Amidst Dust and Shards of Glass
Nassim Zoueini – Niha, Chouf, Mount Lebanon
Ashrafieh, 25 seconds later
" - Allo Mama, a huge explosion happened in Beirut and I am perfectly good
- What?
- A huge explosion happened in Beirut and I am perfectly good
- Oh my god! I just heard it!! Mama are you sure there is nothing wrong with you?
- Yes, that is why I am calling you. I have to hurry check my neighbors, love you, bye! "
Unscratched, I sat down for a moment, examined the ripped off doors, windows and the traditional red wooden shutters all over my furniture, kitchen floor and my bed.
I stood up, still feeling the grains of dust that scratched my ears for fractions of a second and opened my backpack. A bottle of water, a bottle of alcohol, a pack of tissues, masks and latex gloves. I took a look from the balcony, it was horrific.
I ran to check my 80-year-old neighbor, she's fine.
I rushed over the stairs and reach the street. It was anything but a street....
I ran back towards my building, grabbed my bicycle helmet and so the journey began.
For a moment I was supposed to be walking on a street, but instead I was walking on glass shards, branches of trees, broken aluminum, shoes, pillows, ripped off doors and even satellite receivers... A horde of screaming zombie-like people were finding their way in the middle of this chaos. While my eyes were in total disbelief of what I am currently seeing, all the damages, the smoke, the blood, the voices of shouting kids and heavily moaning elderly were sharper than sirens wailing on that day. I recall all the faces that I saw, I can still hear those who called for my help, I can even still remember the type and size of the wounds of each one of them. I remember all of those with big gratitude that I was physically unharmed and able to help, yet in the background of this chaotic scene, a single frame never disappears from my sight something that even the most imaginative Hollywood production has never showcased: the blown-up funeral services store with broken open coffins dispersed on the floor of the shop and all over the nearby sidewalk…
My instinct to help guided me to run towards the Saint George Hospital, as I assumed all wounded will flock there to get treated, so I could donate blood and help calming people down and give first aid around the entrances of the hospital. I helped cleaning some of the wounded's faces on my way, and giving them towels to press on their wounds. I kept walking, I found no hospital...
25 minutes later
People, injured, medical crew and beds were coming out of the hospital instead of running in... I shivered ... "this is the place where people come to seek help" I said, but it is out of service ... At this moment, the dust turned into fog in my eyes, all the wailing, the sirens, the sound of glasses shattering under the feet of those running in disbelief, all of these disappeared for a few seconds.
Suddenly a sharply screaming voice broke this virtual silence: "Someone comes to help me, quickly "dakhilkon" someone comes to help me". I looked left and right to see a woman rushing back into her apartment from the balcony on a high floor from a neighboring building. I counted the balconies, it's the seventh floor and started dashing over the stairs, stepping on broken wooden doors, aluminum rods, glass shards and falling ceilings. As I moved upstairs counting the floors until I reach seven, I watched five parallel red lines spiraling upwards on the wall of the staircase. A line that I did not know on which floor started, yet I was telling myself "good, good... I'm glad he made it and walked out..."
SEVEN
"Madame... Madame... I am here ya Madame" I shouted. "Please come in quickly" she shouted, "My daughter is trapped inside, the door was violently shut and Jen is not replying to me ‘yadelleana’ ". I stepped on the blown-up furniture and the torn off partitions and doors, going towards the indicated door and told myself: "I do not want to find someone beyond help, please not now, please not yet"
"Jen if you are hearing me get away from the door" I held the handle and started kicking the door until it opened. To my right, a light-brown haired girl in her twenties was lying on her back, the face was pale and the eyes were closed. No blood over her body, a dislocated knee and behind me a screaming mother who thought her girl was not hers anymore. I touched Jen's wrist, the pulse is there. "Don't worry ya madame, she only fainted because of the shock, she is still with us". I sprayed some alcohol on a piece of towel, made her smell it and screamed her name until her eyes opened. I forgot about the apocalypse and got stuck in that moment. I asked her: What's your name? "Jennifer" she said. I turned my face towards the mother and said "See? She's alright, she's a hero!" then I look towards Jen who was still holding the alcohol pad and smelling it, I fixed her neck, looked into her eyes and told her: "I am smiling a very wide smile to you now, it is under the mask, but trust me it is very wide, hero!" Very worried about her dislocated knee, I could not move her, yet I was even more worried about how could they carry her over the broken staircase for seven floors, and above all, the gruesome worry was: which hospital is going to receive her? It was only a matter of a few moments pressing on her hand to help her stay conscious until a relative to the family dashed through the door, and I felt reassured that now they are not alone so I could run for my next mission in a corner that I do not know...
