Not for the Weak
Lebanon is not for the weak at heart. It is not for the weak at faith, either. It is for the brave, the trailblazers, the fearless. It is a land of contradictions, of continuous change, of consistencies and inconsistencies, challenges, opportunities and threats. Lebanon is a place that, at the same time, is appealing and repelling to the eyes, ears, nose and tongues. It is not a place for the weary, the doubtful or mocking. It is someplace where anything, and everything, is possible. And nothing but a journey to the center of the country can reveal that.
In the 3 years since I have been there so much has happened. So much bad, and not as much good – at least not on the public front. So many assassinations, sit-ins, demonstrations, political unrest, economic unrest, dragged the city on and wore it out. Lebanon was shelled from the outside, bombed from the inside, bankrupted, torn apart, bastardized. And yet it still stood. In the face of all, it remained, and remains. I thought it was a miracle but it really was the people – those unrelenting Lebanese with their will to push on no matter what the cost, what the prize.
A part of me envies those that hang tall, or short, in Lebanon. Those friends of mine who have found a way to make it work, to fight through the barricades and get married and start families. But a bigger part of me believes the country is better left to those who have remained in it. The rich are getting richer and the poor poorer so much so that you could almost reach out and touch that fine line of demarcation. The skyscrapers are a sure tell-tale sign but so are the people on the streets and in the stores.
Driving over a certain bridge in Beirut I could both conceptualize and visualize my departing from the opulence of the rich to the paucity of the poor. It is present in the buildings, in the roads, in the people. It is strikingly obvious you cannot ignore it.
Walking into a certain store in Beirut you could hear those who have and those who have not. Those who have not were asking their boss for their paychecks (it was already the 10th of the month) and those who have (or at least in this case have more) were telling their workers that they did not have the cash to pay them just yet. It was a classic case of cash flow issues. But it was also a classic case of expecting your workers to wait until you could afford to pay them and being certain they will not walk away on you – where would they go? They are lucky enough to even find a place that offers even sporadic paychecks.
This incident put a smile on my face – not a happy smile – but a smile of knowing I was back in Lebanon. The familiarity of it all, the certainty of knowing this is how it has always been and will always be, the confidence that this is a place I could navigate with my eyes closed without having to be a high-level communicator, without having to be cautious of hidden fees, of sale scams, of the fine print. It was a place of community, of interdependence, of sharing.
The weather was gorgeous and that was really a bonus- Jeff would have loved the weather, but he would have hated most everything else- the craziness of it all that is bitter-sweet.
I loved being with family; my cousins have grown up so much and have become such beautiful and successful people. It was great to see the transformation they had undergone since I last saw them in 2005. My grandparents have gotten older but my aunts and uncles have not changed.
What also remains unchanged is the power outages, the traffic, the noise and the dirty streets. Everyone still smokes everywhere and there is no consideration for babies, elders or the sick. It is simply a given that you have no objection to cigarettes and even nonsmokers oblige and are expected to do so. While Starbucks remains a smoking free haven, this is an anomaly rather than a trend. Surprisingly, that anomaly recently got a twin; AUB’s newest addition: the Charles W. Hostler Student Center, an $11.7M gift to the students of AUB and its alumni.
The traffic remains constantly backed-up and everyone still drives in that invisible middle-lane. Sidewalks are optional and there are just as many people on the roads as there are cars and the notion of a cross walk is just as foreign to the Lebanese as traffic lights. Vespas compete with hummers and 4x4s for driving priority and the sound of the horn is an undisputed constant. Despite this traffic jungle, astonishingly not many accidents happen on these narrow and decaying roads.
Sukleen is still as successful as ever - how the Lebanese could ever live without the Sudanese, the Syrians, the Egyptians and other "foreign" workers cleaning up after them I do not know. Trash cans serve decorative purposes only, and are secretly discouraged; If you did use them you would be denying some poor fellow the measly paycheck at the end of the month - and you do not want to bear the brunt of guilt of having put someone out of work, do you?
In all fairness though, a word praising the development of Beirut is due. Beirutis now are required to be armed with loads of 500 LPs in coins to feed the newly emerging and still expanding parking meters. Yes, you have read correctly. The streets of Beirut, while not all just yet, are now neatly lined with shiny new parking meters that are regularly manned by meter maids – male maids – scouting for that one car whose time has expired by no more than a minute in order to slap a ticket to the windshield. Surprised? Well, hold your horses, this is not where the story ends. I was certainly surprised to see that the government had finally figured out a new revenue generating mechanism that did not involve further sales tax, panhandling on the doors of other wealthy countries, or raising the price of gas, wheat, water or electricity. I was actually proud there for a minute until I was given the real scoop on this arrangement.
These parking meters were actually privately owned by a company who bought, installed and ran the meters, collected the revenues and paid the meter maids. That company is owned by no other than the city manager of Beirut! Yes, that is correct – the Beirut city manager owns a parking meter company, uses public land for revenue generation, collects the revenue and gives the government its share after pocketing undisclosed sums of cash. Welcome to Lebanon! Worse of all, if you do get fined you have to pay the fine at the meter where the ticket was written; don't ask, don't tell!
