with your wedding proposal? Look here or here or here. Or here, if you need it to be romantic.

And finally, the most pressing question that you turned to Google for: 'Do Lebanese men like blondes'? I guess they do…

It’s always 300 meters away

A Dutch friend of mine is doing research here in Beirut about the events of May 2008, and is trying to get an idea of how many fighters were out on the streets in Ras Beirut. She has interviewed quite a few journalists, academics and politicians, and from their words she has concluded that there must have been anywhere between 1 and 1000 armed men on the streets. Anywhere between 1 and 1000. A useful estimate, no?

Not very useful indeed. It’s the one generalization I do not hesitate to make about the Lebanese I know (and, by extension, the Lebanese I don’t know): they have no estimating-skills whatsoever. I understand quite well the desperation of my friend’s mother, director at a secondary school in Beirut, who wanted to hire a teacher just to teach her students how to estimate. ‘Numbers, time, distance, amounts – they have no clue! They think it will take them 10 minutes to drive 40 kilometers; they will tell you it’s only a 5 minute walk from here to Hamra even though it’s 2 kilometers away, and if any political party tells them that they gathered 1.5 million supporters in a certain square or tent, they will only criticize the number because they don’t like the party, not based on the logic that 1.5 million people could never fit in that tent or on that square!'

I have, by now, stopped asking my Lebanese friends what they think something will cost. Fixing a tire? One will say 20 dollars, one will say 50.000 lira, when in reality it once costs between 5.000 and 10.000 LL. How long does it take to get from Hamra to Jal el Dib? The standard answer is 10 minutes… it usually takes me 40 to 45 minutes. I worked all the way in Tyre, South Lebanon, and I can’t recount the number of times I’ve had to refute the idea that it would take me at least 2.5 hours to get there – and another 2.5 to get back (it’s about 80kms).

It becomes especially funny if, when asking for directions, there are no restaurants or gas stations to mark the point after which to go left or right. The person telling you where to turn will try to be helpful and will give you an indication of how long it will take you to get there. And it doesn’t matter how close or far it is, the estimate is inevitably inaccurate, sometimes laughably so. As another Dutch friend living here says: ‘It doesn’t matter whether you have to turn left after 100 meters or 2 kilometers – they will always say it’s 300 meters.’