February 18, 2014 by Farrah Berrou - 2 Comments

This Year, Beirut was My Valentine

Sometimes I travel to discover a new place. Sometimes I travel to just change up the routine. Sometimes I travel to take crazy pictures, make new memories, and meet different people. But a lot of the time, I travel when I need to be away so I’ll miss home and want to come back. Going to Dubai, although only for a very short weekend, did the trick.

Beirut is love, Dubai is a fling. Beirut is your forever, Dubai is temporary. Beirut is malaria in that it will invade your core and infect your existence on a cellular level – molecular even – and you will always carry it with you in your bloodstream. And it will break you to see it suffer. To watch it crumble while you wonder if you can do anything, if your attempts will make a difference – it will break you over and over. Broken until you are hollow and wondering if your sensory receptors have lost all their functionality, if you have become numb out of repeated exposure or choice.

Beirut, I love you because you are raw and alive. I may not have the luxury of warm showers, electricity at all hours of the day, or a metro so I can read on my daily commute, but that’s okay. I am in a constant state of worry for your well being, for your health, and for your tendency to adapt rather than evolve. I love you because you’re a hot mess – you’re human, you have personality, you’re not bits and pieces of everyone else. You’re you.

When people complain to me about you, it is usually accompanied with “I know I’m talking to the wrong person.” It seems I will defend you with every ounce of blood in my veins, no matter how challenging you make it for me. No matter how many times you let me down, there is something ingrained in me that will not allow what they say to be true. It’s visceral. I am your original cheerleader armed with a keyboard and an internet connection. No one would ever believe me if I said I was leaving you, if I said I’ve had it, if I said there was nothing left inside.

And I love you. I love you because I know you, you are a part of my bones. When you are in pain, I feel it in my heart and my tears want to nourish the land that will feed my children. I want to hold onto you, wrap you up in my arms so tight, and tell you that you are more than you even know – when you think you are a failure, I will remind you of who I know you to be. Not who you can become but who you have always been to me. Maybe if I squeeze tight enough and if I whisper it soft enough, you won’t notice that the voice in your head is mine. You don’t have to worry about your pride, I won’t tell anyone it was me.

I want my life to be with you, I just need you to want it too. I love you Beirut, even if you don’t feel the same, even if you don’t love me back. And so, just when I thought I’d had enough, I am back here again. I just hope that this time you can see that and you won’t let me walk away.

January 19, 2014 by Farrah Berrou - 0 comments

It’s Our Country

Photo Credit: John Ajaltouni

The recent issue with Sukleen – no garbage pick-up all weekend – has left our capital city’s trash bins overflowing with its residents’ garbage. I took a Sunday drive today and couldn’t help but feel that this epidemic seems like an analogy of how we have been responding to our country’s failures in general. We know the garbage is not going to be collected but we continue to let it accumulate in the designated spots. We keep following the drill, stacking the bags on top or just compressing the existing ones to make more room. Some people have even resorted to burning the contents to make room. The bins drown in waste surrounded by rat poison while we Instagram the carnage and add #Lebanon.

We document, we complain, and we continue with our lives. We repeat the same mistakes and the same behavior. We throw away our trash and let it create mountains of repulsive rotting rubbish in the middle of our city because we assume that someone else will take care of it. Someone else will do something.

Maybe in this case, the case of Sukleen and Naameh, it is someone else’s battle. Maybe it’s the Ministry of Environment’s fault? What can we do about it anyway? I am no better than anyone else. I do the same thing: try to live my life and think that, perhaps, someone else who’s responsible for this – not me or you – will fix it and it’ll all blow over.

But who says we’re not responsible? It’s our country after all, isn’t it?

