Day FiftySix

Shatila Day

and the way there is becoming easier.

More familiar 

and bonded between us.

Julia is the new addition to the group since last week

and she's been amazing.

She is amazing.

Extremely conscious

and kind.

We had the classes together 

and in a very strange, unplanned way

we manage to flow together

as teachers

in a class of young rebels.

The class starts and we are in full action

to collect the running boys

and congratulate the sitting ones.

The girls are in order 

and they haven't lost their interest yet.

Meanwhile Fatme is being the queen of numbers

The struggle becomes real

when the little monkeys

see no future in sitting on a chair

with two foreign teachers.

'HALAS!'

I shout firmly.

'Shoo haida?'

[What is this?]

One time

Two times

Three times

Drop 

[on the floor laughing]

as me and Julia look at each other

and break out in laughs 

at how cheeky the kids are

and how we're almost enjoying that they're so energetic.

They watch us laugh

and they laugh too.

They get it.

And we get it too.

All they want is some attention

from a foreign vibe

that communicates with them 

more with body language than

with language.

Julia takes the lead

and goes to the board.

The attention starts being magnetically drawn

to the board.

I alternatively pick up the boys who are naughty 

and sit them on my lap to hold.

More so to refrain them from running around the class.

Foaz becomes briefly naughty and I grab him in a playfully way

place him on my lap sideways

where he leans to my left arm and comforts himself

like a lovable human form

that found the comfort he needs.

I remember him last week;

being completely defensive and traumatised

as he lied under the table

and wouldn't come out of it.

I urged him and stack around saying

'Come habibi. Come.'

I couldn't figure him out 

but I kept showing I was there.

And now he was giving himself to me.

In the way a child gives himself to the mother.

And  though I wasn't ready for it

it was the best thing

taught in class.

Day FourtyNine

Shatila Day

after Zeed motivated me to come along and teach English 

after missing out on a week and basically giving up on the girls' fitness class

which is now carried out by Alex and Mallory.

The girls kept telling me during the week

'you are loved there'

and 

'the girls are asking about you'

but

my only response was that 

'I feel everything'

which makes it hard for me to carry.

But I went.

With less weight on my shoulders and the dream team alongside.

The kids are always excited to see us

and it has become a familiar place for us too.

Even people on the streets can recognise our faces.

The day starts and we have a class and then a break.

I'm eager to walk upstairs to the girls' school

to visit them

as they pledged me to do

two weeks ago.

I know they know I know

they don't forget me;

and I wanted them to know

I don't either.

Their teacher Mohammed is on the stairs 

and I ask him where the girls' classroom is.

He says 'Which girls?'

I say 'Ifal'.

She's my younger soul sister.

He walks us to their class and opens the door.

I appear slowly in the picture

and scan the faces

I face.

I notice Ilaf,

sitting on the front seat.

The more confident funny friend sitting behind her.

Her younger sister sitting next to her.

Our contemporary dancer is sitting on the front right.

I look further,

the more mature girl who takes the class seriously sits at the far right.

I see eyes dilating

as their wonder grows 

at how I made it to see them.

We stand awkwardly,

speechlessly

motionlessly

connecting 

with no 

way

to explain to anyone watching-

all the things we've discussed

in that one moment.

Neither side wants to let go

but Mohammed is standing at the door

and Mrs Sarah, their teacher,

is like, ?,

so I say 'I will go to work now'

blink,

nod to them,

and make my way out of the picture.

#strong

#priceless

#deep

-

We go downstairs and outside for some tea on the street.

I notice a woman hanging clothes on the balcony 

of Ilaf's flat.

And I suspect it's her mother.

I always look to that balcony

in a secret hope to come across Ilaf

or her older sister.

I walk below the balcony and wave to the woman.

'Hello. Ilaf mama? Inti?'

'Eh!'

She recognises me.

I try to explain who I am but she already knows.

Ilaf has spoken to her family about me as much as I have spoken

to my family about her.

It's mutual.

'Ahlein'

Come in, she waves. Come.

I say I have to go back for the second English class

and she says I should come next time.

She is so welcoming,

it's like we've hugged from the first floor balcony she's at

and the noisy street I'm at.

I can see where the girls get this beautiful

loving sense from.

And I look forward to 

embracing their invitation.

Day Fourty

Sara from England

works with youth and adults with anti-social behaviour 

and she's here to do good.

Today,

she went to Bekka Valley to collect a fifteen year old boy 

and take him to an other village where he will be 

staying with extended family and where he will start school,

tomorrow.

