Summers in Paradise: Finding A "Home Away From Home" in Lebanon

posted on: Apr 5, 2017

BY: Mike Enayah/Contributing Writer

In November of 1963, I was born in Kuwait to Palestinian refugee parents, which made me a Palestinian refugee by default.

For the first few years of my life, I couldn’t tell that I was a refugee. We were fortunate to belong to the professional class and had all the amenities and luxuries needed for a comfortable life. Other than my father being so attached to the news, awaiting the liberation of his home, and us having to live in rental homes due to restrictions on home ownership for non-Kuwaitis, I was not aware of my refugee status.

I knew that my family used to spend summers in Gaza until the 1967 War, which resulted in the occupation of Palestine. Unfortunately, I have very little recollection of those summers in Gaza, but what I have are fond memories of my vacations to Lebanon – a home away from home.

In 1969, my family started to spend summers in Lebanon and it was the most influential time on my upbringing. These were the years that I was always asking questions, and my mom definitely knew the answer to every one of them.

By 1974, the tables had turned and this 10-year-old started to think that he new more than his parents. After spending four summers in Lebanon, I had become very familiar with the country. I acquired the native accent and learned all the local traditions and customs.

That summer of 1974 was particularly memorable. When I opened my eyes on the first morning in the small town of Qarnayel, a quaint town nestled in Mount Lebanon, the fog was forming the most beautiful pool of clouds in the valley underneath my window, the birds were singing, the flowers were blooming, and the weather was perfect. I walked outside wanting to know if it was real or if I was in a dream. I encountered the neighbor’s grandmother and asked her, “Am I dreaming or am I really in Paradise?” She chuckled and found her story for the summer, as she assured me that I was not dreaming.

Lebanon was where everything looked better. Against the backdrop of mountains were pine forests, winding roads, orchards, and marvelous beaches. In Lebanon, beauty begot beauty.

My younger sister also had a profound observation among Lebanon’s beauty, as she asked my mother one morning, “Why do they decorated trees with fruits?” That poor little soul didn’t know at the time that fruit grows on trees. Her only experience was watching my father buying fruits from the store in Kuwait.

It wasn’t only the nature that was beautiful, though, the people and lifestyles were intriguing, as well. People were always dressed more modern in Lebanon, cars looked better, music sounded sweeter, food tasted more delicious, jokes were funnier, and falling in love was around every corner. As a 10-year-old kid, I was finding crushes around every corner, too.

That summer, I insisted on wearing particular fashion; my poor mother had to visit almost every clothing store in Lebanon to find me shiny nylon shirts with colored matching buttons. By the time we found them, my mother paid the asking price, too exhausted to practice her favorite hobby of bargaining. With my shoes and two-tone bellbottom jeans, this 10-year-old was the most stylish boy at the pinball machine at my Amo Arif ‘s café – home to the best view in town.

I attended my first concert performed by Mohammed Jamal that summer, too. His hit song was “Ah Ya Em Hamada”. My nickname happened to be Hamada and my sister thought the singer was serenading my mom all night long.

Lebanon is also where I stepped on my first escalator, a small moment for some, but a special memory for me. We were at the Spinneys supermarket, home to probably the only escalator in the Middle East at that time.

Another major event was taking our beautiful Oldsmobile to the automated car wash, which was another first for the Arab world. Everything appeared first in Lebanon.

We had our must-visit sites every year, which included visits to the Cedar of Lebanon, Baalbek, Chtoura, Jeita Grotto, Harissa, Nabaa Al Safa, the Beqaa valley with a stop at Jarjoura for sandwiches, and eating a delicious meal in Zahle. Almost weekly, we shopped at Al Hamrah, and took evening walks in Bhamdoun.

Qarnayel was definitely my home, as it was a place that never made me feel like a stranger. Instead, it was a place where I knew all the kids and they knew me. I have walked all of its roads and hiked all of its trails, and made my own paths. I have drunk from its springs, despite my parents’ warnings.

I had no curfew. No one had a cell phones back then and no one worried about anyone. It was safe and secure, despite the fact that there weren’t any guardrails or even handrails on stairs.

The view was always spectacular anywhere you looked. On a clear day, you could see the sun glistening over the Mediterranean Sea.

My last summer in Lebanon was 1975, as the civil war was brewing. Once the war started, we couldn’t get a visa to visit Lebanon anymore, but we kept tabs on our friends. By 1978, the war reached Qarnayel, and sadly, we lost some friends.

In 1976 and 1977, we toured Europe for the summer. I was looking for Lebanon around every corner. I was trying very hard to fall in love with Europe, but couldn’t because Lebanon was the one and only. It was not a crush; it was the true love.

Finally, I returned to Lebanon in 2004, and I was able to drive every street and ally in Qarnayel and the surrounding villages without a map. I still knew every corner like the back of my hand. I stopped where we used to live, knocked on the neighbors’ door, and I only had to look them in the eye for a second before we embraced with tears of joy flowing down our faces. They knew who I was as if they were waiting for me for 30 years. I was home.