Laisser venir a moi les petits enfants !

Yes I am a disillusioned Christian who has secured (according to the church) a front row seat in the kingdom of hell; I proclaim out loud that I am closer to God than the Pope will ever be.

Lost in the meanderings of religious teachings, and a spoon fed faith in my early years, I can now affirm that I am a better Christian than most of the men of the cloth I have had the misfortune to encounter.
Born in the Biblical land of milk ad honey; I have witnessed suffering inflicted by “the people of the book”. I have seen holy men act against their vows, and I have bared witness to the repercussions.
I even came to question God’s wisdom and his very existence. I even used such doubts as an excuse to my misdeeds.
I might have embarked on the wrongful path for a while, but found it not so fulfilling; on the contrary it brought me closer to understand my own spirituality.
Finally I can rest my weary head to sleep at night; not because I have changed in my convictions; but for I have encountered pure innocence.
Innocence that stemmed from the eyes of a deprived child; a child that did not even ask to be born. Not even an orphan, but a child that was abandoned by his own parents for some lame excuse. A child that will cling on to any iota of TLC a stranger could provide. A child willing to prostitute a smile for time spent even pretending that you care.
In this Biblical (my foot) land of milk and honey, we have forgotten the mission that was bestowed upon us (us children of the book, and not only Christians) to love and help one another; and yet we criticize the west and their (loose) values.

In a small village in Bikfaya called village ---…--- I found refuge. And moreover I found myself.
I have found a sense a being and belonging within the eyes of those, not only less fortunate but those who enjoy a “joie de vivre” second to none; for they do not know any better (and that is a shame). A community populated on an average of 85% of destitute, abandoned, orphaned, forgotten children; being taken care of by volunteers who are not foreign to their plights.
Yes you can go incognito and donate outgrown clothes and toys, and pretend that you have moved one step closer on the ladder to paradise. But if you ever have the courage to meet the kids; you are hooked for life.
Never (even with your own flesh and blood) would you see such happiness, love and gratitude than you would see at the “village S.O.S” or any other organization of the sort.
When you feel that life is pulling you down and you are down on your luck, take the trip and go and visit those who are less fortunate, it is cheaper than a therapist; and the ripple effects are much wider.

FOOD FOR THOUGHT.

La boheme version locale !

Je vous parle d’un temps
Il y’a plus de vingt ans
Le Liban était en guerre
Ses rues ensanglantées
Ne connaissant pas de paix
Jusqu’au plus loin recoins
Nous étions quelques uns
Une arme dans la main
Nous nous faisions la guerre
C’est la que tout a commencé
Moi dans mes illusions
Et toi dans tes pensées

Tant de haine, tant de haine
Qu’avons-nous fait de notre Liban ?
Tant de haine, tant de haine
On l’a brûlé, brûlé vivant.

Et les jours ont passés
Les semaines les années
Sans apaiser l’amertume
La mort a nos cotés
Le pays déchiré
Les canons battaient plus fort
Et quand une accalmie
Déversait une pluie
De mortiers et de balles
Ont allait se cacher
Au bas d’un escalier
Pour échapper au sort

Tant de haine, tant de haine
Qu’avons-nous fait de notre Liban ?
Tant de haine, tant de haine
On l’a brûle, brûle vivant.

Chaqu' un de son côté
Clamait la vérité
Ignorant nos cris
Nous plongeant dans un destin
Noire et incertain
Poussant notre pays
Vers des jours incertains
Et une jeunesse déchue
De toute joie de vivre
Et nous on les suivait
Sans même les questionner
Comme aveugles ou ivres


Tant de haine, tant de haine
Qu’avons-nous fait de notre Liban ?
Tant de haine, tant de haine
On l’a brûle, brûle vivant.

Maintenant qu’on a grandi
Les obstacles affranchis
Cette histoire se répète
La haine existe toujours
Dans les murs, dans les rues
Et nous crie a tû tête
Arrêter cette folie
Vivez en harmonie
Ou je vais cesser d’être
Le Liban vous appelle
De tout ses kilomètres
A vivre sous sa tutelle

Tant de haine, tant de haine
Qu’avons-nous fait de notre Liban ?
Tant de haine, tant de haine
On l’a brûle, brûle vivant.

This is what I do not wish upon my son!

13th of April; a stolen childhood !

