We got to Beirut late Sunday night with my uncle Hassan and his family. We visited my aunt Imm Wagdy to say goodbye to her son, Hassan, who lives in Dallas too and spent a couple of weeks in Lebanon visiting family. Then Mariam and I went back home and spent a good 15 minutes trying to open the door to the house. Good thing her parents also came from the village or else we would have been stranded. Monday I called my aunt early in the morning to see what she was up to and to tell her that I delayed my flight one week to spend time with my family and to tie some loose ends for my GO Fellowship. She told me that she is taking the family to a chalet near Saida at a new resort called Jiyeh Marina (the town is called Jiyeh) and that I should come with her. Of course, I couldn’t refuse such an offer! I got my stuff ready and played with my cousins until I decided to go to a music store outside near my uncle’s house to see if I can find a Fairouz collection for my mother. As I was walking out I heard a lot of honking from a car behind me. I thought it was just some crazy Lebanese boys again but when I finally turned around I saw that it was my aunt and her husband, Oussama. They were just calling me as I was walking to the store to come downstairs. I grabbed my stuff from upstairs…everything except the swimsuit (probably the most important thing you can take to a beach resort) because the maid put it in the washer and the washer doesn’t open until the entire cycle is finished.
We drove to my aunt’s house in the Sainte Therese district and I found that all the kids are at the resort with their relatives. I told my aunt that I was going down to a shop across the street called Orca to buy a swimsuit because of my unfortunate circumstances.
I went down to Orca and could barely focus on picking out a swimsuit because the genius manager who runs the store put what we call in Arabic an azaar to manage the swimsuit section (roughly translated as a really harassing young man) who was hitting on me the entire time…typical in Lebanon. Despite my discomfort, I managed to buy a very cute swimsuit that made my 19 year-old self look like I was stuck being 7 years old for the rest of my life.
I came back to my aunt’s flat and helped her pack some stuff for the beach and updated her on a few things that happened since the last time I saw her, mostly about teaching at the orphanage and the last campout that I had with the orphans.
We were finally off to the resort and when we got there I found my cousins excitedly inviting me to swim with them. I quickly changed into my swimsuit and jumped into the pool.
I spent Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday swimming at the pool and beach at the resort and meeting all 5 million of my mom’s relatives, mostly her Uncle Salah’s family. I hung out with Tamara, who is related to me from both sides of the family (her dad is a relatives of my dad and her mom is my mom’s cousin) and smoked argeileh with Salah’s wife and my cousin Seif, who came on Tuesday.
Wednesday evening we headed back to my aunt’s flat in Beirut where I hung out with my cousins until Thursday night, when my uncle picked me up.
Friday I felt like doing a little exploring on my own. I told my cousin that my aunt was coming to pick me up to spend the morning and afternoon with her, but in reality I walked to the Mouawwad and Chiah districts, a good 2 or 3 miles from my uncle’s house. I didn’t really feel tired at all though because I was enjoying being independent and alone for once.
I entered the supermarket in Mouawwad, the one that my cousin and aunt and I always went shopping in when she lived in the Mouawwad district. I have good memories there tasting different varieties of coffee beans and being mesmerized by the sheer volume and variety of cheeses they have in the market. I bought a water bottle for the afternoon and left to my next destination: the Chiah Souk (Chiah Market).
If I told my mom that I went to the Chiah Souk alone, she might die of worry. So, blog, this is only between me and you. I’ll tell her eventually…after I get around telling her that I got hit by a motorcycle. These are all things you don’t tell people over a long distance through a telephone that you can barely hear the other person out of.
The Chiah Souk…man I wish I took more pictures but I was getting some really, really strange looks when I did so I decided against attracting too much attention. I was already attracting some unnecessary attention because of the way I was dressed and the way I looked. Chiah is basically a district of slums full of people below the poverty line, meaning that they live on less than $1 a day.
Speaking of $1…I’m going to digress for a bit because I know I might forget to mention this later.
Last week (my last week teaching at the orphanage) on Monday, I stopped by the little mart below my uncle’s flat in Beirut to buy a surprise for the kids—2 packages of chocolate-filled biscuits. Each one cost me 1,000 LL. I paid approximately $1.30 for both packages—nothing.
Before class I started handing out the biscuits to the kids. At first they were very enthusiastic and excited but then creeped back when one of them saw the price sticker on the package.
“Sister Asil, we can’t…” mumbled one of my students.
I was puzzled.
“What is it? What’s wrong…really, eat! I bought these for you…forget about the rule saying no food in class. Your own teacher is giving you biscuits!” I replied.
“But we don’t eat anything this expensive…we feel really bad. Sister Asil, do you buy biscuits that cost 1,000 LL? I’ve never, ever eaten anything that expensive. The most I can pay for a package of biscuits like this is 500 LL. 1,000 LL is out of the question,” said the boy.
