Exactly four years ago a war broke out in Lebanon and I was there in the cedar (and also in the casino). For a few days before evacuating with other Italian, the feeling of being under the bombs, however, is not easily forgotten.
Now, from my balcony I look at the palaces of Naba'a, neighborhood in Beirut, along with El Ain Remmaneh, has seen the beginning of this violent conflict, long and devastating, begun in 1975 and so-called "civil". The signs of that war are still there.
M., my landlord told me that a bomb has arrived here at home while she was with the children in the basement of the building makeshift shelter. Her husband, known here as Abu Jihad, was instead left the apartment after the explosion and found himself completely covered with white " if it had been dipped in flour " with a few hints of red here and there but alive. As we speak he is sitting in his chair with his usual calm air and a bit 'austere. Communication between us is limited because of our mutual language barrier but not the only reason Abu Jihad does not talk much but when it does is law. M., definitely more talkative, he continued to tell me that he is escaped death nine times. My tendency to play down and the pleasure I feel when people are smiling for my lines, lead me to immediately make a "Abu Jihad! You have more lives than a cat." We laugh and drink coffee and smoke all his cigarettes: Marlboro Light I, Kent and his Marlboro red ultra-fine her.
Within us, our hearts are shaking, each recalling the war.
Now, from my balcony I look at the palaces of Naba'a, neighborhood in Beirut, along with El Ain Remmaneh, has seen the beginning of this violent conflict, long and devastating, begun in 1975 and so-called "civil". The signs of that war are still there.
M., my landlord told me that a bomb has arrived here at home while she was with the children in the basement of the building makeshift shelter. Her husband, known here as Abu Jihad, was instead left the apartment after the explosion and found himself completely covered with white " if it had been dipped in flour " with a few hints of red here and there but alive. As we speak he is sitting in his chair with his usual calm air and a bit 'austere. Communication between us is limited because of our mutual language barrier but not the only reason Abu Jihad does not talk much but when it does is law. M., definitely more talkative, he continued to tell me that he is escaped death nine times. My tendency to play down and the pleasure I feel when people are smiling for my lines, lead me to immediately make a "Abu Jihad! You have more lives than a cat." We laugh and drink coffee and smoke all his cigarettes: Marlboro Light I, Kent and his Marlboro red ultra-fine her.
Within us, our hearts are shaking, each recalling the war.