This is nothing but, as we say back home “mourour al kiram”; depicting a small percentage of events which forged a generation that is now controlling the destiny of our nation and children.
I am part of this generation which is lost in limbo, somewhere between a false sense of patriotism and a deep guilt for having followed and engaged in acts that were against our morals and religious teachings.
This was Lebanon then.
I will leave it up to you to watch and formulate your own opinion.
N.B: Always keep in mind that this nothing but a mere fraction of what actually took place.

Thank you Gemmayzeh !!!

Thank you Mr Sarkiss and Mr Allouch, for having reminded me, that I took the wrong decision in investing in my own country.
Thank you for having opened my eyes to the fact that my contract (all dues paid in full, and then some more) could be breached for political purposes.
Thank you Gemmayzeh residents for charging me ridiculous rent on my premises, only to later complain that I have defaced your culturally protected neighbourhood, and what a culture I ask.
You took to the streets with slogans such as “bidna neim” (we want to sleep) when you were more than happy to rent us space that was not even fit for your dogs to live in.
We refurbished them at our own expense and put Gemmayzeh back on the map, and yet you repay us by circulating a petition that shuts many of us down.
Thank you for your loyalty, you ingrate bunch of “enculeurs de mouches” (and no do not excuse my French).
It was and still is a sad day, when in my restaurant I have to ask my customers to leave by 11.30.
May Sarkiss, Allouch and all of you rot in hell , and may all gemmayzeh resident be haunted once again by the emptiness and the eerie silence that once prevailed.
“Never bite the hand that feeds you", you ingrate maggots.
Ana beddeh 3ich.

Culturally handicapped

Away from politics, Gemayzeh and the fight for survival within this Lebanese jungle; I have sought refuge in the comfort of good company and French wine. Le club des cinq gathered tonight in the safety of a home safely tucked away in the mountains, for an evening away from the newly found restrictions that once did not exist. The evening started with the normal discussion about Allouch and Sarkis’s decision to push Lebanon one step closer towards Iranistan, and the reactions of yesterday’s punters towards the early closing of their respective watering holes. Sitting in the living room sipping on a crispy cold Pouilly le club des cinq was graced with a program on LBC hosted by 4 wannabe “pop in et dans le vent” female compatriots trying to brake social barriers. At first we all thought that this might be the beginning of some sort of avant garde free speech program that might bring a glimmer of hope to what we have come to know as a waste of air space.
4 Women and a male guest (Yehia Jaber), a self proclaimed journalist, poet, communist, revolutionary, free speaking…etc polluted the airways for a couple of hours. All throughout this portrayal of what has become acceptable as Lebanon’s contribution to the world of “le 7emme art” and free speech (and a few glasses down our throats) we could not help but compare what we were watching to the good old days; the days of “le theatre des dix heures” with Yvette Sursock, “3acher 3abid zghar”, “toute la ville chante”, Alec Khalaf (as suggested by J.W Chouchou and Al dinyeh Heyk)…etc.
Association d’idées, we switched on to Tal Al Zaatar, holiday Inn, Sabra & Chatila, Tanzim, Ahrar, Kateb, Mourabiton, Fath, Saika…etc; all those memories shoved way back in the deep recesses of our minds resurfaced again only to be mentioned but not discussed.
The only agreement was that we were all reminiscent of the days when our country was a cradle of culture, wit, free speech; and programs like the one we saw tonight would have never aired for the mere fact that it would not have found an audience.
Bring me back the glory days of channels 7, 5, 9 11, C33; even in black and white. Moreover bring me back Doreid Laham, Sissi imperatrice,Simon Templar,Allo Hayete, Ghawar al Tocheh.
I truly regret my snobbish attitude then, and in order to redeem myself, enclosed is a clip of those glory days.



Yes those were better days !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Pardon Sleiman Beik, bedeh e7lbo !

Have we reached the bottom of the barrel, or is it a lack of social life that made me watch Suleiman Beyck tonight on what used to be the voice of Christian defiance (LBC). I thank my God (my private God) for whiskey and the beautiful company I was graced with, which made Suli’s televised “itlaleleh” more funny than it was supposed to be.
I will not bother to comment on his wisdom and political savvy, he doesn’t have any (in my own humble opinion). But what cracked me up and made me piss down my trousers was the use of : “ye7lebo” and “yil3an oukthoun” (more than once). According to Suli beyck my fellow Lebanese are masturbators with cursed sisters.
Thank you LBC for having shown us once again that you are pioneers and fervent adept of free speech. Sheikh Bashir is now rolling in his grave.
Thank you Suli, my dear me3az from the north for making me realize that in Lebanon, you don’t even need any form of education to become a leader, a minister, a politician...etc and have your moment of glory on LBC.