April 9, 2016 by Farrah Berrou - 0 comments

We’re Not Braindead, We’re Heartbroken

I have written countless posts about my sentiments on the topic of bashing or supporting our country and its self-destructive behavior. If you want another dose, it’s all summed up in this particular post from last June. Upon reading some other old posts of mine, I realized that I’ve also written a lot about the internal battle that the Lebanese youth face, the frustration we experience when returning from a visit to another city, and the decision to stay being about more than you alone. As I go back into the archives, I see that Bambi’s Soapbox is more of a diary than a soapbox because it’s all feels, most of which haven’t changed – heck, they haven’t shifted a millimeter.

I’m trying, once again, to formulate the argument for staying but I can’t find the cinder blocks that will support such a weight. I am here for my family and the enterprise that we are building together but I want to feel like I haven’t made this ridiculous tradeoff by choosing Beirut one more time. It’s my city but am I its child?

When the Ministry of Tourism came out with the latest video of a beautiful Lebanon, a friend of mine shared it on Facebook and appropriately added, “When will we deserve you?” This was what came to mind while spending last Sunday morning in the Bekaa. With all that natural wonder, you don’t know whether to be proud that exists or disgraced that it’s being thrown away.

Holding up a mirror to someone who’s chopped off their hair while telling them, “it’s bad but it’ll grow back” is taking a situation, admitting it’s a disaster, and presenting how it will be fixed. This is how I (and others) try to write about the status quo without defecating all over an entire population. The options are black & white: you can complain, leave, or do something about it.

Beirut Madinati is a volunteer-based campaign that is presenting technocratic candidates for the Beirut Municipality elections in May. Once elected, these people will work for the people because they are OF the people: qualified citizens who have the know-how to address the countless issues on the table.

Even if you can’t vote in Beirut, the participation in such a movement could still create a butterfly effect. It may inspire the Lebanese as a whole, not just those in Beirut, to believe that we can be active members in pulling Lebanon out of the garbage-filled gutter. I understand reluctance to take action because of so many failed attempts in the past. Plus, a Municipality’s ability to create real change may not feel like enough but it’s a first step. If we fail, then nothing changes so where’s the risk in trying?

Our problem is simple: we’re not braindead, we’re heartbroken.
But Beirut is my city, isn’t it yours too?

February 25, 2016 by Farrah Berrou - 2 Comments

The 3-Month Itch

I’m off again after 3 months of being back and I’m THRILLED to be hopping onto a plane. The appalling images of the garbage trails have been flooding my channels. I walked through RHIA’s departure floor last August thinking that it would be solved by the time I returned but here we are, 6 months later, with the same shitfest.

Before my latest flight to CDG, I had lunch with my laptop at Cafe Younes in Hamra, an old hideout of mine during my second-round-of-undergrad-days. Maybe it was a move to remind me of when I felt like there was a lot of possibility ahead. A refresher of those vibes before I bask in West Coast living and become removed from the headache that is the Levant and its neighbors’ temper tantrums.

We try to grow our businesses, we fill our calendars, we pour more hard-earned cash into something we hope will be a sustainable source of income and/or purpose. We try.

Or we leave for some fresh air so we can keep doing the above with some sanity when we come back like the labrador that returns to an abusive owner only to be kicked in the face again. I can’t help but ask: what makes us come back?

Oh Lebanon, I may love you too much for my own good but even love grows tired when one side’s fighting the battle alone. Here’s to hoping some of this garbage gets sorted out before my return. And I don’t just mean the trash.

February 17, 2016 by Farrah Berrou - 1 Comment

Nike+ Run Club: Byblos was our Valentine

Taken by Ali Itani

As readers of El-Tanein Diet know, the Nike+ Run Club (NRC) runs twice a week from the Nike store in Beirut Souks every Tuesday and Thursday evening. However, what is not advertised on their flyers is the NRC-organized fun runs on weekends. I stress on the words “fun run” because the main point behind this group is to run for the sake of running, not for medals or podiums.