Countless times have I told this story to my friends and family, almost to anyone who asked me about those moments while volunteering in the damaged area. I only left the streets to take a rest at night, too little did I wait for a reward.
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Beirut in the Eye of a Volunteer
Ghadi Bachnak – Mount Lebanon
From the land of tourism, love, and livelihood to a land of ruins, debris, and tears. Beirut became a wasteland after the 4th of August explosion that shattered every window, door, and hope within miles from the blast zone. As a volunteer from day one it pains me to see a piece of my heart bleeding innocent blood from corruption and government neglect. Coming all the way from the mountains to help all of my Lebanese siblings, I saw a side of Lebanon I haven’t seen a while, besides the broken hearts, massive need for money and repairs, and tears of the Mentally and physically injured; I saw hope and unity in a nation that has been in fear of civil war . People were and still are picking up Beirut piece by piece and cleansing the dirt of what used to be an economy in hopes of building a religion free and corruption free country for all its patriots.
Let’s build a new home for the people who deserve this country and haven’t destroyed it.
Let’s free our minds from what led us here.
Let’s build a restriction free and chain free country.
Let’s shed tears of joy and hope in country where people love to live.
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Beirut, My City
Hassan Chamoun – Nabatieh , South Lebanon
It was a tragedy for Lebanon. I wasn’t a guy who liked going to Beirut, but after seeing the spirit of people there I fell in love with this city. We were working with strangers from different religions, background and towns as a family. I never felt safe in a bombed city before as I did in Beirut, and it’s all because of the people and unity that resulted from this tragic catastrophe. Although I am from Nabatieh, but now I feel like Beirut is my home town.
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Hope Remains
Sandra Chehayeb – Mount Lebanon
A few months ago, I dedicated my English poem portfolio at the university to Beirut. I wrote poems describing its details. The old buildings and the new ones. The streets and the sense of poetry at every corner. As a girl living in the mountains, I always had a certain passion for that city. A plan for an upcoming life and career in Beirut. Now if I have to describe the first week after the explosion I would say it was consistent. Wake up. Take the bus. Get to Beirut. Separate into groups. Help and aid. Go back home. A very big group from Aley headed daily to help. Taking certain type of precautions into consideration, masks and hand sanitizers were present all the time. I have to admit that I didn’t focus at the time, all I wanted to do was help. I offered my first aid skills as a nursing student. Help lifted doors and broken windows. Cleaned blood stains of beds and of the grounds. For the first week I felt complete numbness, and all I could hear was the sound of broken glass being cleaned. Days after that, it hit me. Beirut with all our memories and dreams is shattered. I don’t think words have the power to describe such a devastating feeling. However, with the power of the youth, hopefully we will rebuild Beirut.
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More than Just a Duty
Darine Darwich – Tripoli, North Lebanon
At the time of the blast, at first glance, we all had a sense of fear, immediately followed by a sense of rush to help and immediately head to the site of the blast. Despite the poor health situation, a sense of responsibility awakened in everyone including me. It can be said that the psychological state that prevailed in all of us after the explosion prompted us to think negatively and affected everyone, especially the people of Beirut living around the port. But when you access the affected area or areas, your tongue can't describe or comprehend the magnitude of the human and material losses! And what amazes you is that despite the tragedies present before you, you see people helping those who are more affected than them. All this prompts you to forget the fear and to learn strength from the people of Beirut, and you witness your feeling liberated from being a mere act of duty to become a feeling of brotherhood and belonging.
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Until Beirut Rises Again
Dima Qassem – Tripoli – North Lebanon
My name is Dima Qasem, I am a 19-year-old student in my first year of business administration at the Lebanese University, from Al Qobba, Tripoli. I am a volunteer at “Shift” Association campaign “Together For Beirut” to ease the effects of the terrible explosion of Beirut port, which has taken a huge toll on the region and the entire nation.
Since I learned about this volunteering, I've had a tremendous sense of helping in any kind of area; I underwent the experiment on the first day, and since that day, I felt as if my presence was important and my participation even more important, especially when one of the victims said to me, "You made me forget my worries, we are proud of you and you are the pride of Lebanon." I was more enthusiastic and encouraged to participate. My daily talk became Beirut, the explosion and the affected families... This encouraged my sisters to participate, and this is where my family volunteering journey began.
