10. Ventures away from the Village

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 still recall the service, which included an opening prayer, the singing of well-known Arabic hymns and students giving testimonies. Fellowship after the service was upbeat with some excitement relating to the exchange of new insights gained. Coffee, tea and some kind of savoury pastries accompanied this gathering. The resident pastors and their families certainly seemed to appreciate the impetus the students were able to give and I could tell the students loved the experience.

During the week, students from various parts of Lebanon as well as some from other Middle Eastern countries would attend lectures. Most, if not all of the graduating students, were preparing to return to the contexts from which they had come. Some came from as far afield as Sudan, Morocco, Egypt and Syria. Sometimes they talked about their home countries and their families.

One of the LBI students, Fuad Melki, a Lebanese businessman, was something of a hero of mine. He had established a scout troop and was instrumental in me becoming the only cub scout around in the troop. Aida, who later became Fuad’s wife, ran the girl guides troop and everyone involved had a grand time learning all kinds of basic living skills for which they received badges. Fuad and Aida later became very involved with the Church of God in Ashrafieh and built up a school where Dad became the Administrator for a while. Then there was Adil Masri who also married a fellow graduate by the name of Duha and eventually headed up the Campus Crusade for Christ ministry in Beirut among university and college students.

At one point during the summer months, a seminar and camp was arranged at a site up in the mountains, near Feraya. The LBI students were accommodated in bungalows on the property, which had some kind of connection to the scout movement. There were scouts around in their own tents, busy with accomplishing their allocated tasks for recognition. Chairs were set out in semi-circles and there were tables set up in front for the presenters.

During Dad’s talk, at one point there was a commotion at the top end of the grounds. I was the cause of the commotion, but Dad simply glanced up and saw that others were helping me, so he continued with his presentation. However, none of his listeners were able to hear anything that he was saying as there was a distinct feeling that he should have stopped his presentation and gone to attend to the situation himself. The problem was I had fallen out of a pine tree that I had climbed.

Somehow, I had managed to hang on to a branch, which was too weak to hold my weight and it had broken. I had fallen, ripping open my right arm on the underside and blood was flowing copiously out of the wound. The scouts put all their training to work and soon had my arm cleaned up and bandaged over the whole length of the cut. Since there were so many qualified and skillful scouts around and since they came running to my aid, Dad felt assured that I would be well attended to and kept on with his presentation.

Their work was greatly admired afterwards by Dad and the scoutmaster in charge at the time, but, the listeners to my Dad’s presentation were unable to comprehend how he did not go to his son’s aid immediately – and his first-born son at that. In Lebanese households, the son was to be protected, admired, encouraged, instructed carefully and closely cared for. It was a real hiatus at the time and Dad’s lack of action spoke louder than any words he might have uttered.

There was a plan in place for the following day for everyone to go for a long walk up to the natural bridge near Naba el Asal, and have a picnic together. With my bandaged wound, it was felt that I would not be up to such a hike and would have to stay behind to recuperate. This was an untenable arrangement for me and I kicked up quite a fuss the next morning when I saw that Dad was being serious about such a proposal. Well, the upshot was that he extracted a promise from me to walk all the way there and back without anyone having to carry me. Naturally, I agreed to the conditions and started off with the others early the next morning.

I walked on my own two feet, with everyone else, through the village of Faraya and on up the winding road all the way up to the picnic site at the top of that part of the mountain. When we arrived at the brook which flowed from the spring further up, it was time to get things together for our lunch.

Someone had brought a lot of the resources needed for a picnic up the mountain in Fuad’s dark blue Pontiac. A watermelon, tomatoes, bunches of parsley and all kinds of already cooked food were heaped on the tables so everyone could take a hand in preparing for the feast. The watermelons were put in a safe place in the brook to be cooled down until required. The cracked bulgar wheat was soaked. A few people finely cut the tomatoes and onions, while others chopped the parsley and mint, ready to be mixed up with the softened bulgar wheat, in a communal bowl together with liberal amounts of olive oil, lemon juice and sprinklings of salt. While all the preparations for the tabbouleh were being done, the men made a fire and cooked the meat on skewers for lahm mishwi. Conversation was unconfined and comments about the anticipated quality of each item of food prepared us for the meal.

Finally, the feast began with a long prayer of thanksgiving followed by generous thanks all round for those who had made arrangements. Pita bread and lettuce leaves were distributed and everyone began enjoying the various dishes. There was plenty of spring water to drink and then finally the watermelons were fetched, cut open and distributed as anyone had need. Once the meal was finished and clean up accomplished, people relaxed with some talking together, others dozing and a few just walking around and admiring the view.

It was then time to walk to the famous natural stone bridge. No one was going to miss that, least of all me. Prior to going down into the valley we were led along the side of a hill and there in front of us we saw the bubbling spring of ice-cold water, which formed the source of the river which flowed under the natural bridge. It really was icy cold.

Wending our way downward we came upon a magnificent view of the natural bridge. It was possible to see a great view of the mountainside across the valley through the arch of the bridge as a kind of frame. We heard the river running in the depths below the bridge and it was also possible to walk under it to the other side and look back at an equally inspiring view of the upper slopes we had just come from.

On returning to the picnic site we found it clean and met up with one or two students who had stayed behind to wait for us to return and then walk back down to our campsite. I managed the whole journey without complaint and Dad rewarded me by carrying me the last few kilometers to the campsite. He was very proud of me and I was glad to have kept my promise and to receive the adulation for having fulfilled my pledge. I slept well that night.