She's on a fundraising mission where funds go to support refugees directly

-somewhat boycotting the idea of NGO support due to their

in-transparent fund distribution.

Nonetheless,

I'm in the kitchen cooking

and Duce comes up to me and starts describing her experience with Sara

and the mission.

She has a very,

very

grateful and humbled 

tone in her voice.

She starts by saying 'I am lucky'

'I am lucky, because even if I do not have parents

or a family

or mother

I did not have to carry my sister

who has no legs

and to see my own parents die in front of my eyes.

So I am lucky'...

I'm putting everything together in my mind as well as in the pan 

as I make the link of a very,

very

bitter upbringing 

becoming moulded into appreciation

in the sight of devastating 

and traumatic 

scenes

Syrian children are experiencing.

I turn the fire up

and look at Duce between

glancing at the clock on the wall

and thinking I don't have enough time

to add more red sauce in the pan.

Day ThirtyNine

Volunteer meeting day.

We wake up, all around 11am knowing that we have a meeting upstairs at 12.

We are in the same dorm, Alexandra, Hanna and I and they are also long-term guests here, and here for volunteering.

We make coffee and gather around the common area. Mallory arrives and so does Caroline. Zeed is out for the day but our group looks ready to go! We start discussing ideas it's the first time we are planning multiple classes on multiple days with multiple people and it makes me very proud to be part of this. And to see how this developed from two girls visiting Shatila a couple of times a week in early September.

We arrange English, dance and activities classes while considering what we might need to buy before starting. The vibe is very supportive and the girls are super excited. I'm glad. For everything.

The meeting ends and the four of us decide to head off to Cuentista; a social space with good wifi. This sounds extreme but the wifi in Lebanon is quite slow, and we all have work to do.

I get to know more about the girls and we exchange blog links. Mallory's impresses me. She has a direct and raw way of speaking it out; everything about the perception of refugees from Westerners and so we link and bond even more.

It's nice to spend some girl time with girls who are as boy as I am. And our hours pass lightly and productively, with the owner of Cuentista asking if we need anything more.

Day ThirtyFive

Visiting a refugee camp on a regular isn't easy.

And though we overlook the weight of devastation these people carry,

we are undoubtedly affected by it.

Duce and our two new volunteers Alexandra and Hanna arrive at Shatila after an aggressive check-point stop where the soldier was feeling extra generous with his masculinity and position of power.

The girls are new to this and it's their first contact with the camp. We split in pairs and walk into the classrooms. The kids are all over the place; and, being pumped up by the presence of a new teacher, take no time to impress her by acting with natural instinct of unsettlement.

The class never settles and the hour passes with me trying to explain to Alexandra that 'it's usually not as crazy as this' and that 'last week was great' and 'when they get to know you... bla bla'.

She gets it and I can see from the sparkle in her eye that she hasn't lost faith.

We take a break, walking around and grabbing lunch while we face friendly and not so friendly interactions. This is a first for me as I'm usually alone in this space and keep myself very reserved and unapproachable.

It was nice to become more than that and interact with a couple of nice people.

But the vibe, of being a foreigner, a non-muslim and a woman among this unidentified male masculinity is still quite heavy.

We return to the centre for the aerobics class I host for teenage girls.

I brought my childhood story books from Cyprus for them so I'm very excited to see them; 

and pass some English magic to them.

I lead the way, more so with eagerness to see them than neglect of the girls. I get to the hall and instantly meet Ilaf's look which had been looking for me. We fall into each others arms and without losing a chance she says,

'I miss you.'

'I missed you too habibi.

All the time.'

I say. 

The lesson starts and though captured by the girls' enthusiasm and respect for me for always coming back for them, I become aware of my group sitting on the side, watching.

I can feel how humbled and impressed they are- 

more so it touvhes me to see what's happening from an outsider's perspective. Something so mystical found recognition from other sources.

And it's inspiring.

For all of us.

I try to balance being part of this;

leading it even

and at the same time being observant and humbled to it.

Then I talk about yoga and balance itself in the physical form and 

establish that it comes through understanding your body and balance itself.

Intimacy never leaves the room.

We stretch, sit around closely and chat.

Ilaf is sitting on her knees to the right side of my stretched out legs, and an other is touching my feet. The rest are sitting crossed-legged forming a circle with no pretentious spaces between any of us as we form and feel the unity of loving female energy.

Day TwentyEight

Sometimes it's hard to post a blog piece every day.

Reasons include not having enough time to collect yourself and thoughts, or, not being decisive on the blog's context since all days seem to be extremely rich, or, even, 

what I'm experiencing today;

that the self is so overwhelmed by feelings that it lacks mental capacity.