This was my class of grade 6 boys. I couldn’t believe my ears. It was then I realized how rampant poverty was amongst the students at this school.
During the 30 minute break we have every day, I sit with either teachers or students. Personally, I love spending more time with the students but it’s interesting and good to talk with the teachers too. They say things you never hear from students or bring to light some of the hidden ugly aspects of the orphanage. For example, one day when I did sit with the teachers, Katia, another English teachers, was saying that when a student comes to school with ripped shoes or a damaged backpack, the school automatically replaces it for them at the school’s expense. The kids return home to the slums and excitedly tell their parents that they finally got a new pair of shoes which aren’t ripped up or torn or dirty. The parents send the kids back to school with yet another pair of old, torn shoes with the sheer motive of getting yet another pair of brand-new, clean shoes for one of their siblings. This is the extent of poverty in the slums of Lebanon. These people know what to do and how to do it if they want to get something that will benefit them even just a little bit.
Back to my adventure in Chiah…this is not the place to casually take a walk through. I eventually realized you have to be very vigilant in this neighborhood. I got looks and stares that I have never received in my life—not nasty looks, just very, very skeptical facial expressions because it was clear that I was an outsider in my nicely-ironed blouse and my American-made jeans and my clean shoes. Nothing screamed “outsider” more than that.
The last time I came to the souk was 6 years ago. I had no idea where it was or what it was even called but I had a hunch and I followed it. Luckily I was right but unluckily I remember the souk being more charming that it really is for 2 reasons: 1) I was 13 the last time I came and so all the bright, colorful toys and the cheap accessories were my sole focus at the time. I don’t remember the Chiah souk being slum-like at all, and 2) the Chiah souk looked like it was hit pretty hard in the 2006 war between Hezbollah and Israel based on the looks of the houses and buildings around it…which were basically slabs of concrete barely holding themselves up.
I went into the souk with little intention except to maybe find a good gift or argeeleh or some souvenir to take the United States. I quickly realized that this was not a tourist’s souk…there were no souvenir shops or touristy things at all. Half of the souk was housewares and lingerie and vegetables and the other half were fake Ray-Bans and opened packages of makeup and cheap jewellery.
I have a very strong memory of walking into a souk within a souk in the Chiah souk with my aunts Alia and Suad, my mother, and my sister…entering from a tiny doorway on the right side of the street and winding through the tiny, tiny corridors laden with different vendors with pots, pans, necklaces, and sunglasses hanging above you and you rub shoulders with the Chiah inhabitants amidst and cacophony of vendors and buying speaking loudly trying to hear each other’s final bargaining price with a backdrop of Nancy Ajram or Wael Jassar blasting from one of the vendors’ boombox while another vendor is turning up his own Qur’an-on-tape collection from his stereo…it’s difficult to explain in words or at least in a sentence that is not a run-on.
I eventually found winding souk within a souk by accident and was ecstatic to go inside. A cute old lady who was sitting down in her shop excitedly greeted me and invited me to come inside to show me her wares. It was exactly as I remembered it from 6 years ago…how good that memory was surprised me so much. She was selling sunglasses for 5,000 Lebanese Liras, or a little more than $3. These were Ray-Ban original copies and fake Gucci eyeware. These people are creative but they are also very, very desperate for money. Apparently the sunglasses have been going very quickly because when I showed up, much of the rack was bare, as was the case in many other stores.
I zigzagged in and out of the souk within a souk and luckily realized that I ended up on another street that intersects with the souk’s main street. I browsed the rest of the souk and then casually walked up to another intersection and turned right and wandered around the outskirts of the souk. Most of the souk ended at that intersection and then it trinkled into little individually-rented shops and bigger souks under tents selling produce. I went under one of the tents and forgot that the imam had just finished adhan (the call to prayer) so the souk was unusually quiet because everyone and their customers had left to go pray their noon prayers. I snapped a couple of photos very, very cautiously, knowing that I was going to get a few raised eyebrows and stares. I am a tourist in my own motherland much of the time this summer.
I finished looking through the Chiah Souk and continued across the autostrade to the Mouawwad Souk, a bigger and more prestigious and more air-conditioned souk. A lot of the stores beg to be called high-end while others are just like the rest of Beirut stores selling fake merchandise. I went into a classical Lebanese gift shop and got a few gifts for people then decided to call it a day after exploring the rest of the Mouawwad Souk for another hour or so.
I got back home and rested and ate for a bit then went to my aunt Wafaa’s house in Sainte-Therese for tea with my uncle Abbas.
Later that day, Mariam and I went shopping for gifts in my aunt Wafaa’s store’s district. I think the district is called Bir Hassan—I can never remember the name nor how to get there. You have to pass through a million alleyways and odd-looking intersections but it’s neither too far nor too near to the house. I bought a Lebanese flag and several folklore memorabilia from a gift stores as well as gifts for my friends in the states.
Overall, I think I could have covered a marathon’s distance today.
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