The Olive Bowl

I returned from Germany ready for my Junior and Senior years at the American University of Beirut. We lived within walking distance of the university and the twenty-minute walk was full of interest as I made my way towards the Mediterranean Ocean via Hamra Street, down Rue Jeanne D’Arc and finally across Bliss St through the university arches. Occasionally on the way home I would pop in to greet Lucien Accad at his watch shop, or meet friends at their student residents. I can’t remember exactly when, but at one point I bought a Vespa scooter which made transport easier. I even went up to Shemlan with Graham on it on occasion, before he went to the UK for his studies. The bike was old and I didn’t like the bike rattling. At one point I took the bike apart, painted it and began putting it back together. All went well except that I had a few leftover parts and according to Graham, ‘sadly my lovely and beautiful Vespa never rode again.’ I gave it to a friend, Christian Sa’ade, who was will...

I carried my suitcases with a sense of expectation and openness to a new experience as I flew to Munich to begin my journey to south Germany near Lake Constance (Bodensee). I caught a couple of trains to Tettnang, thankful that I understood enough German to talk to people on the way and work out the right connections and finally caught a bus to Pfingstweid. At the old age facility, I was met by Frau Deierling at the door of their living quarters and welcomed in to meet the housefather, Herr Günther Deierling who would show me the ropes. My room was above the kitchen area and the 105 residents were in their own sections, some on their own, others in smaller clusters. Around half of the dozen or so staff were also residents, others came in daily from the nearby village. I first met the other staff at the evening meal, abend brot . I was confused to discover that in spite of two years of German lessons, I could hardly understand a thing in the Schwäbisch dialect. One lady pushed a bowl to...

By the time I turned 19, I had already completed all the credits required for my sophomore year at Haigazian College. On paper, it looked like steady progress. In reality, it was a growing understanding of the demands on me to focus, be disciplined and most especially of being willing to grow up quickly. The effort I put in at that point would shape the possibilities waiting for me later.  During the years 1966 to 1970, the post-school years of my time in Lebanon together with my family, the country transitioned from a period of relative prosperity and stability into a period of acute political and economic chaos.  The years until those changes have often been called the ‘Golden Age’ of Lebanon. People came from all over the world to enjoy the cosmopolitan life and the rich cultural blend of tradition and modernity in a bustling Beirut. Arabic, French, Italian and English were common parlance. People would socialise for long hours over coffee and baklava, explore the diverse m...

As I write, each day I read the news, grieving and praying for our beloved Lebanon. M y thoughts go back to 1966, when Lebanon was prospering and at peace. So different to what is happening now. That year I finished high school and returned ‘home’. Home is what Lebanon always felt like to me, and it seemed natural to pursue studies there . In our final year of high school, t he school had organized for us to take some test s and discuss the results . “Hmm, you are quite good in biology and all your results give you 100 % interest in people,” the psychologist told me. H e seemed to think I could liaise between people involved in the ‘Orange River Scheme’ whatever that was. The political situation in South Africa was such that there was a ballot for some men to be conscripted for military training, but it was not yet compulsory for everyone (that came into force in 1967) . I was not planning to stick around to be conscripted.   Dad had proposed that I pursue further studi...