Salafis and Ba’th Party supporters in Beirut

On Sunday, two protests were scheduled to take place in downtown Beirut. The city is well-acquainted with recurring manifestations of political will but this time it was different: The two protests concerned Syria and represented pro- and anti-Bashar al-Assad camps. What’s more, the anti-Assad protest was run by Lebanese Salafis, marking the first time the Islamic group led a political demonstration in Beirut. Their presence was upsetting the usual pro-resistance March 8 / pro-Western March 14 political divide that governs most issues in Lebanon.

That one time I went to the Hezbollah Museum

One of the places I most desperately wanted to go to when I arrived in Lebanon was the Museum of the Resistance in Mleeta in the South. The museum was created in 2010 by Hezbollah to commemorate the ten-year anniversary of the retreat of Israel from South Lebanon. A museum on a given political organization created and maintained by said organization is the kind of surrealist self-serving enterprise I just had to see for myself. In mid-January, one of my classes got to visit the museum, an occasion that was exciting for the reasons mentioned above, and also because I thought class trips were only for middle-schoolers.

The museum is situated on top of a hill which used to be the location of a Hezbollah encampment during the fighting against the Israeli Occupation Forces. At approximately 1.5 km in altitude, my attitude of denial when it comes to wearing proper winter clothing proved particularly painful on this January morning. The hill was covered in thick fog that we were told used to be prime weather to attack Israelis without being spotted.

View from Mleeta

Are you sure you're French?

I have seen many people over the years try (and fail) to pinpoint where I come from. I find this extremely amusing, seeing how I am a pretty generic white person and don't see what could mark me as being from one specific place over another. The crazy guesses I have heard are even funnier knowing that I have the blandest genealogical make-up ever. My parents are both from the same village in Normandy, and the only possibility of exoticism in my genes is my great-grandfather's unknown father, who, let's face it, was most probably from somewhere super foreign like a neighboring village. Or perhaps Brittany.

Among the most memorable guesses as to my origins, I have been told that I look/sound like someone from Detroit, North Carolina, Italy and even Greece. I was also told over Christmas break by someone I had just met that I sound foreign when I speak French, which was rather upsetting, although probably true. But for some odd reason, no guess keeps coming back quite as often as Eastern Europe.

This is a sarcastic article on articles on Beirut

From NOW Lebanon, "This is a cliché article about why 'Beirut is back'"

My favorite part:

This paragraph begins with one of the four “p” metaphors: pawn, playground, pearl or Paris. Beirut is like one of these. I could also use Switzerland as an analogy, but that is *so* overdone. And take note: I will repeatedly refer to Lebanon’s capital throughout this article as if it is representative of the country as a whole.

And also:

I will also peg a picture to the side of the article that shows a woman wearing a mini-skirt and high heels walking down the same street as a woman wearing a hijab, just in case I didn’t quite prove to you how “Western” Lebanon is.

You are allowed to beat me with a stick (or a plastic ruler, if you're a service driver) if I ever use any of the horrific platitudes exhibited in that article.

Clash of civilizations

Happy New Year everyone! Or, as we would say here, سنة سعيدة (sana sayideh). I hope this year brings you all many great things before we inevitably perish on December 21. At this point during the year, I will be busy working on my master's research thesis, so I for one will be welcoming the Apocalypse with open arms.

I have been severely lagging on the posting recently, although for my defense, I have been over my head lately with final papers. Oh the joys of going back to school... The semester ends in two weeks, so hopefully by February I will be able to discuss more fun things than "I spent six hours at the library today."

In the meantime, I thought I would share with you an ongoing preoccupation, something that has plagued my social interactions in Lebanon since my arrival. 

The bise.

Happy three-month anniversary Lebanon! I wrote you a poem list.

It's hard to believe it's been three months since I first set foot in Lebanon. In some ways, it feels like I have been here forever, but I still have so much to learn. I've passed the point of being submerged in the unfamiliar, and some of my initial impressions now seem laughably inaccurate.

So now, instead of listing things that seem out of the ordinary, here is a list of things that might have seemed odd three months ago, but to which I am now accustomed:

Ashoura

On Monday, late at night, as most of my stories seem to unfold, I received one of these spontaneous propositions for an adventure that pop up every now and again since I have come to Lebanon:

"Come with us to the South to see the Ashoura celebrations in Nabatiye tomorrow morning!"

What's a girl to do? I went home... packed a toothbrush, my glasses and laptop (because I am a very responsible grad student--Papa, Maman si vous lisez ceci) and hopped into my friend Kh.'s car for another Janub trip.

Quick Wiki moment:
Ashoura is one of the Shi'a Muslim high holidays. It is in remembrance of the death of Husayn, the grandson of Prophet Muhammad, on the tenth day of the battle of Karbala in 680 CE (or 60 After Hijra, during the month of Muharram), which opposed Husayn's handful of followers against the army of Caliph Yazid.

Child dressed in black for Ashoura, carrying a flag with a
portrait of Husayn

Ashoura is a day of mourning for Shi'as, and many typically honor this day by wearing black. However, some Shi'as perform tatbir, a practice involving hitting oneself on the head repeatedly with the flat side of a sword's blade, drawing blood, or hitting one's back with chains. This act of grief is forbidden in many countries, and has been called haram by some Shi'a scholars, but the practice is still legal in Lebanon.

(Warning: Pictures involving large amounts of blood below the fold.)