From Lebanon 2009

Stray Bullet

To get lost in Beirut is not a difficult task. The streets do not fall on any numerical or logical grid o roads and avenues that can be easily tracked. As a matter of fact street names are often an issue of subjective interpretation for your Leon Street could be Emile Edde to me and Layyoon with a thick Beiruti accent for a third person who doesn't usually sport a thick Beiruti accent. Of course there is always the infallible landmark based positioning system except that neighborhood landmarks are often invisible to visitors. Have you seen Modca cafe recently? Well, it still is very much a reference point.  Mind you here we are talking about arguably a fully developed species of humans that struggles with orientation, so it would be totally understandable if an unintelligent lifeless form of matter such as the steel that commonly makes up a bullet goes astray during the very limited time it gets to get acquainted with the city between the pull of the trigger and ripping through a bystander. 

Still stray bullets take a lot more blame than they deserve. Not all of them kill, some just maim, others just crash land in the Baba Ghannouj at the outdoor restaurants which are crowded with the record breaking  3 million tourists. Here I do not mean to insinuate that the shooters of bullets might be at fault. They never are; not in this quasi-anarchy we run over here.  What I'm trying to say is that better urban planning wouldn't hurt. 

Stray bullets are another tradition from this great nation, and frankly progress and development should incorporate tradition rather than defy it. 

From Lebanon on and off

Getting stuck in the ascenseur

Just when you think that you have mastered the game, that the rules no longer apply to you; a major coup swiftly puts you back in place.

After four years of always escaping, of knowing exactly when to risk it and when to feign extra energy for five flights of stairs; one week got me twice. In both incidents the ever-present Natour was nowhere near his lair. In the first case; ten minutes in the heat and in the dark in close proximity to 7 strangers clearly put in perspective the number of emigrants fleeing the country. The 10 minutes should be multiplied by the dog year- human year factor to get the “felt like” time. While the second time around, a struggle to pull my body up into the Shibr wide opening out of the cabin was a blunt warning that the long overdue gym visit cannot be put off any longer.

Personal issues aside, getting stuck in the ascenseur is a rite of passage here. You cannot delay the inevitable indefinitely. Its risk factor has to be taken into consideration every time you are getting off the ground aiming for higher floors. Grocery shopping, garbage collection, wakes, tea time, and other social gatherings are scheduled around possible outage times. As you know, most mascara brands are not stuck-in-the-ascenseur proof. To be fair, this ritual is not all bad, there is one positive about it: it kills the music.

Stuck in the ascenseur; another slightly inconvenience in a long line of Lebanese inconveniences.

From Lebanon neither 8 nor 14

The order of engineers windshield sticker

First of all, you would think that with the centuries spent cumulatively in various design classes the order would come up with a more aesthetically pleasing sticker. Well, any attempt to alter the logo in the current politically charged environment would undoubtedly lead to a color battle that would make a gay pride parade seem pale.

The sticker is there as is, but why is it so common? It must be for insurance purposes or some quirk like that because I can't understand why would anyone want to brag that his or her Harvard aerospace engineering degree has landed them a Picanto; in installments over the next 7 years.
Or maybe mister engineer wants to divert your attention with his dazzling order of engineers windshield sticker away from that red license plate that adorns his car.

A tough job market, struggling engineers, a yearly reminder call from your sectarian party representative, and kickass math skills: these come together symbolically packaged in that boxy design of the order of engineers windshield sticker in Lebanon.

From Lebanon Again

For Most Anglosaxons the expression "Kiss Me Again" can only be interpreted as a request for an encore act of contact from foreign lips (teeth, tongue, and/or tonsils) against any part of the recipient's body with some sort of spastic motion that creates a certain degree of noise and moisture.

In Lebanon Kiss-Me-Again is not even remotely associated with the verb to kiss (as it could be used in reference to a power outage), the pronoun me (which might as well be replaced with them or y'all or Timbuktu) , or the adjective again for it might be about a novelty or something that will never happen once let alone again. "Kiss-Me-Again, Siyedeh, Istiqlel..."