Leading the pack in this group of awesome folk is Mark Jibran, the NRC coach and all-around positive force of nature. Having a good coach should not be underestimated when it comes to sticking to a fitness regimen. If one’s trainer pushes too hard or doesn’t know how to motivate effectively, then they have failed as a trainer. What seems to fall through the cracks when finding a personal trainer or fitness advisor is not the reps or preferred activities used to get one in shape, but the personal approach they have while one is undergoing training.

Mark Jibran, NRC Coach – Taken by Ali Itani

And that is where Nike hit the jackpot with Mark. He knows how to deal with people and he knows how to push without making you want to throw spiky pineapples at him so he’d back off.

For each coach, there is a pacer: Mohamad Marhamo. With M&M, the NRC is guided by two smiling and seasoned runners. We are pushed to keep running at our own best pace or, at the very least, to keep running. We are told how to stretch, how to stay hydrated, and how to exercise correctly. And if that wasn’t enough to convince you that they know what they’re doing, both are members of De-Feet Runners, a group of ultra-marathoners who run marathons back-to-back for 6 consecutive days to raise funds for charity.

Mohamad Marhamo, NRC Pacer – Taken by Ali Itani

Running with these two on the Beirut corniche will show you that this group truly does run BEY. Be it at 6am or 6pm, fellow runners all over the path call out a happy hello to M&M because they are deep-rooted members of this athletic community that is alive in our city. While the rest of us sleep in, these guys are out there enjoying the sunrise and serene calm that you rarely associate with our chaotic capital. By being part of this group and going for runs at the crack of dawn, I got to witness this spirit and, dare I say, be part of it even if just for a few instances.

For Valentine’s Day, we decided to take on the cultural port city of Byblos (Jbeil) for an early morning 10km run through the old souk and asphalt road to Amchit. On the bus there, while still trying to figure out how and why I was on my way to run on the morning of my 28th birthday, I was also debating how many kilometers I would actually do. The warm-up was set at 2km so that was the minimum but where would I stop? I’d done 10km in the Beirut Marathon but that question popped up, like it does before every NRC meetup, do I feel like it today?

At every kilometer, my mind would ask, “are you ready to turn around?” But as I neared the halfway point where M&M were waiting with water, I had other NRC members making their way back and cheering me on. So I thought, “yalla, another kilometer and then you’ll stop.” And that’s how it went on until I did the entire 10. I did it thanks to their cheerleading combined with my mind not wanting my body to succumb to being closer to the age of 30. HA.

I was never a runner. Hell, I still don’t think I can call myself one. But maybe, in the future, with the help of NRC, I will be.

December 23, 2015 by Farrah Berrou - 1 Comment

Frank Capra and Choosing to Stay in Beirut

Capra’s take on the individual and collective, adventure and domesticity, and success and an ordinary life aren’t just applicable to the American Wonderful Life. While watching the above, I kept seeing the duality apply to Lebanon as a whole. Beirut is my Bedford Falls.

Many of the ambitious youth, myself included, dream of travel and growth beyond what the small country can offer us. There is a fear of being trapped, the constant threat of becoming obsolete in any professional field of the 21st century because of limitations that are not under your control. The push and pull represented in the film by Potter and Mary are also present in each of our lives thanks to our politicians and our people. We have our symbols of corruption and our symbols of hope – the little things that make you stay or the little things that bring you back, even if just for 10 days at the end of the year.

“But hope is not naive. It’s hardiness and resolve against a situation that cannot give us assurances or guarantees. The film shows us that a change of heart and perspective far from being powerless nostalgia in the face of an unusually divisive and fear-filled season can be a genuinely revolutionary attitude.”

I’ve been asked “You have an American passport, why don’t you just leave?” multiple times. Because, like George Bailey, it’s not about me.

Here’s to hoping 2016 brings more domestic adventure and ordinary success. Let’s do this, Lebanon.

December 13, 2015 by Farrah Berrou - 0 comments

23 Days Left to Help BETA

Hear that rain?

