Shot on Fujifilm X20 and Fujifilm X-T3 with Fujinon XF 16-80mm f4 and Fujifnon XF 33mm f1.4
Warm hearts
Helpless and broken-hearted
When war rages and bombs fall where you have walked, when people are affected that have shown nothing but warmth to you, you will know helplessness, anger and you will have your heart broken while you naively hope that it affects anyone but them.
Heart first
I am led into a room with two single beds, the former children’s room. I am informed that a friend is shortly to arrive and we will head out for dinner. Awaiting our friend and sitting in another room, we talk while I admire the beautiful sundown over Beirut. We always talk about everything, the situation in Lebanon, family, and everything that is dear to us. As Vera enters the room she immediately looks at me: “Paul, this is home for you now, go to the fridge take what you want, get coffee or tea, take a shower, wear a pajama. We are like big brother and sister for you here.”
I know Lebanese hospitality as it is not my first visit to the beautiful country and its people. Knowing the current situation for most Lebanese and me being the only recipient of this hospitality I am moved. It feels like a long, tight, and warm hug.
When my friend Roger arrives, he hugs me like I am a long-gone, just-returned friend. Another long, tight, and warm hug.
We jump into the car and head out for dinner. In a city that has mostly gone dark, tunnels that are not lighted, and half of all buildings being without light, going out for dinner seems excessive but my friends insist. Both men are more than twenty years older than me, it feels like sitting with mentors and friends from a former lifetime. They share experience, knowledge, stories and, ultimately, their heart if listend to close enough.
Ordinary life seems not that different in the macro perspective. Yet, differences start to appear in something as mundane as a shared meal once you zoom perspective. Sharing a meal means: sharing food, time, and thoughts. While growing up I was taught not to speak while eating and people don’t like to wait for you to finish your meal. Efficiency was primary.
The difference here: Everything is shared: “Firstly, you have to admire the effort of preparation and presentation. Secondly, you let the smell fill your nose and enjoy the anticipation of eating. Then, you start eating. Small portions, talk, enjoy the food and the company.” I am told.
The efficiency-primed German in me needs to remember that this lavish feast is just the appetizer. While I cannot refrain from another scoop of Fattoush, a dip of Hummus, and some sausage in pomegranate juice, our conversations meander from current situation, to marriage counsel, and to cultural differences. Mostly, I listen. My curiosity outgrows my appetite the longer we sit. With the main course and heavier food arriving, topics reach more depth, too. “If men aren’t supposed to be emotional or even cry, Paul, why are they able to shed tears then?” The simplicity and clarity leaves me speechless. So, I stuff my face with more food and nod in total agreement. We move back and forth between words, heartfelt laughs, and building human connection.
Overeaten, like after every meal here, I lie in bed and notice there’s a lot to be digested after one meal with Lebanese friends.
Lebanese speak from the heart, with the heart first.
Sunglasses
I watched him squint and try to avoid the sun before I tap his shoulder and offer my sunglasses. At first, probably out of humility, he declines. But I did not pull back my offering. After three seconds of more thinking, he takes them. Holds them like a delicate object in his left hand while driving on. At the next traffic light, he cleans the sweat from his forehead and eyebrows and puts on the sunglasses so they will not even touch neither forehead nor eyebrows. When we arrive at the hotel, I observe the same delicacy in handling my sunglasses and cleaning them with another tissue before returning them to me with a soft and warmly spoken “thank you” that made me feel the meaning behind the string of sounds.
Black or White?
Each of us had a little plate with sweets in front of us. We diverted from current situations and politics towards life. Life for both men means family, to them it is equally reason and meaning of life. It feels like they have a vocal cord that’s exclusively for talking about their loved ones, you hear it. See it in their eyes and feel it in your heart.
Both men are well known to each other but address themselves with respect:
“Ra’ĩs, what will the future be, black or white?”
“Ah [sighs] black, it’s black everywhere.”
We look at each other, simultaneously nod and shrug, and divert to the next topic.
Mini market
The sun is scorching hot, ACs are absurdly chilly.
As I walk into the mini market, the old man smiles. He remembers me. I shyly usher my salam and he responds wa aleikum assalam. I get a big bottle of water and two cans of the coke substitute they introduced in opposition to the west. I offer him all my coins in my open palm and see the wrinkles in his forehead increase, I offer a 20 JD bill but he lacks change. He looks at me and calmly says “You bring me 1 JD later”.
Rooftop Terraces
It is almost 10pm, I change into comfortable shorts, take my camera, a cold coke substitute and make my way outside. The air is warm but a constant refreshing breeze is just enough to not immediately brake a sweat. The rooftop is dimly lit — the cozy way — and I place myself on the ground. Soon afterwards the call for prayers echoes through the city. It transfers the city into a conscious, singular focus, a focus that lets the faithful escape the physical and devote themselves to the spiritual world.
After prayer, The Blaze’s Juvenile echoes from the speaker and in a similar focus I gaze over the city and try to take in every particle of my being here.