Now you might think this is just an expression used by pre-teens to circumvent the use of the real thing which keeps them cool without risking the consequences of a nanny 911 time out. That it's a phase they'd outgrow once they develop a more articulate vocabulary. Don't get your hopes up as there are documented cases of retirees in Basta who don't even know a word of english dropping kiss-me-agains over games of Backgammon.

A new phrase can soon be added to the languages display at the national museum: kiss em again akhou sharmouta.

Pardon me for the vulgar use of again.

From Lebanon 25

The Vendeuse

Chic and not so chic boutiques from Achrafiyeh to Hamra up to Zahleh are home to this breed of women. They start as hopeful young girls that get into it for the discounted clothes and as a stepping stone to better things (i.e. marriage); but just like degenerate gamblers who think they have figured out a way to beat the house they got sucked into the system that doesn't let anyone out alive.

Vendeuse by accepting the job will sign up for decades of boredom, gossip magazines, and acetone. Cigarettes kick in in their second decade at the shop, hard liquor caps the tenure process in decade number 3. And while one day down the road she might actually find the flamboyant transvestite that will find the pistachio colored dress that has adorned the window since Jacky O's wedding fabulous; the prospects of her leaving the shop to the altar are much slimmer.

As a public service to all youngsters who might fall in this trap, if you see this innocent looking but loaded A4 paper or any of its variaties anywhere, run for your life for it is nothing more than a chic way of saying dead end.

The Vendeuse, the yang to the Natour's ying, is yet another traditional fixture in the Lebanese society.

From Lebanon M14

Zajal

Zajal is a traditional form of poetry/song exclusive to what is colooquially known as sausage parties.

Zajal combines the symmetry of the eastern art of Haikus, the realness of inner city rap, the topics of HBO's Taxi Cab confessions, with the inebriation of two and a half bottle of araq as a minimum.

Men showcase their eloquence, wit, and voices all while competing on who's holding the biggest...drum.

Zajal participants always repeat a one line chorus, as demostrated often by politicians and TV talking heads on any given night.

Mijana and Ataba are 2 variants of Zajal verses.

Here's a lame attempt at an Ataba verse en anglais.

You have seen it on an Ad or
a billboard for a life which we adore
promising you a window or a door
where you'll find all the money you can grab.

Clearly, the Araq minimum was never met...

From Lebanon 17

The Zalghouta

First a note to my foreign readers: Even though it rhymes with it, Zalghouta has nothing to do with that One arabic word you know.

The Zalghouta is a physical feat involving the tongue and throat, usually, of a female. No, no, I repeat this has nothing to do with that one arabic word you know.

The Zalghouta is a loud expression of the happy ending of bachelor life. I swear it has nothing to do with sex, even though ladies who can perform it tend to have higher babies per uterus averages than women who can't.

I don't think it is either a genetically inherited talent or an acquired skill, it must be another one of these unexplainable Lebanese miracle mutations like full make up breakfasts and Walid Jumblat.

Whatever the zalghouta is, enjoy it, be happy as it is a sirening omen of an open bar, unless you are stuck at a dry wedding, or much worse a sex seggregated one, in which case you only have yourself to blame for being there.

The Zalghouta, yet another akhou @#$%^&*@# tradition from Lebanon.




P.S. I've labeled all the From Lebanon posts "From Lebanon", if you'd like to go back and learn more about traditions from Lebanon.

From Lebanon M16

Civil wars

Sure civil wars do take place elsewhere, but no other land can claim a civil war or two per generation. There are even accounts of civil wars that predate the "modern" man, when the sheep and goats locked horns over a watering hole in the Southern Metn region. The war occured shortly after the discovery of fire which led to the second most important discovery in history: Barbecue. Homo Cheframzien then became the first registered case of obesity.

Then came man and his wars. First war on record was between the clockwise and anti-clockwise dabke dancers. As all subsquent wars, there were no winners in this conflict. Both camps held ground with boots firmly in place and signed the first national reconcilaition under the auspices of the Roman Caracalla family which then privatized and monopolized dabke for eterntiy.