For the first time in my life I participate in a volunteer work, this experience has taught me a lot and has given me a lot of experience and knowledge (such as organization, leadership and the spirit of cooperation in society). I am now very proud of myself in terms of educating my younger sisters and encouraging them to participate in such works, and I thank “Shift” Association for its moral and developmental support. I am persistent and will continue in this initiative until Beirut rises again, and I will master and learn everything that could benefit the affected areas.
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Beirut... Born in a Sheet of Rubble
Perla Rahy – Aaqaibe, Mount Lebanon
Beirut, which my eyes beheld, is not ‘the Beloved Lady of the World’ (set El dounya). The Lady came back as a child in the world of miserable childhood. Her features have shifted from a solid, coherent and steadfast old woman to a fragile, senseless and vulnerable child. Her face paled, her laugh faded, and her innocence removed. Once a Lady sheltering thousands, she became a homeless child crying tears of blood amid the rubble. Is that what childhood is like? He who gives birth to a child deprived of life will surely see her get outraged and revolt against him one day. But Beirut was not left behind. Her young women and men have removed the ashes from her and are still trying to make her sorrowful birth a resurrection and a renewal for their homeland. She will grow up on their hands, and her heart will beat in revolution. It only remains for the "little girl Beirut" to learn the importance of accountability in order to become a nun beatable Lady one day.
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Does Beirut deserves this treatment?
Doja Mkahal – Ryaq , Bekaa
Beirut is the first cry of the sea as the poet Mahmoud Darwish once expressed, and ‘set el dounya’ (the Beloved Lady of the World) as the great Nizar chanted ... Beirut the civilization, the art and the civility ... Beirut cried out of pain, and how poignant is the cry of great cities. Is this how Beirut is treated? Is this how we treat great cities? “I could not bear to see what happened to you, sweet Beirut! to your homes, to your people, to your streets, to your roads, to everything that has befallen you. I couldn’t but be there the second day of the incident, offering all my energy and help for any kind of assistance, despite my energy being drained upon seeing you destroyed, sweet Beirut! But I collected myself because I believed that no one is going to pick up your ruins except your youth, your family, and everyone who has a pleasant memory in your streets, as they are the ones who can bring you back to life. And indeed, we were able for a week, as volunteers, to soothe some of the wounds, wipe your tears, sweet Beirut, and heal, and clean your roads with a broom and a shovel, which every young man and girl were carrying on their shoulders, and heading to remove the ugliness that deformed you, O lovely Beirut, because you deserve nothing else but beauty! No one can assassinate you, Beirut, nor erase your smile. Maybe they succeeded for a day or two, but you will come back like before ... for the sake of civilization, for the sake of the blue sea, for the sake of the people who got civilized and learned art in this great city. Forgive us O Sweet Beirut...Forgive us!
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A Glimmer of Hope
Fatima Naim – Kfarsir, South Lebanon
The fifth of August, the day after the port explosion, the capital Beirut did not wake up to Fairuz's voice, but rather to the mothers' wailing and the fathers’ cries. As for me, I woke up to a pain in my chest, and a voice inside me said, "Stop crying, get up, find a way to help." I headed to Martyrs' Square, where a number of young men and women gathered to provide assistance, depending on each one’s ability. We were divided into three groups. The first group was tasked with removing the rubble and debris, the second distributing food, and the third included male and female paramedics. I joined the first group and waited for my turn to get a broom and gloves like those used in construction, and a helmet that protects the head. But my wait was long. The equipment wasn’t enough for everyone, and we tried hard to find someone who donated other equipment. After three hours of waiting, a car loaded with equipment arrived and I was able to get my tools. I went with a group of girls to the Geitawi area, and when we got there, I was shocked by the scene, and the universe stopped for a while. Is it really the same city that buzzed with parties? Are they the same people who never lost their smile in recent days? Where are we going to start and how are we going to finish? The pain is big and the destruction is bigger. We started cleaning up the street which was full of glass and other things that fell out of houses, like a book of a 20-year-old guy who might have read it two minutes before the explosion, a toy of a little girl whose fate I ignore now, and a medicine for an old woman maybe, who couldn’t afford to buy anything else. After a certain time of work, it was time to hand over the tools to someone else who hadn’t been so lucky to help yet. I left, tears running down my cheek. Anyone who visited Beirut knows that she is the beautiful bride of Lebanon, and a Lady who does not get old no matter the stormy days, but now the bride has lost her husband and the Lady started to age...But, in every disaster, there is a glimmer of hope. This hope I saw through the eyes of the young man who offered us food, and the passers-by in their cars who generously offered us water, or at the very least a kind word of appreciation for our hard work ..