Good Luck Lebanon. May you become developed one of these days!
In the 3 years since I have been there so much has happened. So much bad, and not as much good – at least not on the public front. So many assassinations, sit-ins, demonstrations, political unrest, economic unrest, dragged the city on and wore it out. Lebanon was shelled from the outside, bombed from the inside, bankrupted, torn apart, bastardized. And yet it still stood. In the face of all, it remained, and remains. I thought it was a miracle but it really was the people – those unrelenting Lebanese with their will to push on no matter what the cost, what the prize.
A part of me envies those that hang tall, or short, in Lebanon. Those friends of mine who have found a way to make it work, to fight through the barricades and get married and start families. But a bigger part of me believes the country is better left to those who have remained in it. The rich are getting richer and the poor poorer so much so that you could almost reach out and touch that fine line of demarcation. The skyscrapers are a sure tell-tale sign but so are the people on the streets and in the stores.
Driving over a certain bridge in Beirut I could both conceptualize and visualize my departing from the opulence of the rich to the paucity of the poor. It is present in the buildings, in the roads, in the people. It is strikingly obvious you cannot ignore it.
Walking into a certain store in Beirut you could hear those who have and those who have not. Those who have not were asking their boss for their paychecks (it was already the 10th of the month) and those who have (or at least in this case have more) were telling their workers that they did not have the cash to pay them just yet. It was a classic case of cash flow issues. But it was also a classic case of expecting your workers to wait until you could afford to pay them and being certain they will not walk away on you – where would they go? They are lucky enough to even find a place that offers even sporadic paychecks.
This incident put a smile on my face – not a happy smile – but a smile of knowing I was back in Lebanon. The familiarity of it all, the certainty of knowing this is how it has always been and will always be, the confidence that this is a place I could navigate with my eyes closed without having to be a high-level communicator, without having to be cautious of hidden fees, of sale scams, of the fine print. It was a place of community, of interdependence, of sharing.
The weather was gorgeous and that was really a bonus- Jeff would have loved the weather, but he would have hated most everything else- the craziness of it all that is bitter-sweet.
I loved being with family; my cousins have grown up so much and have become such beautiful and successful people. It was great to see the transformation they had undergone since I last saw them in 2005. My grandparents have gotten older but my aunts and uncles have not changed.
What also remains unchanged is the power outages, the traffic, the noise and the dirty streets. Everyone still smokes everywhere and there is no consideration for babies, elders or the sick. It is simply a given that you have no objection to cigarettes and even nonsmokers oblige and are expected to do so. While Starbucks remains a smoking free haven, this is an anomaly rather than a trend. Surprisingly, that anomaly recently got a twin; AUB’s newest addition: the Charles W. Hostler Student Center, an $11.7M gift to the students of AUB and its alumni.
The traffic remains constantly backed-up and everyone still drives in that invisible middle-lane. Sidewalks are optional and there are just as many people on the roads as there are cars and the notion of a cross walk is just as foreign to the Lebanese as traffic lights. Vespas compete with hummers and 4x4s for driving priority and the sound of the horn is an undisputed constant. Despite this traffic jungle, astonishingly not many accidents happen on these narrow and decaying roads.
Sukleen is still as successful as ever - how the Lebanese could ever live without the Sudanese, the Syrians, the Egyptians and other "foreign" workers cleaning up after them I do not know. Trash cans serve decorative purposes only, and are secretly discouraged; If you did use them you would be denying some poor fellow the measly paycheck at the end of the month - and you do not want to bear the brunt of guilt of having put someone out of work, do you?
In all fairness though, a word praising the development of Beirut is due. Beirutis now are required to be armed with loads of 500 LPs in coins to feed the newly emerging and still expanding parking meters. Yes, you have read correctly. The streets of Beirut, while not all just yet, are now neatly lined with shiny new parking meters that are regularly manned by meter maids – male maids – scouting for that one car whose time has expired by no more than a minute in order to slap a ticket to the windshield. Surprised? Well, hold your horses, this is not where the story ends. I was certainly surprised to see that the government had finally figured out a new revenue generating mechanism that did not involve further sales tax, panhandling on the doors of other wealthy countries, or raising the price of gas, wheat, water or electricity. I was actually proud there for a minute until I was given the real scoop on this arrangement.
These parking meters were actually privately owned by a company who bought, installed and ran the meters, collected the revenues and paid the meter maids. That company is owned by no other than the city manager of Beirut! Yes, that is correct – the Beirut city manager owns a parking meter company, uses public land for revenue generation, collects the revenue and gives the government its share after pocketing undisclosed sums of cash. Welcome to Lebanon! Worse of all, if you do get fined you have to pay the fine at the meter where the ticket was written; don't ask, don't tell!
Good Luck Lebanon. May you become developed one of these days!
posted by Ranya | 12:32 PM
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