The Olive Bowl

My brother-in-law, Jonny, once described their family outings, “Hotels, Hardly Ever Visited.” It was the same in our family. Dad had a history of hikes up Table Mountain, camping around the countryside and making a special event of boiling water outside and sharing good company under the trees. He conveyed his enjoyment of the open-air way of life to us and we would often find special places to visit for a family getaway. It is true that we could not generally afford to visit hotels or restaurants, but we hardly noticed the lack. Often, on a Sunday afternoon, we would put on our walking shoes, tighten up the wheels of the pram and bicycle, pack a picnic in rucksacks on our backs and walk towards Ainab. The road crossed over a stream and a small gravel pathway led downwards into bushes of broom and gorse. As we burst through them, there before us was a cement table ready to be covered with a colourful cloth for the picnic. We don’t know who built that cement slab, but we owned it for ...

From our small village of Shemlan, we had a view of the luminous city of Beirut, like an arrow pointing to a larger world. From the small attic window of our home in Shemlan, I could see right up to the edge of the city. The bay tree obstructed a wider view, but if we sat on wall on the side of the road, we could see the international airport and watch the arrival and departure of aeroplanes. On many occasions we actually went down to Beirut in our car with Dad driving. It was the golden city to us. On special occasions, we would walk along the Corniche and overlook the famous Pigeon Rocks.     On our way to Beirut, the road wound its way through Ain Anoub and various villages. Once, a young boy darted into the road in front of our car without looking and Dad knocked him over. He stopped immediately and got out to see how the boy was. As soon as he did the father came rushing from his house and, in a panic, became quite vocal, while others gathered around. The little boy did n...

I did not see what happened inside the Lebanon Bible Institute (LBI) classrooms, but I knew that Dad and the other lecturers were teaching about the Bible. On one occasion Aida Melki said to Mom, with an awed look on her face, “We were there, Mrs de Smidt, we were right there in the events being spoken about!” Dad had a way of bringing a story to life. We shared some main meals with the students and got to know them outside the classroom. On Sundays students at the LBI went to the surrounding villages to attend the various Protestant Churches. They seemed eager to practice what they must have been learning. On one occasion I went out with Dad and some students to Ramhala where there was an existing Church. We went right into the village and had some visits with various families connected to the Church, prior to the actual service. As time for the meeting approached some of the young men rang the bell in the church tower so people would know service was about to commence. I can stil...

The boys were looking intently at the water, standing up to their calves in it and holding large stones over their heads. Suddenly, they threw the stones down on top of boulders in the river, then waited, poised. A few small fish floated side-up near the surface, dazed momentarily by the percussion of the rocks smashing against each other. The practiced young men scooped up the fish before they recovered their equilibrium and added them to their pile. Dad offered the fishermen some lira for their catch, which they gladly accepted. We were then able to cook up a midday meal as we rested before continuing on the next leg of our hike from Jisr-el-Khadi to Naba’ Safa. We had seen the group of village boys near the river earlier and had asked them whether there were any fish in it. They answered in the affirmative and offered to catch some for us. We had invited them to share our meal, but they were much more interested in spending the money we gave them on what they seemed to feel was mo...

I always loved making discoveries in the village and the fields nearby. There were so many interesting things to look at. A little birds nest, the view over the next hill, sheep shearing and watching the shepherd calling his sheep with his reed pipe; each activity would fascinate me. I loved watching the time for gathering olives or following the donkey carrying pockets of fresh olives to be taken to the stone press at the next village, Ainab. However, there are certain discoveries that no seven-year-old child should make. Village life also had its dark side, as I discovered first-hand. Even now, sixty-five years later, it is not easy to express those events. As a young boy of six or seven I had no awareness of danger and I trusted those around me. It did not occur to me that I was being purposefully led further and further away from the safety and security of the community. Only as an adult looking back can I observe the classic signs of abuse, and the long preparation involved in th...

  There were so many aspects of home and village life which intrigued and fascinated me. Our village was set like a jewel in the Lebanon mountains overlooking Beirut. Twin mountain ranges run north to south of the country with the Bekaa valley in between. This marks the beginning of the Great Rift Valley. The Ante Lebanon mountains are the highest ones, near the Syrian border, and extend to the Golan Heights, with Mount Hermon as part of that range. The Lebanon range is closer to the coast; the Great Cedars of Lebanon grow in the northern part of the mountains and the Barouk Cedars were further south and not far from Ain Zhalta. As a special deal Dad took us to the wall on the small terrace outside the kitchen and pointed to a round metal cup-like device which had two pipes running out of it. With an awed voice he explained to us, “We now have water that comes from Barouk and the water is pure and good for us to drink! We can be very grateful!” It would be a while before our wate...

  The British Syrian Mission used to be a mission run by English ladies, but changed names and had some men in it. Dad was one of the first men to work with that mission and having families was a new experience for everyone. Especially such rapidly growing families! Later it was called the Lebanon Evangelical Mission. I was born on the first of July 1948 in the northern Lebanese port of Tripoli at the American Hospital. We continued in Shemlan for the next few months, but moved to Hasbeya in September for language acquisition school.                                              Hasbeya is one of the oldest towns on the slopes of Mount Hermon, inhabited by the Druze, with some Christians. Australian missionary, Doug Anderson met Mom and Dad there and wrote, “The de Smidts then settled into the old Mission house in Hasbeya and on my arrival in Lebanon in 1948, I q...