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Showing posts with label Civil War. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Civil War. Show all posts

Tuesday, July 5, 2011

A Beirut walk down memory lane


For my Saturday walk around town last week, I thought of going to an area I haven’t been to in ages. When I was last living in Beirut during the 1975-1990 civil war, many areas were off-limits and inaccessible. It was a pleasure to explore them again over the past few months.

It’s so easy to hop into a communal taxi and go almost anywhere in Beirut for just LL 2000 ($1.33). Better still is to take the bus, and the fare is just LL 1000 (66 cents). I used both that day.

My cousin Lillian and I headed to Mazraa and then walked towards Basta, stopping at Barbir along the way. Both Mazraa and Basta are old Beirut neighborhoods with a rich and interweaved past.

Basta was the stronghold of Beirut’s Sunnis at the turn of the 20th century. By the end of the French mandate, it became home to the Sunni bourgeoisie. Solh, Samadi, Kayssi, Baltaji, Akkari, Sardouk and Ariss were prominent Sunni families living there or thereabouts in the late 40s and early 50s.

Nearby Mazraa was more of a mixed district and home to leading Christian households: Tadros, Halabi, Saliba, Seyagha, Okdeh, Majdalani and Yazbeck…

Premier Saeb Salam (right) greeting folk hero Abu-Afif Kreidieh
When I told a close friend who used to live in the area I was writing this post, it brought back many memories to him too and he recounted how Basta and Mazraa developed narratives of their homegrown qabadayat, or folk heroes, in tandem. The qabadayat were sort of Lebanese “Robin Hoods” for their times. They stood up for the rights and interests of their community, he told me, often taking from the rich and giving to the poor. They upheld morality and decency in community ranks and judged fairly in family or personal disputes. But their characteristics and deeds have at times been grossly overstated.

The unchallenged star of the onetime qabadayat of Beirut, who typically carried a Saint-Étienne revolver around their belts, was Basta’s Abu-Afif Kreidieh (1889-1971). Others from Mazraa and Basta included Abu-Adnan Itani, Abu-Maarouf Doughan, Abu-Feisal Shatila, Amin Sardouk, Rashid Shehabeddin, Elias el-Halabi, Jirji Tadros and Hanna Yazbeck… 

My friend told me how he used to see Abu-Afif Kreidieh in Basta, mostly on Eid al-Fitr and Eid al-Adha. After Eid prayers, Kreidieh would stand with three of his men outside the Grand Mosque and hold a tablecloth to collect money for the poor.


Abu-Afif Kreidieh was courted by successive Lebanese prime ministers (Riad Solh, Sami Solh, Abdallah Yafi and Saeb Salam) and was granted an audience with 1958-1964 president Fuad Chehab.

I always like to give as much historical details as possible about the areas I visit. My sister Asma says I often sound like Google.

Not to disappoint her, I would also evince here memories of Basta’s hakawatis. On that I would quote an excerpt translated from a book in French by Joseph Matar titled Abou el Abed, le Beyroutin.”

In his view: “…There are for example the hakawatis, the storytellers, their craft being to use their great powers of imagination, their wide range of stories and legends, and their ability to improvise. People in their hundreds would surround the storyteller and listen to him while he enflamed their imagination, moved them deeply and even brought tears to their eyes.

“First he might have read fortunes in the grains of coffee cups and in shells, entertained his village, enlivened its evenings, until he created a certain aura around himself, an individual personality and style, with a command of language, mimicry, movement, expression, voice and tonality, and a certain distinctive dress, the kumbaz, long robe fastened across the front and held by a broad cummerbund of silk or taffeta, often striped, round his middle, a fez on the head, a cane in the hand, and a distinctive way of walking and holding himself.

“Then he would be seated in one of the coffee shops of Beirut, notably in the district of Basta, a mainly Muslim area in West Beirut, stretching from the central Martyrs’ Square along the sides of the old tramway to Barbir and Mazraa.”

Basta today is an antiques haven. It also boasts the last public Turkish bath in Beirut – namely, the century-old Hammam al-Nouz’ha (or “The Promenade Bath”) owned by the Bayrakdar family. 

I was disappointed to hear that Barbir Hospital -- bearing the surname of its founders -- that treated so many people and casualties during the civil war -- has closed down because of financial constraints.