January 1, 2014 by Farrah Berrou - 0 comments

Bambi’s Soapbox: Top 5 of 2013

Below are the top 5 posts of Bambi’s Soapbox based on WordPress stats. Unfortunately, the theme of my blog makes the numbers a bit off aaaaaand the newer posts haven’t had time to bounce around as long as the older ones but these are the numbers:

5) Dear Britain: An Alternative Reply From Lebanon (356 views, 14 likes)

4) 10 Architectural Wonders of Singapore (482 views, 10 likes)

3) Going Off-track: Rayak Train Station (853 views, 28 likes)

2) What Lebanon Could Be (928 views, 85 likes)

NUMBER ONE BLOGPOST OF 2013:

1.) Why Do You Stay? (1,859 views, 394 likes)

Happy 2014 to everyone – may it bring better days to our beautiful little slice off the Mediterranean.

December 31, 2013 by Farrah Berrou - 0 comments

I am NOT a martyr

A movement has started on Facebook. The page “I am NOT a martyr” is dedicated to those who are frustrated with our situation and tired of being collateral damage to the violence we never asked for.

It’s simple, post a selfie with a proclamation of something you want/don’t want in your country and add #notamartyr. You’re not a martyr unless you choose to die for a cause you believe in in the hope for change. When you die for others’ “causes”, you’re a victim.

Take back your country. It’s not a huge act, but it’s a start.

December 28, 2013 by Farrah Berrou - 0 comments

How Close is Too Close?

This question keeps popping up in my head. When these assassinations and tragedies occur, I wonder “how long do you wait until it hurts someone you love?” How long do you choose to continue living in this situation until another strikes and it hurts someone you care about? There is no safety. “Stay home” they say, but you don’t even know if that is where there is no danger. When you’re afraid that the road home – the road that is supposed to lead you to your haven, the place that you feel untouchable and safe- is booby trapped, when that road is compromised and you are scared for your life every morning, when you can’t cruise for fear that your careless waste of gas may actually lead to death or destruction – all of these daily activities that should be normal…

When the bombs get closer, and not in a geographic sense, it all becomes hazy. When it could be your own father, your best friend, your colleague that you walk to work with from the parking lot every morning. When they are the ones in danger, you wake up. The problem is that it’s always someone’s father or someone’s friend. Do you wait until it’s your own to act? Do you wait until it’s a personal tragedy to fight for change or leave the country? Not to sound morbid but considering the size of our country and the fact that Lebanon’s degree of separation is 2 rather than 6 combined with the rate at which these horrible things are happening, it is only a matter of time before it hurts you or someone you know in a life-changing manner.

I’m so tired of typing words like this.
It’s always a personal tragedy. It’s always too close. When people die, it’s always too close.

December 22, 2013 by Farrah Berrou - 0 comments

5 Signs It’s Christmas in Lebanon

1. Airport Check-ins
…or Facebook statuses that say “Beirut.” The time has come for everyone to fly in for two weeks and have mana2eesh, fateh, and hangovers all while still getting over their jetlag. Some only have four days to see friends, Faraya, and their 35 cousins. Suddenly, bars have customers over the age of 21 because all the Lebanese youth are in town again.

2. Traffic
The flood of visitors who want to be out and about, the shoppers who need to grab gifts and cook dinners, and the poor employees who decided to work through the holiday season – they all get sucked into another dimension where time stops and you’re frozen somewhere between Ashrafieh and Zouk. There’s some distant sound of bells and Nemr Abou Nassar but you’re not quite sure if it’s Christmas time or you’re just trapped in the Matrix. WHY IS EVERYONE HONKING IF NO ONE CAN MOOOOOOOOVE…

3. Dinner Parties
Brunches, lunches, and holiday gatherings. So many wine bottles, poinsettias, and gift-wrapped chocolate sets going around and so many dinners that you’re in a food coma for 14 days straight. Have a second slice of pie and don’t let the haters stop you from doing your thing. And don’t wear anything skin-tight until April.

