The Wrong Turn

June 2003
we decided to explore the south. all the way until 'the gate of Fatima', the border with Israel. one week later, i was to leave to the US for good.
it was blistering hot. the roads were simmering. i remember my friend trying to convince us to stop in Sour (Tyre) for a meal of fresh fish. everytime he said 'fresh fish' he would curl his fingers and kiss the tips of them (we do that in lebanon when words can't express how wonderful something is). i had never been south further than Tyre. we stopped by a little restaurant on the shore. it had the typical green plastic chairs with tables that moved no matter what you did. i remember the smell of the sea and the fried fish. we had a feast. they brought the fish in on a gigantic silver dish, garnished with lemons and greens. and french fries, of course. mmmm those fish were good. a few fishermen would leave on their wooden dinghies taking with them a tourist or two. we drank 'almaza' (lebanese beer) and had iced watermelon that tasted like watermelon, spitting out the seeds into the sea. the air was so warm but a draft would circulate every few minutes and we would close our eyes to enjoy it, rocking in our green chairs. Tyre was quiet in the midday sun and we were the only car on the road as we headed further south.
the roads were getting narrower and the bumps more frequent. nature, on the other hand, was a sight to see. splendid is the word that comes to mind now. we reached 'na2oura', and in that bend of the road on the hillside with nothing between us and the sea but the pine trees and the shrubs, i fell in love. i fell in love with a piece of land that was still virgin to humankind, that was savagely beautiful. we stopped and walked along that road without a word. the trees were invading the hilltop all the way onto the sea, leaving a trail of green to dip into the blue.
we prodded on in the car, reaching tiny villages mostly starting with Kfar, with the deep red brick houses and rose gardens in front. people looked at us because they knew we were strangers. we stopped an old man for directions and he told us about how his entire family had moved back to the south after the israeli occupation had ended. he talked about how he rebuilt his house from the rubble, proudly pointing to it. we had a cup of coffee in his garden and i gobbled his ripe apricots. i never knew how many little villages and houses there were in that area, interspersed amongst a landscape that was breathtaking. every few minutes i would look back and make sure i could still see the sea.
then we arrived in Al Khyam. Al Khyam was the prison where israel, or its lebanese allies, the South Lebanese Arm (SLA) held and tortured multitudes of lebanese prisoners who were resisting occupation, locking them in underground cells, whipping them, electrocuting them and performing all sorts of odious atrocities. i did not know much about it until i arrived. it was in the middle of nowehere, surrounded only by grass tall enough that it bent with the winds. an eagle soared across its ruins. i walked across its tiny cells, up and down, saw the dark rooms where only a hole of light was allowed in. i imagined the screams guttering through the white cement and barbed wires. i thought i saw blood stains on a few walls, but it was probably my imagination. scribbles of "we will be martyrs in heaven" or "resist until the end". i saw the hooks where they used to hang people upright or upside down until they died. as i walked through these cement rooms and into the courtyards where the SLA probably smoked their marlboros and cracked a few jokes in between torture jabs, it all seemed so unreal. the place seemed so peaceful, with the sun glinting across metal and stone, remnants of acts of inhumanity. the souls are at peace, i thought. their land has been freed, the occupation has ended. they must be thrilled. as we walked away from this museum of torture we were lost in thought, in the past, and in how things were. i was thinking about how redeeming, how glorious it must feel to move back into your land 18 long years later. to reclaim your house and to replant your roses. i felt glorious, and as we were basking in heroic, nationalistic pride my friend stepped on the gas and sped along towards "Fatima", the Gate.
i was jolted into the side-window with the sudden braking ---- the tires strained to stop the car as it stumbled painfully into a dead end.
click
click click
all three of us heard it and looked up
into the nozzle of the gun
...that was shaking! wait a minute. the soldier aiming at us was quaking with fear, almost peeing in his pants as he was trembling..
our eyes connected for a split second clashed he gestured with his gun and started to load it
my friend backed the car as crazily fast as he could and accelerated away to the left. we were numb-shocked. my heart was hammering in my chest and i couldn't get words out. one more second and boom. border casualties. the headlines would have had a field day "3 lebanese shot while infiltrating the border".
just like that.
we reached "the gate of Fatima". peeped at the israeli settlements that looked like they were copied/pasted next to each other. there were Hezbollah guards standing there, alongside a snack selling grilled corn. but for us, the highlight of the day had passed. when we took that wrong turn and looked death in the face.
our spirits had dampened. we were uneasy because the pride and heroic nationalism we had felt earlier as we walked out of Khyam had been replaced with the bitter truth.

they can take it all away from us again, when they choose to.
as long as might is right and lives are cheap, all this beauty and new found splendor we had just experienced was nothing but an illusion.

July 2006
and now the day has come; the south has not only been taken away from us, but that virgin hilltop by the sea, those little brick houses, the roses, the trees, that old man, the museum of torture, those pieces that piece my country have burned and shrivelled into nothingness. nothingness.
the days of darkness have arrived. again.

"Your thought sees power in armies, cannons, battleships, submarines, aeroplanes, and poison gas. But mine asserts that power lies in reason, resolution, and truth. No matter how long the tyrant endures, he will be the loser at the end."

Khalil Gebran

see Fink Ployd's blog to look at the current exhibition in downtown beirut, named "a Plane vs a Child"