The hostel life is fast;

and I like to take my time,

so,

this lifestyle is making me adapt 

to a faster digestion

of events

or alternatively 

gives me indigestion.

-

Today I went to Shatila.

Shatila for me is like a fix.

Can't stay far for too long and it fixes me when I'm there.

Reasons being the extreme realness of a community that only has itself.

People who only have each other.

And whether I have been fully accepted as a presence there

or not

becomes irrelevant to the amounts of love I receive from 

everyone who I do come in contact.

Linguistic communication is scarce -

with the teachers at the organisation, with the children, 

and with the teenage girls.

It all happens with the eyes.

It's through Abdullah's eyes that I know he's fully in love with me and that he knows I'm fully in love with him. He tries to be naughty by leaving his desk or by bothering other kids but the moment I look at him he returns to writing down the numbers. The fact that I'm giving him this attention; the fact that there is care and not demand in my look is what motivates him to go all the way through the lesson.

Zahra's the 8-year old version of me.

Dark brown features and growing to potentially look like Eva Mendez.

The class finishes and all three classes meet in the hallway. We start dancing and singing to Arabic and English children's songs. Zahra's at the other side of the big circle and she looks at me each time we are at an angle facing each other from the distance.

Then we all move to the dance hall and she's one of the few kids who make it to the stage 

(via random selection cz all of them wanted to be on stage).

And I observe her being so charming and full of universal awareness. 

A bright child.

She dances with charm and humbleness.

She's not doing it to be seen. She's doing it cz she feels like it.

The song ends and she runs and lands next to me on the hall carpet.

She leans on my crossed legs and makes my space hers.

She starts singing the next Arabic song and occasionally looks at me.

I look back and keep my eyes on her

a bit longer.

My eyes water and I'm not wishing for anything.

I just try to remember what happened 

between

me being her then and me being me now.

And I try to merge the two together; not having realised that I have been giving myself a lot less credits than I ever deserved.

'Al beitttttt' [home time!]

the teacher shouts.

She gets up, gives me a hug and runs out with the rest of the screaming kids.

Day Six

First day at work!

Feeling excited, feeling ready, feeling confident, for my first day at work.

I go up to the reception floor and start looking for things to do; 20 minutes before my shift even starts (at 9). I try to switch on the computer and realise that the electricity is off. In a blink of an eye the breakfast has arrived, the guys have opened it, people are walking in and out, water is boiling on the stove, rain is pouring down the skies and an elephant is sitting on the couch.

I look at the clock and it's 10am, 5 people have checked out, 4 have gone for day trips, 3 have stayed, 2 arrived and it's been 1 hour since I started working.

'I QUIT! HALAS!

THAT'S IT!'

I jokingly exclaim on the terrace as I appreciate that the universe wanted me to experience it all in one single hour. 

---

6pm, I collect my thoughts and come to compose this blog post.

The lights go out.

'My nerves!!'

Lights out.

Day Five

Early wake up for training day two and I hang around with my Flora who's leaving at 9am. I whip my hair back and forth to dry it while she checks in her flight. We hear the taxi arriving so we lightly hug with the hope to see each other again.

I wiggle around a bit more as the early birds start appearing for breakfast. I'm behind the desk with Maryam. Antony comes and let's us know he'll be leaving around 12. He goes out to get money and around 11 he hands in his keys. We take a break from training and I approach him at the dining table while spreading out puzzle pieces. I start putting the pieces together and look up at him.

'How are you feeling?'

'Um... Quite sad..!'

He's French and his English is not so fluent.

'It has been the most English I ever heard in my life during a week. It help me a lot to improve.'

Then he asks if I would like some tea. I say yes of course and he makes me one. He places it between the puzzle pieces.

'I will miss you!' I blurb.

And my gut gets a little tied up realising that every time I've been around him he's made me tea. Realising that our communication was never based on intellectual conversations but rather on pure, caring, considerate gestures.

Then I drop a light one;

'So you will cry in the bus?'

'Ah no, boys don't cry!' he says jokingly.

The time comes, he lifts his backpack, hangs it on his shoulders and hugs me. He smiles and winks as if to say take care of yourself in the most non-sexual loving way.

I awkwardly walk towards the couches, and before I have time to save the moment I hear Roman reading out French poetry to, well, the cat, I'm guessing.

'[Je de floop flee

Sleh pu le la lu blah,]

Dormer,

Rever,

[De la floop flah]'

'What does [de la floop flah] mean??'

