Because Beirut, Always Beirut.
Beirut behind me. December 2016.
Beirut, a city that "makes no damn sense at all, in the best possible way.” ~ Anthony Bourdain
This post might be in lieu of a therapy session. Which mind you, I might need desperately.
Because Beirut. Always Beirut.
For those of you who know me and who have followed me over the years, know my love affair, absolute obsession, and abusive relationship with Beirut. It’s been 17 tumultuous years of infatuation, longing, loathing, trauma, and love. I recently wrote an entire chapter for my book of the first time I set eyes on Beirut. Oddly enough, I was writing a chapter on the 2006 War when the Beirut blast happened on August 4th. Beirut trauma was already bubbling up in me. I can’t seem to bear to write out that experience until I stop crying at the loss of what recently happened.
And that’s the problem, I can’t stop crying. It’s been two weeks since the blast that destroyed a good portion of the city, killed over 180 people, wounded 6,000, and left 300,000 homeless. Now, COVID is rising and they are facing a two-week lockdown. How are the hundreds of thousands of recently homeless supposed to lock down at home?
To make matters worse, COVID is spreading in Palestinian refugee camps in Lebanon. I am also hearing reports about extreme hunger in the camps. Food insecurity, rising prices, devalued local currency, and now a lockdown without daily wages for two weeks might trigger an extreme hunger crisis in refugee camps. Along with a medical crisis if COVID continues to spread in those densely populated areas.
I find myself worrying and anxious. For two weeks I glued myself to the news and social media along with contacting friends to get updates. My body may have been physically present in Denver but emotionally and mentally I was right back in Beirut. Reliving memories in the area that was destroyed, pretty great memories that make me smile through the tears as I write this. I have memories in every corner of that city – both good and bad. At the same time, feeling and acknowledging the PTSD rising up in my body from (too many to count) traumatic Beirut experiences.
I am neither here nor there. I am in a weird no mans land, grieving a loss I can’t fully comprehend.
I wasn’t even there. You realize I should have been. If it hadn’t been for COVID, I would have. I’m always there in August. I bitch about it because it is hot and humid with loads of electricity cuts and a lack of water. Some weird part of me likes the challenge of making it through August in Beirut. It honestly is the month from hell in the city, every single year. But 2020 made it literally a dystopian nightmare.
Guilt has settled in for feeling so much despair and loss and for not being there. I had good friends send me flowers the week of the blast - I had car problems and had to get a COVID test which turned out to be negative. I hate it when my annoying American problems invade my traumatic Lebanese problems. I had a pretty epic meltdown that week, more fueled by my grief about Beirut. As I looked at my beautiful flowers in isolation I couldn’t help but feel guilty. I had a safe place to self-isolate, food, electricity, and water. My Lebanese friends weren’t getting flowers to console them.
Neither here nor there.
It didn’t happen to me. I wasn’t there. And yet I mourn for my friends, their losses, their trauma, the devastation of a beautiful part of the city, and the loss of familiar haunts. But mostly the injustice of it. I know we’ll never find out the entire truth of why 2700 tons of ammonium nitrate blew up at the port. The truth in Lebanon comes in various forms of grey covered in ash buried underneath many complicated facts and rumors. You honestly never, ever will figure it out.
“The Lebanese people constantly have to guess who wants to kill them, and they never truly find out because they live in a world where so many hostile actors benefit from killing them.” ~Sarah El Yafi
Where does that leave us today?
A devastated city, collective trauma settling in, overwhelming needs, suffering, the news cycle moving on, and a very uncertain future.
I have always felt that life in Beirut hangs on a single thread that is slowly unraveling. That is how it feels in that kind of instability. Just waiting for the next traumatic thing to happen to take everything you have, including possibly, your life. Even after this blast, that single thread hasn’t unraveled yet. Beirut continues. I honestly don’t know how, but I know she will.
And we all must too.
We must continue to share stories, support, and GIVE to NGO’s making a difference in their communities. We must demand justice for the people of Lebanon and stand with them as they fight for their rights.
Don’t turn away. Don’t give up. This will take time.
I know the harshness of Beirut, of her loss, her hurt, and her trauma all too well. It must be met with hope, care, and love from the rest of the world.
Honestly, I can’t give up on that damn city or her inhabitants. I never have been able to. I never will.
Because Beirut, always Beirut.
"There's no place else even remotely like it. Everything great — and all the world's ills — all in one glorious, messed-up, magical, maddening, magnificent city." ~Anthony Bourdain
Here are organizations that I trust and would love to redirect you to:
Lebanese Red Cross
http://www.redcross.org.lb/SubPage.aspx?pageid=1370&PID=158
GoFundMe Campaign for Lebanese Red Cross and Beit al Baraka
https://www.gofundme.com/f/DoubleYourDonation
Impact Lebanon
https://www.justgiving.com/crowdfunding/lebanon-relief
American University Beirut Medical Center
I have received care at this hospital over the years.
Saifi Arabic Institute
The founder was my very first Arabic teacher and she built this language school from the ground up. The school was destroyed in the blast. Help them rebuild.
https://saifiarabic.com/donation/
If you want to continue to donate to Beirut and Beyond, we will continue to collect for a Beirut Relief Fund, you may give on our website.
http://beirutandbeyond.org/how-to-give
Please share this far and wide!