What I learned by walking down Barbir towards Mazraa and Basta and noticing an Ethiopian supermarket, was that the area hosts many Ahbash, who have their primary religious center in Basta. The Ahbash follow the teachings of Ethiopian Sheikh Abdallah al-Harari who brought his vision of political Islam to Lebanon in 1950 after fleeing the persecutions of Ethiopia’s late Emperor Haile Selassie.

Barbir's gold quarter has jewelers on both sides of the street
A occasional sweet vendor
The first part of our walk in Barbir took us past the gold quarter, lined on both sides of the street with jewelers. It’s a fine place to go if you need to sell gold. But, dotted between them, were the occasional sweet vendor, and the rucksack corner display, whose owner was busier on his computer than selling his wares.

Ahwet Doughan, a traditional street coffeehouse
The coffeehouse's open kitchen area
We passed Mar Mikhail Church and then the delightfully renovated Majdalani house. Further down we got to Ahwet Doughan, a traditional street coffeehouse that my friends used to pass daily and where the neighborhood elders come for coffee, tea and sheesha. They also play cards or backgammon, chat, read the newspapers and discuss local and world events.

They didn’t want to be photographed, but I could take snaps of the coffee shop itself -- a relic of times gone by. The architectural details of the ahweh are beautiful though, especially the little iron railings by the doors giving onto the street.

I couldn't resist a ka'aki with Picon and sumac
Heating the ka'aki in the portable oven
A seller of ka’ak (a hollow, quasi-circular and crispy Lebanese sesame bread) passed by as my tummy was starting to growl. I could not resist a ka’aki, filled with Picon cheese and a sprinkle of dried sumac and thyme. This street vendor had a portable oven on his cart. It’s the first time I’ve had a hot ka’aki… Succulent!

It reminded me of my friend Anissa Helou, who is a chef and author trying to bake ka’ak at home. Anissa writes on her blog that she and another friend, “Summer Blast” author Dania El-Kadi, were thinking how they’d love to munch some in London. So Anissa “decided to see if I could replicate them at home.” You can read about how Anissa’s tryout went.

A beautiful old building
The mnajjed's doorstep
We continued walking down Mazraa, passing some very old buildings I hope will not be destroyed that contrasted with the newer ones. We passed shops that still practice dying trades, such as the mnajjed, a one-man upholsterer who beats then stuffs wool or cotton in cushions, mattresses, seats, sofas and who had a display of cottons at his doorstep.

Our favorite brooms
There were a few shops that rent tables and chairs for events, plenty of hairdressers drying their towels outdoors in the sun, our favorite brooms hanging here and there for sale…

The closer you get to Basta, Beirut’s antiques market, the more the street is lined with antique vendors and shops. It’s a treasure trove. I remember we used to go there often when we moved to Beirut in the 1970s and had to furnish our flat on a tight budget.

Bus driver Ahmad rests his right leg and drives with the left
But it wasn’t a day for antiques hunting. At Basta Bridge, we hopped onto a bus heading back to Hamra. It was some ride! The bus was nearly empty, and our driver, Ahmad, was in good spirits. Chatting away on his mobile, he was resting his right leg and driving with the left -- quite well I must admit.


Ahmad kept us entertained and took the long route, passing by Sanayeh Garden, in full bloom, to drop us off nearly at home off Hamra Street.

There are many more photos of the walk down memory lane here.

Thursday, November 25, 2010

Beirut: Walking to the beachfront

A postcard of the black and white Lighthouse as it was in 1942
Although I am spoiled for sun and some heavenly swimming pools and beach spots in Dubai, I still couldn’t wait to walk down to Beirut’s beachfront last week and pay homage to the Mediterranean.

The Mediterranean has been a part of my life since childhood. I missed it immeasurably during the 20-odd years I spent in London. The closest I got to the sea then was the River Thames, which I could pick out from my balcony in Chelsea’s Cheyne Place.

The Lighthouse now dwarfed by construction
I was curious to view what Wikipedia writes about this magical sea. It describes the Mediterranean as one “around which some of the most ancient human civilizations were arranged. it has had a major influence on the history and ways of life of these cultures. It provided a way of trade, colonization and war, and was the basis of life (via fishing and gathering other seafood) for numerous communities throughout the ages.”

