This blog will be something of a catalogue of what we're up to, as well as some comments about what I'm learning about Beirut, about Lebanon, about the Middle East, and about U.S./Middle East relations (conceived politically and culturally).
Here's the skinny: we moved to Beirut last week so that I could begin a faculty appointment at the American University of Beirut. My wife and I have two sons, adopted from Ethiopia, and two 11-year-old Bedlington Terriers (adopted from Denver). The boys, ages 9 and 5, will attend the American Community School which is across the street from our apartment (which is on the campus of the American University). My wife, a certified nurse midwife, is still considering her work options, while also helping kids and dogs get used to the new scene.
We arrived a bit more than one week ago to hot and humid Beirut. After one night at our friends' house, we moved to our apartment, which has two bedrooms, two bathrooms, air conditioning, and a balcony/patio with amazing views of the Mediterranean. In the first days, we worked hard to outfit our apartment with kitchen items, bedding, etc. Doing so meant hiking up a steep hill into the Hamra neighborhood, where the University is located. The Hamra neighborhood contains a mixture of long-time shop-owners mixed with Arab and European import stores. The buildings are a mix of styles, ranging from neglected-but-beautiful Ottoman to concrete-soviet-era-utilitarian. All of the buildings, regardless of style, show the scars of the 15-year civil war; they have bullet marks extending from the roof to the street. The neighborhood's namesake, Hamra street, has everything from money-exchange stores, to book stores, to American diners, to kitchen-appliance stores, to high-end jewelry and clothing stores.
We are quite the scene in our neighborhood. We are white parents with black children. And we are white parents with black children, with two sheep-like dogs in tow. We get many long looks; but it's not always clear whether its our kids or our dogs that are the targets. We've been asked, "are they yours" about the kids; and we've been asked, "are they lamb," about the dogs. While we recognize the long looks, we haven't yet felt anything malicious or contemptuous about them. We are just a curious family.
We have encountered many Ethiopian women who have taken special interest in our boys. Ethiopian women enter Lebanon on work visa's where they labor for menial wages as domestics (and sometimes as prostitutes). Many of these women probably have children at home in Ethiopia, and the sight of our children must cause ambivalent feelings. Yet, to our boys, the Ethiopian women have been nothing but loving. . . too loving if you ask the boys. In one encounter, our boys were surrounded by women who kissed them and rubbed their heads. The boys ran home and washed their faces multiple times.
In general, our boys have been treated well. The soldiers in the neighborhood give high-fives when they walk by. The old-men lifeguards at the beach rub their head and talk to them in Arabic. Kids living on campus have also been kind; although I heard one boy refer to my sons as the "blackface" boys; but there didn't seem to be malice in this. I'm on guard, however.
We have spent part of nearly every day at the University's beach. The boys have loved looking at underwater sea life and watching the fisherman dive for their baskets of crab and fish. The water is bath-water warm, and clear to the bottom of the sea. But it's an odd feeling, swimming in the sea while watching cargo tankers and United Nation's patrol ships floating on the same sea just a few miles away. It's also strange to swim in a sea that I know is so heavily policed and militarized.
At this point we are just getting used to everything: the time, the food, shopping, taxis, etc. It's been Ramadan during the last week, which has made the neighborhood especially quite and slow. Next week Beirut will pulse again with construction noise, honking taxis, and simmering local and regional conflict.