Like the rest of the population here, the doggies of BETA will need to get through the winter ahead too. BETA, Beirut for the Ethical Treatment of Animals, has launched a crowdfunding campaign to raise funds to repair their shelter’s roof. Home to 400 dogs and hundreds of other abandoned animals, BETA is helping the furry friends that have also been victims of our multilayered humanitarian situation.

BETA’s not a priority when it comes to donations, volunteers, and aid given all the carnage that is happening within and surrounding the country at the moment. Sadly, animals tend to take a backseat to humans. It doesn’t have to be either/or though, there is enough of us to help the many causes and ’tis the season to do good. ‘Tis the season for storms and plummeting temperatures too so let’s keep these balls of fluff warm & dry.

The BETA shelter is an old farm in Monteverde and the roof of the structure is in bad shape. It’s split into sections so any money raised will still lead to some improvements and whatever is left will go to the dogs’ medical care if it can’t be used to complete another section.

“One meter of plain roofing costs just $6, so however small your donation, it will still make a difference!”

23352_1448895403_1082133079_zoning_001

Based on their page, there is “no government funding for animal charities in Lebanon” so they rely purely on donations. Their goal is $35K and they’ve reached a little over $10K with 3 weeks to go – at that rate, they should make it but it can’t hurt to help spread the word to make sure they do.

November 26, 2015 by Farrah Berrou - 6 Comments

It’s Like I Never Left

When I had friends visiting from their stints abroad during the summer or Christmas season, I couldn’t help feeling like they were in a state of growth & discovery while Lebanon, and I along with it, was frozen in an endless loop. Now that I’m the one coming back, I see that it wasn’t just an illusion.

I’ve been back for less than a week and it feels like I never left. Granted I’ve only been gone for 3 months and that’s not even long enough to digest a Thanksgiving dinner but not much has shifted. My cats are fatter (and thus, cuter) yet still unfriendly. Even my car’s side mirror is still faulty because it sat in my parking space collecting dust for 87 days. The most that’s changed is that my parents have become Beliebers because my sisters subjected them to so much One Direction in my absence. However, I’m not talking about my personal circle. Lebanon hasn’t moved a millimeter.

Perhaps that’s why those abroad love to come home: there are no surprises. You can lose a job in the middle of a divorce, pay a mortgage, get a 4th degree in Switzerland. But with all of that, when you come back home, you’ll still have unreliable utilities, corrupt politicians, and the best manoushe hot off the forn around the corner. Lebanon, in all her stunted glory, is the constant in their life of uncertainties and responsibilities. It’s comfort in the form of a country.

And what’s wrong with that? What’s wrong is that I’m not visiting. The level of comfort wears off when you’re not just passing through. I would’ve loved to come back to a solved garbage crisis, a president in office, and maybe even a feline who wants to cuddle.

Lebanon is the perfect home base in that you can go live another life elsewhere, return, and still find everything as you left it. There is no FOMO because you can always be there for the next cycle. It’s bittersweet but, isn’t that the case for all things Lebanese?

November 14, 2015 by Farrah Berrou - 2 Comments

Beirut, the Paris of the Middle East

Never has that statement been so morbidly disturbing.

What happened last night in France is a horrendous tragedy.

I know that Paris has been a stop for travelers from all ends of the earth. I know it’s been romanticized and dreamed about in media, film, and poetry. Writers and artists consider the city a muse, the one they connect with and pour their souls out to. I know that residents adore it and visitors are enamored with its elegance and effortless sophistication.

But that’s what my Beirut is too.

I won’t paint illusions. We’ve been going through a bit of a rough patch but Beirut has also been the breeding grounds for creative minds and has captured the hearts of globetrotters who want to return for a second round. Maybe even a third and fourth. We’re just as sexy as Paris.