4. Snowing in Kfardebian
Pictures of snow. Snow on roofs of cars and melted piles of it on the highways. Face-mask tans. People canceling plans because they’re in Arez. EVERY OTHER PICTURE ON INSTAGRAM. This message also comes in the form of an email from Classic Burger Joint: “Now Grilling in Kfardebian.” Winter is no longer coming Stark, it’s here. *slurps Coke* #snow

5. SMS Flood
Kilo biftek bi 5,500 min TSC, Buche de Noel bi 29,999 min Spinney’s, Escalope bi 3000 min Abu Tony. Oh yeah, and Happy Holidays.

November 22, 2013 by Farrah Berrou - 1 Comment

Dear Britain: An Alternative Reply from Lebanon

our Banksy replica, Mar Mikhael

Dear Britain,

We appreciate the letter and thank you for the Independence Day wishes. Coming from a country that is fully equipped with a public transport system, functional infrastructure, as well as separation of church & state – well, we’re grateful for your advice.

It is true, we need to stop listening to everyone else and focus on ourself. However, maybe we can learn from each other. The fact that you have a reputation for raising our youth (the school systems, the language, and eventually adopting them when they arrive on your shores for graduate programs) is just one of the many things we could try to implement in our own way. If we invest in our rising stock of brainpower, we may have a fighting chance at becoming a force to be reckoned with. Indeed, we are good at networking in a world that will be built on networks but this cannot be used to allow a mass exodus of an intelligent and capable workforce. Unfortunately, one of our best exports is our bright minds and so many of our neighboring countries are benefiting from that.

Like most countries, we have many people that are not as privileged as others. These are the people that need the most empowering, employment, and empathy – such things that are out of reach because our government is in limbo and crippled at its best. Perhaps we are “so much better than we admit” but, in all honesty, being humble is not one of our strong points. You are right when you say that we should prioritize Lebanese interests and demand more from our leaders. That’s not a statement coming from a “higher power”, it’s common sense; yet another thing that is not our specialty.

Although we are aware that your motives for writing such a letter may be also in your best interests, as a population, we should learn when to embrace any form of support when we are on our knees and in need of someone in our corner. We know how the public scene works and how difficult it can be as a foreigner who tries to appeal to the masses. We know your a busy-body that gets a lot of attention on social media. We know your representative donated blood on the day of the Bir Hassan explosion. We know you reach out to our youth and have conversations with them, making them feel like their opinions matter; this is something we have yet to master. Regardless of why, thank you for setting a good example.

Anyway, thanks again for the letter but we have to wrap this up – we’ve got a lot to do and tomorrow’s the first day of our new chapter.
Allah yberek fikon w kilkon zo2,
Lebanon

———————————————————

Using achievements of the past or petty remarks about dental hygiene is no way to justify any form of condescension. Just be thankful and continue to work hard on your own efforts toward making Lebanon better.

November 22, 2013 by Farrah Berrou - 0 comments

#70ActsToUnite

In light of all that has happened this year, I don’t think celebrations should occur to commemorate our nation’s 70th Independence Day. However, since it is a day that is supposed to be a symbol of patriotic pride and a reminder of national unity (both of which are things we always need more of), there are things you can do to celebrate in a way that gives back.

In the past few years, I have read about many instances where people have decided to “pay it forward” in honor of someone’s passing. “Paying it forward”, made popular by the 2000 film, is the act of spreading kindness that will cause the recipient to do another random act of kindness to someone else as their form of “payment.” As a result, you have a snowball effect of good deeds.

Lebanon is in need of random acts of unification. We are walking on a tightrope while blindfolded because we don’t want to acknowledge the reality or because we have become too numb to a stable level of instability. It is our differences that make us Lebanese and it is our differences that makes us beautiful. The forces that are creating this fear and causing this destruction are not Lebanon. The people who want to enjoy a barbecue at their grandparents’ house on Sunday are Lebanon. The people who want to build a future are Lebanon. We are Lebanon.

In honor of the lives lost, let’s start acting like a community that has a common fundamental belief:

My family and friends deserve to lead a happy and safe existence.

Hopefully, these acts will catch on and inspire others to do good things to their fellow Lebanese for no other reason other than we are one. On the larger scale, maybe this will not make a difference but you will be spreading the idea of unification and brightening at least one person’s day. That, in a country that is so infused with worry for what lies ahead, is priceless.

