The City We Told Our Parents About

Gemmayzeh was absolutely packed. It seemed that the entire city was gathered to celebrate the launch of the long weekend. People partied, drank, and laughed at the pubs and diners that lined the main street. On the sidewalk, couples pushed their way towards alleys, some for a smoke, others to discuss more intimately. A young woman slipped into the crowd with a friend and discreetly lowered a headscarf to her shoulders. She shook her hair out and looked up at the stars with a smile. Above, the elderly that called the upper apartments home lounged on their balconies, content. The drive through the street was slow, traffic stacked bumper to bumper. Taxis paused mid-intersection to drop off new visitors. Others picked up happy drunks ready to call it a night.

Further forward, the neighborhood merged seamlessly into that of Mar Mkhayel. The scene along this street was even livelier than the one we had just traveled through. A spectacle of night life, glass mugs clinked cheers to different successes while a hypnotic medley of music pulsed its way out of the buildings. Though the bars and seating spilled out onto the sidewalk and into one another, they each offered their own unique escapes from the world.

Albert S, Gemmayze at Night, 2015, Wall Street International Magazine, https://wsimag.com/travel/14590-a-magical-place-in-beirut

// We parked the car below an older building. Custom window frames and shutters were fitted into the façade while a black metal gate protected the entrance. She pulled it open with a long, rusted screech and led the way up the stairs. Terrazzo tiling speckled the floor of a landing lined with many different doors: a dentist, an insurance company, another doctor, a tattoo artist. So many professionals, so many lives fit into one landing, in a single building, in the city. I pushed open a door to my left. Darkness, save for the flickering of a few candles. The rest of the light emanated from a neon bright fixture hung on the opposite wall. The phosphorescent tubes were shaped into a single word, Happy. On a table beside the bed sat my birthday cake, a tower of fried chicken strips topped with a single candle. Fries and a collection of drinks circled the offering.

We moved towards the window together and managed to force the old frame open. The view of the sea beyond was defined by the port – the ships and massive cargo cranes that commanded this side of the city. The room flickered with the rest of Beirut, the lively brilliance of the outside world joining the candles and neon of the Happy sign. We ate the cake, one strip at a time, and looked through the window, out past the warehouses and over the darkness of the sea before us.

-- On we trekked through the streets of Geitawi, pausing every few meters to detail findings into our sketchbooks. The keystone of a masonry arch, the subtle curve of a retaining wall, the stained glass of an attic window – each handcrafted across decades, some across centuries. Listen to the city, read it well, walk its histories, and learn. Learn from the alleys that lead down through the neighborhood and towards the sea, from the rooftop terraces that reach up towards the sky. We had all walked these streets before, but never as aspiring architects. That day, we learned to look up.

// It was World Cup season and hundreds of fans were gathered in Mar Mkhayel to watch the games. A steep set of bleachers had been installed within an open field, the entirety of which was ringed by countless food trucks serving snacks of every kind. A VIP line invited those willing to pay a chance to lounge around on the smooth leather couches up front. The rest were slowly herded onto the steel steps. The crowd poured into the clearing from every street, in every direction. Never had there been so many people clustered together in Mar Mkhayel. The street usually had a way of filtering visitors in and out of the modestly sized shops.

A vast queue soon snaked its way around the field and across the newly built structure. Lebanese don’t do well with lines. A quick drink would make the wait more manageable. We skipped over the nearest pub and instead headed for a small market on the main street. “Aa zaw2ak,” we told the grocer, up to you. He nodded and poured an endless stream of vodka and exotic juices into a pitcher that he shook and spread evenly into five different plastic cups. 2000 L.L each, as opposed to 15 000 L.L at the pub next door.

Tipsy and lost in thought, it was much easier to join the queue and wait. We got to climb to our seats just as, with a roar, the game kicked off. Everyone was on edge, shouting, mocking, and ridiculing the opposing teams. The entirety of the steel structure vibrated with each close call, the crowd in trembling sync no matter which team was favored. The screen was so massive that everything else in the distance disappeared. Everything save for the enormous cargo cranes, droning on like clockwork in the distance.

Source: N12 Fan Park Facebook Page

-- Fairy lights were strung across a terrace overlooking the port. The ghostly light of ship out on the open sea signaled the arrival of a delivery. We looked on in interest, momentarily distracted by the cranes that swung to life along the coast in anticipation of the late-night cargo shipment.

The chime of glass against glass invited everyone back to the center. Toasts: to bright futures, to many happy returns, to friendship, to a city that would always be here waiting for us. And finally, cheers, to one more friend lucky enough to find opportunity abroad, lucky to leave this all behind.

****

6:08 pm, August 4, 2020. 2,750 metric tons of ammonium nitrate explode at Beirut’s port in the third largest explosion the world has ever seen. Knowingly stored by port authorities for over 6 years within proximity of some of the city’s most congested residential areas, the nitrates claim over 220 lives, injure more than 6,000, and leave another 300,000 homeless. The city we told our parents about is gone.

Bernard H, The Victims of Corruption and Neglect, 2020, The Art of Boo for L’Orient Le Jour, https://www.lorientlejour.com/article/1229090/the-art-of-boo.html

If, by any chance, you can donate to support the victims, please follow these links:

Lebanese Red Cross: https://www.supportlrc.app/donate/donate_guest.html

Impact Lebanon: https://www.justgiving.com/crowdfunding/lebanon-relief?utm_term=PYp7gXzyD