This isn’t jealousy, it’s sadness as Joey says. This post is in no way said with anger or bitterness towards the suffering people in France or its sympathizers. I type this because I wonder why Beirut has been forgotten or put on the list of places where death is just a number and it’s normal for the city’s name to be on the ticker at the bottom of your TV screen. You know which cities I mean. They’re the ones that have casualties and increasing death tolls as you pour almond milk onto your Cinnamon Toast without flinching.

And yet, when Paris is attacked, the world is shaken. Towers are lit with red, white, and blue. Don’t we deserve the same prayers? Doesn’t every city on that list mentioned above deserve them? Last night, Paris was the Beirut of Europe. These comparisons are unfair. “Beirut” equals carnage and chaos while “Paris” equals savoir faire and luxury.

Beirut, you have always wanted to be like Paris, the mother that left you when you were young. But dear Beirut, Paris never wanted to be like you because being like you would mean she doesn’t matter to the rest of the world and we all know that’s not true.

_________________________________________________________

To all,
It’s an ugly world these days.
Stay strong and stay safe.

September 24, 2015 by Farrah Berrou - 3 Comments

On Defacing Downtown Beirut

I understand that people are pissed. I understand that Solidere’s Downtown Beirut has become a blocked off part of the city that seems to cater to the fortunate and wealthy, void of the majority of typical Lebanese citizens and taxpayers. I understand that the #YouStink movement has given people an outlet to release all their pent up grievances. But the resentment toward this place is because it is supposed to be for all the people, not just the ones who can afford the strip of shops on Foch.

That is why I can’t understand why it seems okay to vandalize the properties there. Defacing the statues and buildings isn’t going to serve anyone. It is still our central district and we should ask for rights by proving that we are respectful of the historical significance of the squares, open public access, and the collective heritage of the area. Doing the opposite will only prove their claim that we are a people undeserving of our own metropolis.

Please don’t deface our face to the world. We should reclaim it, bring it back to what it is supposed to represent – a hub for commerce, tourism, and history. We can take it back or we can let it continue to be a beacon of inequality. Once again, it’s up to the people to decide.

August 23, 2015 by Farrah Berrou - 5 Comments

Beirut, Be Good

The other day, I was thinking that this has been the longest stint I’ve had in Beirut in the last 2 years. Personal trips and business flights had me in and out of Lebanon a lot. People used to say that that is why living here was bearable. I had the breaks needed to cope. It was the opposite though. Only after I started traveling more did it get harder and harder for me to stay.

This week has shown me a side of my country that has left me uneasy. I feel the violence that occurred on Saturday was a blessing in disguise. Although people were assaulted and violated, we were shown where we stand in the eyes of “our leaders.” The Lebanese public demanded basic rights and were met with force. The government brought on the same response that every action they’ve done leads to: bringing the people to tears, only this time it was via tear gas and brutality rather than frustration and disappointment.

Had the demonstration remained civil and truly peaceful, the woes of the protesters may not have reached the rest of the public at home and abroad. Escalation and injustice attracts international media attention and creates necessary pressure on those responsible.

I admit that I was not there on the 22nd. I was discouraged, time after time, feeling that our efforts were wasted and heading in an unclear direction. And I will also admit, hearing about the water cannons made me fear for my own safety. After seeing my friends fall, my fellow citizens take hits – I was relieved that I was safe at home and repulsed by how they were treated. I had given up. That didn’t last very long though; sitting behind screens felt wrong and their fire rekindled mine. My dad and I decided to join the protesters earlier this afternoon before the shit hit the fan again. Seeing the crowd slowly grow as the hours passed is the kind of thing that needs to be felt so the public knows their voice matters, that maybe they’re not powerless. I’m not a fan of movements that ask for the fall of the government and do not propose plans; we need strategy. With that said, I am an advocate of supporting the community that shows what Lebanon is really about.

Unfortunately, it got dangerous after we left and my spirits are sinking again. The test now will be when the demands of daily life return. What worries me is what happens next. Did we just need a weekend to vent? What is our long-term plan to avoid repeating the same mistakes? How do we ensure that we will have new leaders that will respect our existence and represent the public instead of their own interests? Will the fall of our broken system really improve this situation? Things need to change. If not now, then when?