Examples:

Tape a dollar to a vending machine with an anonymous “have a break, have a KitKat” note
Donate blood with DSC Lebanon

Suspended coffees or meals (or leave money for the next person’s parking tab)
Buy a falafel sandwich for a homeless person
Leave a nice note/doodle for a stranger on their windshield, they’ll think it’s a ticket so it’ll be a great surprise
Ask someone about their holiday traditions
Pull a Jerome Jarre on a stranger (just make them smile)

You get the idea. Let’s get something going – share your deed on Twitter/Instagram and spread the love #70ActsToUnite #Lebanon

November 19, 2013 by Farrah Berrou - 2 Comments

The Everlasting Question

Honestly, I started writing this post a few days ago hoping it would be ready by Independence Day but after today’s events, it feels more appropriate to post immediately. That, and I’m not a fan of celebrating after tragedy.

It seems that whenever a disaster occurs in our country, the youth is divided in their reactions based on where they stand in the daunting question: should I leave/stay/return-to Lebanon? This is normal considering how many issues we deal with on a regular basis besides the tragic things that also plague our unstable state. Maya Zankoul’s comic teased it but the problem is not just how we react but how we react to each other’s reactions.

The scenarios are split between the 4:

1) Lives abroad and doesn’t want to return

Many of our peers live abroad because of jobs, higher education, or family. They have set up a life in another country that provides for them; it is possible that the ties that once connected them to Lebanon are gone. Maybe they have found someone special in this other land. Maybe they’re starting a family of their own. Maybe they’re happy there, maybe they’re not. Either way, these people have created a new bubble that they call home and would prefer not to return to a place that is constantly rebuilding after another wave of destruction. It’s not betrayal, it’s just part of moving on and deciding what works best for you at that moment.

Usually, this group is defensive when confronted about their decision to stay abroad. They shouldn’t have to be because some of their arguments are valid. The confrontation from others comes from frustration and a smidge of jealousy – we’re aware that living abroad has its perks and we’re aware that living in Lebanon can be too much of a daily battle. Having said that, for those abroad who have a “good riddance” attitude about Lebanon – you are the true one’s betraying your country. You can live abroad but you don’t need to hate on those who don’t or assume you know better because you left.

2) Lives abroad but wants to return

A large percentage of our peers live abroad for the same reasons as those above but still have a yearning to be here. They stay abroad because the opportunities are better, the pay is higher, the future is brighter. However, they wish they could have that at home – in their mom’s kitchen and not just at Christmas time. They may have also built a life in this other land but it feels fleeting and temporary. The relationships they form with others are merely for the sake of company- guilt eats at them because these “roots” they make are too superficial. If they could be offered the same financial/educational package and come home, they would.

Usually, this group is very patriotic and heartbroken when events like today’s occur. I understand that it is tempting to say “you’re not here, you don’t get it,” but it is also difficult to feel helpless when those you love are/could be in danger. Don’t be angry with them for being abroad or rob them of their legitimate worry. If horrible things happen, they will weep just like you will regardless of where their geolocation tags them.

3) Lives in Lebanon but wants to leave

Another large bulk of youth are those who want to leave. This group want to do so for the reasons above too but they have hurdles in the way. Visas, money, no employment prospects abroad- who knows.

Usually, this group is quick to express their desire of greener pastures especially during times of distress. Besides the fact that no one enjoys acts of terror, there is nothing wrong with wanting more for yourself and we can all agree that Lebanon is to blame for its own brain drain. There just isn’t enough to go around for the ambitious, creative, and talented population. However, if this population does choose emigration as their game-plan, I hope that they will not resent their country for it. If the red dirt could talk, I think it would beg you to stay and save it or, at least, come back when you feel you have the power to make a difference.

4) Lives in Lebanon and wants to stay

I feel this is the smallest group of them all. They are here and they are trying. It’s that simple.