With the arrival of God, civil wars became just too easy as you no longer needed to find a reason to fight as God will always be on your side. The rest is history.

With that said, I promise you there will not be a civil war this time around. If I'm wrong you can shoot me.

From Lebanon 21

Jallab

The new world brought us Coca Cola; a hydrating concoction of phosphoric acid, sugar, and coloring. I must admit it is a quite refreshing beverage; in an ulcer inducing kind of way.

In Lebanon, well in the Middle East to be more precise, the ultimate thirst quencher is Jallab.

Jallab is two parts. The chilled liquid part is made from a syrup concocted (yes I love the verb concoct and all of its concoctions) from dates, grapes, and rose water. Part two is best described by the waiter at the Phoenicia Hotel that approached me last week and offered me in a heavily accented English, "Would you like nuts in your Jallab, Sir?" I am not ashamed to say that I gladly accepted his proposition for a Jallab is incomplete without a handful of fresh fine nuts. Actually the nut mix will reveal the quality of the Jallab in most cases. If all that's floating in your drink are pistachios and unidentifiable living organisms, then you are a cheap bastard who doesn't want to spend more than a thou on his drink. Pine nuts are a must, so are almonds. Cashew nuts are a bonus, but some raisins should be there for an extra oomph.

Baaam..

There you have Lebanon's most popular drink (after Coke, Pepsi, Coca Cola Light, Diet 7 up, Mirinda, and Starbucks' Grande Mocha Frappo Latte of course).

From Lebanon (Ramadan Edition)

The Msaharati

The residents of this strip of land might have invented the alfabet, but they will never be able to spell "noise ordinance." Noise pollution is part of life in this city and you have to adapt to it. Puncturing your eardrums with a Pencil would work, but then you wouldn't know how Haifa plans to top "Wawa". So instead you condition your body to not hear the regular dream interrupting noises like the dawn calls to prayer, the shrieking water pump that the neighbors forgot to turn off when they left the country in 1975, and little Nadine's Saturday morning piano lesson.

Seasonal noise events, like the entire population of Lebanon chanting "Barazil" or Israeli F-16's experimenting with bunker buster bombs, shock the system and break down your defense mechanism, which leaves you struggling again with an enemy you thought you had outsmarted.

A dude banging a drum and screaming his lungs out at 3 a.m. is one of these factors that aren't programmed into your night noise blocking system. That's the Msaharati. His message is "Wake up and Eat." A noble cause except he is the bar tender who pokes a passed-out drunkard to sell him one more drink.

The best part about the Msaharati is that he will come to your door the day after Ramadan to "wish you a happy holiday". No Shame whatsoever.

The Msaharati, a Ramadan tradition for karaoke bar rejects.

From Lebanon 20

The Sahsouh.

The Sahsouh is a ritual performed on a male who's showing off a freshly cut head of hair.
It aims at restoring a feeling of warmth to a recently-shaved, cold, and naked neck through a severe blow from the palm of a hand. The Sahsouh is always accompanied with the word "Naeeman" which you'd think means "Die motherfucker!" but is actually part of hair cuttery pleasantries.

There are no documented cases of paralysis caused by a Sahsouh, but any look around town shows that brain damage is clearly widespread.

Everytime we try to shed the image of violence associated with our culture, something like a Sahsouh comes up and pushes us back to square one.
It is an act performed by people of all ages that are close to the hair styled person. By close I mean that they know his name and/or are within striking range.

Sometimes a Sahsouh is preceded by the Sahsouh jingle that is meant to help you prepare mentally for the inevitable moment of contact.

So the next time you see a man sporting a hairy neck in Lebanon, know that it is not a grooming mishap but rather a defense mechanism to save his neck. I'm not sure if the same criteria works for other body parts.

The Sahsouh; yet another proud tradition from the hairy homeland.

From Lebanon 18

MJ

No, not Michael Jordan. This is not LBC. Michael Jackson has enough plastic surgery to be an honorary Lebanese, but no, he is not MJ.

MJ is short for "Min Jamaetna" meaning "Our Folk".