'It mean <I will be gone>'

He slaps the book shut, places it on the shelf and walks off. I stay staring at the shelf thinking- this isn't happening right;! One of the most surreal French scenes of my life indeed.

I walk around without direction and try to rewind the scene in my head. I walk to the puzzle, then to my dorm, Sarah calls me for tea and I say 'I already have one' as the curtains close and I'm still figuring out how to deal with goodbyes.

12am. Good afternoon.

Day Four

My alarm goes off and I'm ready for 'Valley day w/ Flora'. I wake up in the sweetest mood after spending my night snuggling with Teresa. I remember seeing her tiptoe on my bed at some AM hours. 'oh it's you Teresa, come' as I lift my bed covers for her to land between my spooning arms. The last time we snuggled was the night before I left Beirut in November so it was nice to have her back.

Old photo of Teresa

We set off with Flora into what is a very confusing bus system to get to Sahle Valley. We finally end up in a minibus with loud Arabic music which sounds Syrian to me, and we enjoy mountain gazing through the window.

We arrive at a village with no tourists and have a walk around on the hilly neighborhoods. The locals look at us and call out 'fadale' [come]. They are curiously impressed to see two foreign-looking strangers in their hood. We smile and pretend we're off to somewhere. We can see the valley from where we stand but we can't explain in Arabic that we want to go there. Among Arabic pantomime we figure they're inviting us in but our limited Arabic vocabulary and their limited English one will not get us through an awkward hour in their homely homes. We smile, thank them and carry on walking.

Fresh air, sunny roofs and snowy mountain sites complement our positive mood as we decide to reach the valley. We find a driver in an old Mercedes who's willing to take us. Even though he didn't understand where we wanted to go yet.

Arabic pantomime continues and we finally recognise the valley. We came here to visit Syrian refugee settlements and between untranslated lines he says, 'Dgri Suria!, meaning 'Syria is straight on'.

'Yalla, dgri!' I say.

Day Three

Training day.

So I came back to Lebanon because, Lebanon. 

Everything connects and makes sense here. And i'm staying at Hostel Beirut, where I stayed for Sept.- Nov. 2015 while executing a volunteering project with refugees. This time I'm also taking up some reception duties at the hostel - and today is my training day.

I wake up and look at 'On This Day' FB memories. Massive Attack - Teardrop appears and I start playing it while stretching in bed. Basem walks in on the soft melody,

'Great song to wake up to'

I'm still stretching as I smile at him.

I get up, go to the bathroom and see Antony walking out of a hot steam. There is no electricity and I'm just smiling at how smooth the transition is from sleeping to ambient low lighting. We all brush our teeth in the hallway, still waking up.

My excitement grows as I wear my favourite pants and go out to get paperwork. I feel like this is going to be the most flexible training I've had in years. 

I return to the hostel to find Sarah and Basem on the terrace, preparing work under the sun. I join in, we smoke and laugh at silly things like holding a cigarette with a clip and nervously head off to train. 

Day Two

Well, actually day one, as I arrived at night on Day One. 

Victor wakes me up like we've been siblings for years. He slides the dorm doors and peaks through the split. He's brushing his teeth as he says 'I'm going to Shatila'. He mumbles some hangover words and looks at me. Eyes wide open.

'I wanna go to Shatila too!'

'Ok, we're leaving in 15 minutes.'

He hasn't realised the depth of my excitement, but he was right on time. 

Shatila was familiar. The whole journey there was familiar. And I was experiencing it with people I had just met on Day One. Like Flora for example; who I thought was French for the entire bus ride to Shatila.

Easy, sunny, smooth walk into the heart of my teachings, Bukra Ilna. The place where I started teaching English and 'learning' Arabic.

The kids recognise me. I recognise them too. One by one. Glistering eyes and smiles of surprise overcome them. 

'Habibi!'

I call Foaz, one of the most mature and loving children. He looks at me with disbelief and overwhelm as his face turns into a huge smile of relief.

'Hello Habibi!'

Old photo of Foaz

Day One

Back to Lebanon.

Day one.

Sarah's friends welcome me in the warmest way. Drunk 1am hugs with a promising sober follow-up. Basem; who I confidently called Baskiam looks at me deeply in the eyes and pauses.

'I've heard so much about you.'

Pause.

'Welcome home.'

I look at Sarah and smile as if to say '...he knows.'

'Thank you. It's good to be back.'

Excitement and dancing vibes follow on the doorstep of Radio Beirut and those who know know.

The universal time continues to move forward on rooftops and pavements; and, among lighter and heavier tones he admits,

'I'm an alcoholic; and a bit of a womanizer.'