I grew up near the Mediterranean in Tunisia and my mom, Vicky, always sent us to the beach to swim, absorb Vitamin D (the sun vitamin) and bury ourselves in the warm sand for added winter protection. Nothing changed much when we relocated to Beirut. Even during the civil war, I hardly stopped going to the beach on an almost daily basis throughout the year. That’s why being far from the Mediterranean was one of the most difficult aspects of my years in London.

The Mediterranean is green, often infested with jellyfish, but I still found its waters fresh and salty and invigorating. Luckily, it is within walking distance from where I am currently staying in Beirut and so I made my way down to the Corniche, Beirut’s waterfront boulevard, from Sadat Street in Hamra (see "Beirut: Walking in Hamra" post, Nov. 12). It’s downhill all the way and Beirut is enjoying an unusually hot November. But the route is strewn with new buildings -- so much so the city’s first land Lighthouse is hardly visible anymore.

Possibly built in the 1940s and originally run by the Shebil family, this 24-meter high Lighthouse is a landmark with its black and white horizontal bands. It outlasted colonial rule and the civil war, but has been beaten and drowned by the construction boom in the Lebanese capital.

A new automated Lighthouse replaced it at sea level when it ended its working life in 2003. The new automated 52-meter Lighthouse beams every 10 seconds and an Israeli air raid damaged its lantern and top in July 2006.

Rides at Beirut's Luna Park
Strolling down to the coastline, I caught my first glimpse of the glimmering sea. But before getting there, I popped in to Madinat al-Malahi, Beirut’s Luna Park. The Ferris wheel looked smaller and the rides too, but their magic was still there and not lost on the many children enjoying the Sunday morning fun.

Further along the Corniche, sellers were preparing for the Sunday rush for falafel and ice cream. Down the road, the Permanent Chinese Exhibition store, where you find everything and anything, is already well stocked for Christmas.

The glimmering Mediterranean
I finally got to the rocky beach where I have been a habitué since god knows when. As soon as I paid the entrance fee of LL 22,000 (or $14.66), I felt I was back to my natural habitat. The place has hardly changed over the years and I was ecstatic to meet familiar faces and friends I hadn’t seen in 20 years.

I first treated myself to a morning coffee (LL 4,000 or $ 2.65) to kick start the day. Once I felt I was in my surroundings, I ordered my preferred Lebanese beer – Almaza (LL 5,000 or $3.33) -- which came with a little bag of peanuts.

It was exhilarating to reconnect with the cool waters of the Mediterranean, its color, its taste and its temperate waves. Fishermen were all around, migrating birds winging by and planes flying overhead to Rafic Hariri Airport.

The planes passing overhead reminded me that I would be flying back home to Dubai before long. I hurriedly dispelled the thought to continue enjoying my holiday in Beirut, especially that my sister Asma joined me last week.

Keep your walking shoes on! I will take you around the Armenian neighborhood of Burj Hammoud and the southern port city of Sidon next.

(Click here to see the pictures of the walk down to the beachfront)





Tuesday, November 2, 2010

Soulmates for life


Yorki and Zepure Mansour
It's difficult to continue the journey at Mich Café without introducing two extraordinary people who form part of my life for longer than I can remember. The term “friends,” would be inadequate. I am at a loss to find a description of what we share, and I have stopped trying.

Those who know me well will have guessed that I am referring to Yorki and Zepure Mansour, a couple who over the years cemented my faith in humanity, love, friendship and so many other values.

Yorki, a civil engineer, owns SET Aluminum, based in Mar Elias in Beirut. He is also Treasurer of the Engineering Chapter of the AUB Alumni Association. Zepure, née Hamparian, is the Coordinator of Radiologic Technology Training Program at the American University of Beirut Medical Center.

Our tripartite journey began in 1974 when my mum Vicky and I moved to our new flat in Beirut, on Tal3et Kasr Salha, now Tal3et Hariri in Koreitem (see What’s home? Oct. 26 post).