The Lebanese express themselves differently when in mixed crowds as opposed to when they are surrounded exclusively by MJs. Amongst MJs there are no red lines, not Hariri, Not Nasrallah, and not the Patriarch; not even Jesus's and Mohammed's genitals.

Since most Lebanese feel overly burdened by having to act tolerant most of the day (at school, work, the supermarket,etc...), most MJ gatherings turn into non-MJ bashing sessions. These sessions serve as anger release therapy that contribute to the relative Peace we live in today.

Infiltrating MJ sessions is always fun. I personally have been mistakenly allowed in on almost all colors of MJ gatherings; the Armenian variety has been a lone exception due to the language barrier. They are all pretty much the same, "Our MJ are the better than the others for such and such reasons". Ironically the same exact resons are used by the other MJs to justify their superiority.

MJ, Two letters that make Two face-ness a cultural norm in Lebanon.

From Lebanon 11

"It's Free" "بلا حقها"

It is the most despised phrase you can hear during a commercial transaction. What might seem like a smooth purchase will become nightmarish when the salesperson utters these 2 words.

Bargaining down a price is an essential skill developed through growth and experience, but a "بلا حقها" interrupts the instinctual habits as it forces you to go against nature.

How can an offer of free services be so evil? Well, because it is not genuine. If you take it literally, you will be accused of stealing. When a salesperson uses this phrase he is not being generous, he is forcing you to reverse bargain. He will insist on a "بلا حقها" until you are forced to start offering what you think is fair value. However the incessant "بلا حقها" will not stop pushing you into the unnatural position of offering more than his asking price of Zero.

Since you, being a fair normal person, will not walk away with the product or service for free. You will end up offering a sum of money well over the market value to counter the sales person "generosity". That is when the "بلا حقها" barrage stops, but instead of the salesperson being happy and appreciative of your offer; He (yes always a He) will be angry at you for breaking his word.

You just bullied him into accepting evil of money when all he wanted was to please you for free.


"بلا حقها" a Lebanese trade traditional strategy that was not taught in my MBA program.

From Lebanon 10

The April Tan

As soon as temperatures creep above freezing level, it becomes officially "Bronzage" season in Lebanon.

It's time to even out the body with the face which is already tanned from Ski season. The number one complaint heard around town is," Uff, Why don't beaches open before May!?"

Closed beach club gates only pushes the Lebanese brain to be more innovative. Alternatives are private pools, roof tops, and some hotels that cater to the early birds. Some, however, risk it all. In pursuit of skin color in April they are willing to commit the biggest sin of them all: Going to the Saint Balesh Beach! Shou Sauvage.

Oh, and when I say a tan, I mean a Lebanese tan which is complete pruning of the skin.

Spring traditions in Lebanon: birds chirping, green and flowers all around, and no pale skin.

From Lebanon 9

Bonjus

Also known as Banjees, Banjous, Bonjiseye, among other similar variations.

A Bonjus is a pyramid shaped juice box with a straw hole. A Bonjus is chugged as fast as possible to get to the real reason people buy Bonjus; which is to inflate the box and pop it. So simple yet so much fun, especially for schoolboys trying to win over cute girls' hearts by making them skip a few beats.

While the Bonjus producing company insists on labeling different boxes with different flavours, Ananas and Orange Bonjus are exactly the same thing, a cheap sugary liquid. A cheap sugary liquid that along with cheap newspaper wrapped mana'eesh made me what I am today, a "young" and "healthy" man that cries of pain on a simple hiking trip.

Polluting the body is not the only thing Bonjus does well. Bonjus drinkers are also dirty bastards, as they are the top litterers in Lebanon. You will find popped Bonjus boxes all over the country; in the streets, at historic sites, and even in churches and mosques.

Bonjus. A staple of the Lebanese diet that you will never find at Fakhreddine in London.

From Lebanon IIIIIIII

The Shibr

The world has chosen the metric system as standard. The U.S. wants to stick to the retarded English system because they're cool that way. Plus the terrorists use the metric system , are you with Us or are you with the terrorists?

