Beirut, Lebanon. During the civil war..
Being at the wrong place at the wrong time carries great risk if you are in a war zone. Being in a civil war with a multitude of factions could be a lot worse and gets very complicated. One morning I found myself at the wrong place at the wrong time!
When the Kalashnikov appeared from behind a car, it was held by a young man, and what came to mind instantly was my mother. I worried about my mother the instant I thought I was going to die. I truly believed I was about to be shot, but I was not and you would understand why I worried about my mother, whom was safe at home, soon enough.
A man across the street yelled: "shou dinak?" Oh
well, sarcasm, I get to live few more seconds and my answer could hasten my
fate. He wanted to know what my religion
was and I told him. Apparently he did
not like my answer: “w wi2e7 kamen, jibo
la hon" he said. He exclaimed that
I was audacious and ordered for me to be brought in.
At times like these adrenaline rushes through your blood so
fast that things seem to move in slow motion.
I have visual pictures in my head of a little alley that the car I was
driving was moved to, a few steps that I climbed, after being blindfolded. Yes, blindfolded. "Put him with the
rest" said the man and I objected: "I know no one, may I see the
person in charge?" I asked.
The truth is I had no time to be scared, I worried about my
mom at first and now my priority was to keep my composure. The last thing I want to feel and show is
fear.
Earlier that morning I drove my car few streets from my
house and through Clemanceau street where at one point people from one
political party were offering their newspaper.
I hesitated and thought about the consequences and what would they think
and more importantly do if I did not stop and get their paper? I kept driving and the car's speed and momentum
helped me make the decision. Keep going,
don't stop. One afterthought, good thing
I did not pick up that paper, that decision may have saved my life.
I arrived at my
destination, a storage building for audio equipment and supplies. I wanted to buy some branded blank cassette
tapes. I found a parking spot on the left side of the
street and I parallel parked my car without noticing anything unusual except
for the lack of traffic which in a time of civil war is not unusual. Earlier it was reported on the radio that
things are quiet and that there was no fighting, a truce perhaps. Why else would I venture out?
They took me to the man in charge.
It was a tiled area in front of a small one house. It was
typical to have such a space in older Lebanese homes. That's where people and neighbors visit and
spend time in the shade of a tree perhaps or enjoy a cool night breeze with
friends.
What these people were looking at was a young man yielding a
reddish long beard dressed in blue jeans and wearing a pair of clogs. Yes, clogs! The most comfortable things I
have ever put my feet into. This is not
a very conforming image of a typical Lebanese youth at the time. The car that I
was driving, a light blue FIAT 125 Special with red interior and a 5 gear stick
shift. Unimportant detail in this story
but it won’t hurt. So, if they were
making any first background assessments it would have been on these. But the most important one was the direct
question by the man across the street:
"shou dinak?"
The war in Lebanon was simple and yet complicated but this
is not for me to assess except for the part where I was involved, or rather
really not involved and not by choice.
During the war there were a lot of kidnappings from the
different sides that were fighting.
Often you would read in the papers or hear on the radio that a body was
found in a plastic bag and under some bridge.
The parents and or relatives of that person would be looking for that
person and had not heard anything for a long time and as things go or went in
Lebanon, would have called on all influential people they knew to help find
their missing relative not knowing if he or she is dead or alive and hoping for
his or her safe return if not safe at least knowing if the person is dead or
alive is actually relieving to the family.
If the person is known to be alive then the family would work on their
safe return if not then they would hope to get the body for burial so that they
could grieve and go on with their lives, as shattered as they may be.
That is why my initial thought went to my mother when I saw
that Kalashnikov. I did not want my
mother to go through the horrors many parents went through looking for their
sons.
Thousands are still missing to this day.
Thousands are still missing to this day.
I sat down and the man offered me coffee. I never turn down coffee, well, almost
never. "jibe 2ahwe ya mara" he
said. Even though it was an order, it was
friendly. It was what people that have
known each other and like each other do, put away formalities. I felt comfortable just from the way he asked
his wife, a fairly good assumption, I admit, to make us some coffee.
The man asked me many questions, name, nationality, what was
my business in the area, why I was on their street.
3osmalleh was the coffee, not too sweet and not too bitter
that is. The conversation took a
different turn and was more of a discussion on the war itself. I don't know where and especially in my
situation, where I found the courage to tell the man that, between all the
fighting factions Lebanon was being destroyed, and that they, all the factions
that is, are responsible for the destruction.
There was another man sitting there on the conversation as well and at
one point he said: "I lost a cousin and I want 10 of them in exchange for
his blood". The revenge cycle does
not help Lebanon, mistakes were made on all sides and that was not the way to
help the country. That way of thinking
won't end the war. And I spoke my mind to that effect. For a moment I was telling myself to be quiet
but I love Lebanon and what was happening was wrong, and I gave my opinion
freely knowing real well that I am at risk and my fate could be at the whim of
a stranger. Luckily I think they judged
me by my sincerity. I was not attacking
them, with words, I was merely showing general concern about the war and the
people and how this war is forcing my family to leave. My family was making preparations to immigrate
to the US.
The people that offered me the coffee were Muslim. I don't know if they were Sunni or Shia and I
did not ask. It mattered not to me.
They decided to let me go.
They had searched my car and found a picture of the Virgin Mary. My dad
had placed in the car. They, the Muslims
said, this is what saved you today. And
I said to myself, good thing I did not pick up that newspaper on the way here,
the paper was from an opposing faction, I think.
The man that had asked me "shou dinak?" offered and
I had no choice but to accept, to ride with me around the block. “I am riding with you because the Kurds up
the street know me and will let you through without hassle”. Good thing he said, you stopped here (in his
area) because if you went further into the Kurds area they would have killed
you first and then asked questions. That
man also told me that he was a Christian Armenian. That made no sense to me and he explained:
"we're neighbors and we're looking out for each other". Well, how about that fact to confuse a
complicated civil war in progress. That
part of the war was civil where the civil war itself was not. I don’t think that there is civility in
people killing each other. A civil war
is a misnomer.
Once I was on the main road I dropped him off and I went home
without my blank cassettes. I went home
to see my mother. I fortunately did not
cause her to suffer. It would have
killed me to see her pain over my death or disappearance. I made no conscientious effort to think about
my mother the moment that Kalashnikov appeared, it was purely instinctive. That’s where we go when in danger, a
comfortable happy place we call mama.
Happy Mother’s day!
copyright author and assigns
copyright author and assigns