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Something Inside Us Was Broken
Ghinwa Melhem – Batroumine, Koura , North Lebanon
My name is Ghinwa Melhem, I am 19 years old, in my third university year. I study physical therapy. I live in Batroumine-Koura.
On August 4, I was in Jbeil at 6:08. I heard two strong sounds, I thought something had happened in Jbeil. Within 5 minutes my father and mother started calling me to come home immediately. The two sounds remained unknown, I do not know the cause or the source. The news and beliefs began until I reached home, and saw how powerful the explosion was. I stood up and said what a disaster this is. The next day, after watching all the devastation on social media sites, I felt something strange in me like an anguish. I am always involved in humanitarian sports activities (like basketball on wheelchairs), or any assistance people need. But this time was different, because I felt that there was a national duty calling me as important as the human duty. I called my father to tell him how I wanted to go down to Beirut. He was hesitant at first due to the distance and the health situation, but he agreed and bought me thick gloves.
The next morning, I woke up at 5:00 a.m., prepared myself, and went to Batroun. We gathered in a group and headed towards Beirut.
When we started diving in the affected areas, I was seeing the amount of damage, and I felt an anguish that was growing as we progressed further into the affected areas.
I arrived at Geitawi Hospital, shocked by what I saw. I saw the building or the place, where people are supposed to feel reassured that there are services that help them recover, destroyed. There was blood on the stairs, glass everywhere, on the patients’ beds, in the emergency unit where cases are received to be treated quickly, or hospitalized for treatment, destroyed.
The cleaning started. We were young men and women, all together, climbing up floor after floor and entering room after room. We felt the terror that existed at the time of the explosion.
After that, I went to the “L’Appui” Center in Ashrafieh. It is a center for physical therapy / remedial education / speech therapy / dorms. I was stopped by something I couldn't forget. There was a whole glass office, and the pressure of the explosion hung the pieces of glass in the opposite wall, leaving small gaps in it. I was imagining if there was a person or a little boy who had been cut by the glass.
The dorms rooms were broken and destroyed....
When I took a break, I found a lot of glass dust on my forehead, so I wondered about the glass that ripped people's bodies.
What struck me in the affected neighborhoods were the stories of the people. I saw people wounded and their house in wreck, sitting on a chair outside their home, a woman who lost her family and her home and carrying the only bag she owned on her way to stay with her sister.
All this, while my tears were betraying me.
When I was heading to Beirut, I didn't think how far, or dangerous the distance was, knowing that I returned back by bus and was not afraid. The distance in the country itself is the same, we all unite throughout Lebanon when anything affects our homeland.
The circumstances did not allow me to go down to Beirut much. But I didn't give up, and took part in arranging aid packages for Beirut and I also participated in the university. Most of us were not present at the time of the explosion, but we felt something shattered in our hearts. The sound of the explosion, the sound of the cracking, the sound of the screaming mothers and children, the tears of the relatives of the martyrs, all will not be forgotten.
Until today, I wanted to leave Lebanon. But after I went down and participated in restoring the spirit to Beirut, I saw young people from all over Lebanon, from North to South, from the Bekaa... These young people did not participate in any previous elections to build the old State. They were the majority who participated in the clean-up process, and they were the State in its absence. Now, I can see a glimmer of hope for Lebanon and its source is all these young men and women.
May God rest the souls of the martyrs!
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Restoring Beirut
Anthony Feghali – Ashrafieh , Beirut
August 5, 2020, the first day after a black night in which we haven’t slept at all. The first day after the ruin that befell the city of Beirut, causing extensive damage to the capital. I did not think twice about heading down to Mar Mikhael and Gemmayze streets to help, even though I live in the Ashrafieh area and my house had been badly damaged.