My expat friends abroad have made me feel like I’m one of the last guardians still here, still trying to build a future in dysfunctional purgatory. This coming Saturday, however, I’m leaving you Beirut. I will be back but I don’t know if I’ll stick around once I’ve had a taste of a stable nurturing environment that will feed my hunger for more. I’m choosing the same path that many before me have: to invest in myself first so that I can invest in my country more effectively later on. I need to do this. If not now, then when?

I hope that the bond that unified us against corruption doesn’t buckle, I hope that our media stays objective, and I hope that we maintain our stance with dignity. Lebanon, I don’t know how to love you anymore but I don’t know how to stop. I haven’t left yet but all I ask of you while I’m gone is that you be smart, be strong, and be good.

July 26, 2015 by Farrah Berrou - 2 Comments

Saying No to Temporary Fixes

It’s ironic that in mob movies, members of the mafia use “waste management” as their cover when asked what they do for a living. Here, our mafia of politicians also has nothing to do with waste management. As has been the trend, whenever there has been an injustice in our society, a Facebook event pops up announcing a march against it. After the garbage fiasco this past week, an anti-corruption demonstration was planned for Saturday afternoon (yesterday) in front of the Grand Serail in Downtown.

I’ll admit that I haven’t gone to every protest but I felt like it was my civic duty to be present at this one in particular. If I didn’t go, I was a fraud: a hypocrite for not practicing what I preach. In essence, our presence at every march is necessary – we need to stand together when any member of our community or any issue that affects it is being defended and/or highlighted. We need to unite as a common front otherwise we are the ones to blame when our rights are violated or our politicians make poor decisions on our behalf and we quietly accept them. You have to take responsibility for your part of the equation before blaming others or authority. That also applies to the issue of garbage collection. As one citizen was saying at the protest, “this is our trash, we should sort it.” It is the country’s duty to collect and dispose of their people’s waste, but it’s the people’s duty to reduce their individual contribution to it. Once you do your part then you can be angry for them not doing theirs. It’s also about taking responsibility for putting such people in power and then suffering the consequences of our own votes. What’s done is done though so let’s deal with our present situation.

I’m glad there was a demonstration. I’m amused when, after bumping into a friend there, she told me, “it’s my first mouzahara.” It was admirable to see people bringing their children there, exposing them to the issues that should be fought for instead of surrounding them with sectarian rhetoric. It was good to see the faces I see on Facebook, the ones who write about the problems, also there in person. It was great to see Lebanese flags, no party colors. It was commendable to see a peaceful approach to getting our voices heard. Who was listening though? The crowds looked indistinguishable from the ones at our summer street festivals and that’s what seemed wrong. I wanted more anger. I wanted more people. I wanted more alternatives presented for what happens once everyone goes home. Without a long-term plan, will there be change?

I went to yesterday’s protest knowing that it would either inspire or disappoint me. Sadly, it was more of the latter. I admire the activists that organized it and took action. Enough complaining without movement. But while standing there, I was surprised that there weren’t more people, that the ones there weren’t furious, and that the general consensus of the older generation was a pessimistic “what’s the point?”

Last night, I returned to Beirut from Broumanna and, from that altitude, there was a very visible gray cloud suffocating the entire city and we prayed that it wouldn’t rain. Driving (or diving, I should say) into it, the streets were a post-apocalyptic scene of burning dumpsters and filth.

The solution that they came up with yesterday post-protest was new landfills in new locations. But the people aren’t standing for it. Jiyeh residents have closed down the highways to South Lebanon because they don’t want to be the next Naameh. They may have inconvenienced a lot of people heading to/from the South today but they have every right to say no to a decision that will inconvenience them with a nation’s trash for an undetermined amount of time. We cannot let those in charge think that these “solutions” work. After seeing how they handle such crises, I wouldn’t want the trash moved to my backyard either. We have to reject this solution before it’s too late…again.