Usually, this group is criticized by others for sticking around. It is as if choosing to stay is done out of naivety when, in reality, it is about more than nightlife, manoushe, and tawlet at Falamanki. It’s about building their career, family, and ultimately, their life in their country.

Nasri from Our Man in Beirut said it best: “On a personal level, away from the newswires, it is absolutely terrifying how desensitized to violence everyone around me (including myself) seems to be, judging by our reaction to this, which is more rational sadness for the dead, concern and worry than pure emotional fear.” It is true, perhaps we have lost a bit of our humanity after enduring so many heartaches but the rational sadness is the only defense mechanism that hasn’t failed us yet. Carrying on after an explosion is not a crime. As long as they’re not complaining that other’s misfortunes inconvenience them, no one should feel guilty about fighting back by living.

It seems that a fifth scenario is forming, splitting from the 4th and rising from the ashes: those that live in Lebanon and want to stay but are losing ground. They find it more and more challenging to justify – to others but mostly to themselves- why they choose to remain in a volatile place when there is so much at stake. Why wait until the unthinkable happens?

Like Robert Fisk said, “Lebanon is like a Rolls Royce with square wheels…it has a lot that’s worthy of praise but it doesn’t run so well.” Don’t judge your fellow Lebanese for why they stay or go. They have to do what’s right for them. With that said, in whatever context, don’t turn your back on your country either. We have to do what’s right for it. It’s not about where you are, it’s about where you’re from.

May the victims of the Bir Hassan explosions of Nov 19, 2013 rest in peace. God be with their families and loved ones.

November 16, 2013 by Farrah Berrou - 0 comments

Bambi Recommends: The iPhone Doctor

My precious iPhone had been malfunctioning for the past few days leaving me with a black screen. It was still operating but having a dead screen means you have a smartphone that functions like a home receiver from the 90s. Touchscreens need illumination and Siri’s voice dialing can only go so far; she called my friend in England by mistake. My tech expert friend told me about an iPhone guru in Sin el Fil so off we went. In a side street in Horsh Tabet is Amer & Raed, a sales and repair shop specializing in Apple products.

Upon entering the shop, Raed, a George Khabbaz doppleganger, sat behind a Macbook surrounded by the remains of iPhones and other wrapped patients (sick phones are rubber-band-wrapped in white paper containing the contact info of the owner). I handed him the phone and he dissected it with ease. He carefully removed the chips and pieces, stripping it down on the table in front of him. It was like watching a cardiologist behind an operating table. He used nail pliers to pinch circuits and sprayed a toothbrush with cleaning fluid to wipe away residue – the same residue left from months before when my phone took a dive in my Nescafe. He has a microscope that he uses to inspect the nanobits that come together to create this device that we are all addicted to. Once he figures out the problem, he re-fuses circuits using needles that look like phone defibrillator pads. I had the urge to yell out “clear” during the revival.

At one point, an older man came in with his daughter’s iPhone that had drowned in water. The phrases that were used were as if they were discussing a patient that needed surgery. He asked if it could be saved to which Raed replied, “inshallah kheir.” We asked what we should do if we ever dropped our babies in water after hours. This is how we learned that Raed takes emergency calls too; saying he’d come in and open in the middle of the night if necessary.

The good thing about Amer & Raed is that you actually watch them try to figure out what’s wrong with your phone. Other places I’ve been to jump into how much it’s going to cost and try to sell you a newer model instead – before they’ve even looked at what could actually be wrong. Besides that, they overcharge for slow work that has poor results. Raed fixed my phone in under 30 minutes, in front of me, and didn’t over charge. In fact, he didn’t charge at all. Ma btehrouz. (it’s not necessary)

Now that’s a doctor who isn’t working for the paycheck. That’s a doc who’s saving lives.

How to get there: the road that heads towards the Mkalles roundabout disaster [on the same road where Marky’s is] take a right where the big black globe sign is and Amer & Raed will be up ahead on your left.

Contact them at +961 1 494 303