We were among the first to move into the new building, on the fifth floor, and were curious to catch a glimpse of new tenants likely to occupy the other flats. The owners were on the seventh and last floor. On the same landing as us was a newly married couple, Suheil and Hoda Hindi. On the fourth floor there was, and still is, the Ariss household, who own the pharmacy in the adjoining street… And on the third, there was another newly wed couple: Yorki and Zepure (who I name Ziz and my sister Asma calls Zep!). We all ran into each other at one time or another, but it was pre-civil war and we were all on the go.

But then, my cat went missing. The next day there was a knock on the door. It was Yorki carrying the cat. It got mixed up with the floors and ended up in their flat. When Ziz got into bed that night, she had the fright of her life to feel something furry at her feet! It was late, so they kept the cat for the night and that’s how our friendship started.

December 16, 1983: With Zepure, Yorki and Vicky
There are so many things that cement a lifelong rapport and friendship. The Lebanon civil war that broke out in 1975 is one of them. It brought neighbors together. Because of reduced mobility at night and often in daytime, we would gather in any one flat to eat, drink, play cards and just trying to kill time and reduce the fear. Most days this would start around 5 p.m. We all rushed home for tea with Vicky. After that, we would share the grocery shopping and start preparing the communal dinner and decide, depending on the intensity of the shelling, on what floor to spend the evening. If and when there was electricity, we would watch a video.

The three of us were inseparable and sort of joined by the hip. We shared each other’s families. But like many others we never missed a chance to go out and have fun. We all lived on very high levels of adrenaline, heightened by fear and the idea that a stray shell or bullet could kill you anytime.

The Commodore Hotel was a favorite because it was within walking distance and always had electricity and ice. The Cellar, a very popular pub/restaurant just a street away was also a preference as was Jack's Hideaway, a disco. We partied like there was no tomorrow and often ended up as merrymakers dancing on the tables of whatever establishment we were at. All this of course to Vicky’s exasperation! She would invariably hear us from two streets down and then tell us off from the balcony for being rowdy. This of course triggered more giggles.


With Yorki in London
The beach was another outlet to vent our frustration. We went to the beach at any opportunity and every now and then dodged bullets going in and out of the water. We watched the U.S. Navy ships anchored off the coast and mushrooms of smoke from explosions in the vicinity.

If we had to stay home, it was still merriment. We had to celebrate a life we knew could be gone in a bang! Sunday lunches lasted seven to eight hours with both Yorki and Ziz’s extended families. Dinners lasted into the early hours of the next morning or until we felt saturated with drinks and ready to fall asleep without more ado.

Sickness and drama in 1984 brought the three of us even closer together when Vicky suffered a ruptured aneurism. I was out of the country at the time and Beirut airport was closed. It took me 48 hours to get back, during which time Yorki and Ziz had taken over. We spent more than two months at the American University Hospital (AUH), five weeks of which Vicky was in a coma (but that’s for another blog post).

In Beirut last November 1
It is thanks to Ziz that I got through this extremely difficult ordeal. Everyone at AUH thought Vicky was her mother from all the LTC she showered on her. Vicky then had six months of recovery at home, which was harrowing. I was fired from my job due to my absence. It was thanks to Yorki and Zepure and the few family and neighbors left in the country at the time that both Vicky and I were able to keep our sanity.

Sickness and times in need are the best tests for relations, and ours was tested to the limit and came out smelling of jasmine!

Zepure with her students on graduation day last week
With no work in Beirut, I had to move to London in January 1985, leaving behind an ailing Vicky in the only knowledge that Yorki and Zepure were there as well as Vicky’s sister Aunt Emily and their brothers (see What’s home? Oct. 26 post).

Zepure's team: Hanane Merhi, Marlen Salbashian and Salam Al Hamra
Luckily in the next few years Zepure attended a conference in the US each November. She would stop over in London, where we had fun shopping for Christmas presents. We always tried to be back in Beirut on December 16, Vicky’s birthday and Ziz and Yorki’s wedding anniversary. Yorki sometimes made the trip too and we also met in Milan once and had a great weekend visiting the sites and Lake Como. On other occasions, we met in Cannes at Asma’s.

It is difficult to describe or give true meaning to the amazing journey we traveled and continue to share. And I am sure you will hear a lot more about it.

For now, as I plan to visit Beirut for a couple of weeks, I look forward to being with Yorki and Ziz, my compass point and anchors. See you next Tuesday everyone!