In Lebanon we've replaced rulers, odometers, and GPS systems with a God given measuring tool. It is a standard everyone can relate to. No one can visualize what 17 centimeters might look like, but even a blind man (or woman) can feel a shibr. There are no centishibrs or nanoshibrs and all the confusing scientific mumbo jumbo. The shibr is only divisible in half.

Some might argue the Shibr has limitations.















Here's proof that adopting the Shibr as your measuring standard does not stop you from building high rises, but rather saves you machinery and manpower. I do suspect however that there was a Lebanese architect on the lose in Tuscany using the Shibr sometime in the 13th century.

My favorite use of shibr is a linguistic one used to further belittle a little person. This is demonstrated in the following statement:
"هيدا واحد زمكّ, ما بيطلع طولو شبر ونص"
"This a zmeck, his height is not even a Shibr and a half."

The Shibr; another handful of tradition from Lebanon.

From Lebanon 007

Ras El Abed

English Translation: Nigger's Head. Yep, that is what kids in Lebanon grow up eating.

It had been 20 years since I last had one of these, I remember always saying "I don't like Nigger's Head," to be met with a "How can you not like Nigger's Head?" So I gave in after 20 years of resistance thinking maybe now my more mature taste buds would better appreciate this Lebanese treasure.

It turns out the most racially insensitive candy on earth is as nasty as it sounds. At first sight it looks like a slightly elongated chocolate ball, or a Nigger's Head. Not bad. Then as you bite through the chocolate shell you start feeling the insides of the Nigger's Head, the Nigger's Brains.
No one is sure what the inside part is made of, but just pray it is not actual brain. It's white, thus the clever naming. It looks, feels, smells, tastes and sounds like a cross between marshmallows and Elmer's Glue. Its adhesive qualities are still under study.

No one claimed all tradition is good. It can be cheap* and nasty.




*250 LL or $0.15

From Lebanon IIVIII

The Arguile Delivery Guy

Driving in Lebanon is dangerous.

Riding a scooter in Lebanon is only for stunt lovers and thrill seekers.

Riding a scooter in Lebanon with a glass and metal khazouk clutched in your crotch is complete insanity.

The Arguile Deliver Guy kicks it up a notch. He does the completely insane one-handed while playing with balls of fire with his free hand.

Admirably, he does all this purely out of his passion for smoking high delivery and love of pyromania. It can't possibly be for the money, as each performance in which he risks his life and all those along his path is done for a mere 2000LL ($1.33).

Next time you see a scooter flying down the road with a tail of fire tracing it. Get out of his way, seek shelter, and then applaud this great Lebanese tradition.

From Lebanon IIIII or IIIIII (I lost track)

"Tozz"

An effortless, magnificent, efficient, martial arts move.

A "Tozz"'s pleasure is how it automatically twitches the face of a braggart into a look of disappointment and anger.

A gravitational pull brings things down back to earth. A "Tozz" brings them crashing down, humiliated, buries them, and pisses on them. No matter how high you get you are always within reach for a "Tozz." Actually a "Tozz" relishes the extra height.

The keys to a perfect "Tozz" are timing and delivery. Wait for it, do not force it, but always be ready to perform. Too many "Tozz"s can weaken its effect so invest them wisely.

Yet another proud tradition from my rich land; "Tozz."

From Lebanon IIII

Cup of Coffee

A cup of coffee in Lebanon is not literally a cup of coffee. A cup of coffee is the unescapable, unbeatable, signature pin move of invitations; except it is not exclusive to steroidal freaks as sweet old grandmas can apply it with equal effectiveness.
But I have a meeting. Oh come on it's just a cup of coffee.
I don't drink Coffee. We'll make it tea then.
Just had tea. Then have a Baklawa.
On a diet. Have a cigarrette.
Hate cancer. Just have a glass of water, no one can refuse water.

Do not resist, it's futile. You might slip out of any other unwanted invite, but not the cup of coffee.
Just accept it and try to enjoy the 30 minutes (if you are lucky to get out in 30) of Lebanese hospitality.

P.S. Don't think that if you just went through a cup of coffee you are immune, as they tend to come in bunches.