Mar Mikhael and Gemmayze streets were not as usual, they were miserable, they were indeed a disaster area, cars were destroyed, crushed glass filled all the streets, and the buildings resembled war buildings stripped of windows and balconies. I was wondering if this area would return to what it was before the disaster and resume its night life. We were two people, and we did not have any cleaning tools to help, so distributing food was the first means by which we helped the people of the area, until we got to know a number of young men and women, who also got to know each other in the street, and we went together to a house at the end of the Geitawi area.
"Really, you're helping for free? " was the first question the owner of the destroyed house asked, as we surprised him, and he started telling his neighbors about us as young men and women coming to help.
“Did you talk to each other and carried brooms and came?” “No, uncle, we do not know each other, each of us is from a different region, and not all of us are from Beirut.” Indeed, we only met few minutes ago. The young men and women who were present on the ground were really from all regions and from all confessions, working hard to restore Beirut to what it was before. It is the first time that I see my city in this way, devastation and destruction in all its neighborhoods, it is the feeling that prompted us to continue helping throughout the week. The people are the State, it is the State that every citizen wants, and as for the sentence that I have been hearing since my childhood until today: “What will come out from a lazy generation that has its face stuck to the phone all day?”, it is this generation who is building Beirut today, and will continue to build it until Beirut really becomes the Switzerland of the East.
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An Indescribable Tragedy
Ramona Khoury – Jezzine, South Lebanon
It is one of those memories, which lingers and becomes a nightmare. Minutes, seconds, have managed to have a greater impact than years. On a seemingly normal day, I was at the warehouse of the association I work for, filled with enthusiasm. The whole feeling evaporated in a fraction of an instant, and turned into a total lack of knowledge. An earthquake? An explosion? A whirlwind? I immediately rushed onto the infinite steps of this warehouse to find my colleagues, to see if life still reigns in this indescribable chaos. The anxiety-filled heartbeats were perceptible to the naked ear. A drama, a black veil darkened hope. Calling my family, my friends, my loved ones to see if they are still alive... despite the confusion. The next day, I went for a usual round in the narrow streets of Beirut. I was looking, with hand over heart, for the little children who have only the street for mother...
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From My Heart, Peace to Beirut
Marah Atieh – South Lebanon
The house shook and my heart trembled in fear. I rushed to the television thinking that an earthquake has struck. On television, it was a surprise. Most of the satellite channels carried one story, "A huge explosion shakes the Lebanese capital Beirut." The details appeared, the explosion was in the port of Beirut, and it seemed to me as if a monster swallowed the bride of Lebanon and burned it, spraying sadness and tragedy in our hearts which broke with you, Beirut.
Beirut is a city that has always shimmered brightly, nestled between the sleeping sea on its shore and the mountain on which it leans.
The next day, amid the heat of events, I received an invitation to join a youth initiative at the "Al Jana" Center in Wadi El Zeina. The announcement made clear that the initiative was supported by UNICEF to heal the wounds and clean up the devastated areas of Beirut afflicted by the disaster.
I joined the initiative with many young men and women. We went to Beirut, and when we got to the affected areas, I realized the difference between a picture you see on TV and a reality you see with your eyes. The streets of the most affected areas by the bombing, such as Gemmayze, Karantina and Mar Mikhael, were difficult to describe. The streets became filled with dark black ash, as if the earth wore black in mourning for the beloved Beirut, I saw houses whose walls fell down peering at the unknown. The glass scattered all over the place. The cries of mothers on television and their wailing in their homes when we entered them crossed my hearing. Years of fatigue, gone in a moment.
Perhaps our presence as volunteers in this initiative, and other initiatives from various regions, religions and sects, contributed to the softening of the wounds of Beirut and its people. In a house whose people lost their shelter, the faces of the youth among them became a shelter, even a moral one. Those families felt that they were not alone, and that a group like ours, which consists of Palestinians, Lebanese, and Syrians cleaned the streets and the houses, removed the rubble, and wiped a tear of a mother who wished she could embrace us one by one, as she said.
The scene left a clear impact on me, as if a part of me was martyred, and despite all the painful events we remained one hand, supporting each other; And the doors of our homes are open for your people, Beirut.
Oh Beirut, I am the daughter of a camp. I lived as a Palestinian refugee in Syria, and I came to Lebanon to escape the war there. And what happened to you, Beirut, is a tragedy, as if it were war ... And you, Beirut ... Oh Beirut ... you are accustomed to love as well as war ... How much you pained us, Beirut ... How much we love you, Beirut…
From my heart, peace to Beirut …