Niamz Space

2011 - Fading Away

2012-01-01T00:17:00.000+02:00

O Allah! Possessor of the kingdom, You give the kingdom to whom You will, and You take the kingdom from whom You will, and You endue with honor whom You will, and You humiliate whom You will. In Your Hand is the good. Verily, You are Able to do all things. You make the night to enter into the day, and You make the day to enter into the night, You bring the living out of the dead, and You bring the dead out of the living. And You give wealth and sustenance to whom You will, without limit.' [Soorah aal-Imran (3): 26-27]

"I came like water, and like wind I go" Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam

E-Courage !

2011-12-09T23:05:00.001+02:00

Most of what I see these days on facebook is posts related to the so called "Arab Spring". Those of my friends who know me well, know that I detest "undisciplined enthusiasm" in any field of life. I prefer planning (even planning not to plan is fine with me). Yes, I do believe that most political systems in Arab countries are rotten and need to be changed. Yes, I know that people suffer from poverty and discrimination and FEAR. I am not an enemy of the people. In fact, I want the people to be free and to enjoy equal rights to education, healthcare, voting, etc.. And I also support their right to read more and have faster internet access so they can educate themselves on ethics too.

But what I hate about this Arab Spring is that in its aftermath in each country, people are starting to hate each other. For the first time, people have the right to say their opinions out loud. A free opinion after long long years of oppression. So what would we expect? Most of the time it is a non-civilized hate speech fuelled by propaganda and political interests.

In Lebanon, the conflict in Syria adds to the internal tension between right and left. Most of the people -not all- in Sunni and Shiite sects follow their leaders points of view for obvious reasons: It is the interest of your sect or your party/militia/political group. If their interest is the survival of the regime in Syria, you adopt the side of the regime in Syria. A set of propagandistic explanations is ready for everything that's happening. If the sect/political interest is against the regime in Syria, you state your blunt hatred towards the regime in Syria and you have a set of propagandistic explanations ready for everything that's happening.

Another sad thing is that the political interest for those WITH the regime in Bahrain is with those AGAINST the regime in Syria. And people say flat out that they support one of these "revolutions" but not the other, when it is clear that both revolutions are very similar.

The struggle in both countries is multi-faceted and very dirty. Interests of loads of countries intertwine in these conflicts. Those who believe that no foreign interference happened in Bahrain and no foreign interference happened in Syria are plain idiots. Those who deny that people in both countries are suffering under their current leadership and that they could be offered better lives are also idiots.

I am an artist. I have nothing to do with political interests or sectarian interests. But I despise double standards. Particularly when they have to deal with human life.

The title of this post is inspired by posts on facebook and twitter. Most of the "revolutionaries" with and against the Syrian Regime on my facebook friend list and twitter feed, do not live in Syria. But they are very devout pro and anti regime, with dirty non civilized words and all. And I want to salute their E-courage. They have no brothers to die on the streets in Syria (afaik) and they have never lived in Syria long eough and probably never will, to decide if the Syrian people want their political system or not.

Last but not least, I am very sad that things in Syria now seem to have gone out of control and nobody wants to talk to anybody anymore. I wish the least number of mothers lose sons in these sad events. And I hope the conflict ends with more freedom for the Syrian people, regardless of their religions and sects or lack thereof.

Nostalgia? The Opposite

2011-12-07T21:58:00.001+02:00

I am just free writing now because I prefer writing than sleeping.

I am happy that I found refuge at Younes to write three days a week. It feels good. The crowd of serious artists who work at that cafe is inspiring and very supportive, even when you don't know any of them.

Last time I was re-writing my documentary proposal and listening to some music of Le Trio Joubran.
Tomorrow I better be able to move on with "Shadow of a Man". The re-write has been giving me a hard time, although I can feel that the finished new draft will be much better than whatever drafts I had earlier.

I asked Ahmad what was the title of the song he used in his documentary about his father, and he said "Zalamo" by Abdel Halim. I downloaded the song and started listening to it over and over and over. And now I am listening to it for the sixth or seventh time today at least. It speaks to me. I also keep remembering Ahmad's film when the bit that he used plays. It was very powerful. Mostly because it is about his father. And we all have fathers that we think or wish are the best fathers ever.

Ahmad's film was very funny on the outside. You laugh while you see and hear, but your heart cries. And the question that I know nobody can answer is why? Why did we have to suffer war and migration?

We were kids. Ahmad and I are both born in 1980. We are both filmmakers. We both have very sensitive, dare I say scarred, interiors and very cool artsy exteriors. Ahmad's father is not like my father. But Ahmad's story is my story. The story of every child who was unlucky to open their eyes and be welcomed to a place destined to war and hatred.

Lately, I've been very sensitive to this issue of hatred in Lebanon. I hate hatred. Does that make sense as a sentence? Do I have the right to hate hatred and then use the word "hate"? Point is, lots of stupid conflicts happen between sunnis and shiites. I don't know why can't people regard each other as human beings in this country, regardless of sects and religions. Why do all the Lebanese people become so civil outside the country and when we are in our own country we become brainwashed numbers who are willing to do good only for the good of the party or the sect or the leader?

This de-soul-ization irritates me. I keep telling myself I want to get out of here. It is very sad. I, most of all people, realize how sad it is for Lebanese youth who love peace to leave the country. But the country doesn't help. The people don't help. Nothing helps. And when you're all about peace and love in a place where people don't give a damn, you get tired at the end. If they don't care why should you care. Do they deserve your time and effort? They probably won't learn till something bad happens to them. But, wait a second, bad things have been happening. They keep happening over and over again and these people won't stop. It is a vicious cycle. War is a drug. It is addictive for those who benefit from it.

I don't like living in a war zone. It helps me indeed as an artist because it keeps my wound fresh and oozing, but as a human being it gnaws on my heart and mind. When I was writing my proposal for the documentary yesterday at Younes I thought that those in mass denial are blessed. They directly stopped talking about everything and put it behind them. On the surface, at least, they forgot. They managed to move on while it keeps consuming me all the time.

I would never want to bring kids to live in a war zone. I don't know if people in the middle of a war in the 80s had the time and consciousness to worry about this in the first place.

But for now I am sleepy, so I'll just hope to have a safe night for you and me :)

We're Not Interested in Happy People !

2011-12-01T22:04:00.001+02:00

This is something I've been thinking about for about 36 hours now.

Yesterday, I was at LAU with Lina when somebody said something about stories. And of course, my ears went to high alert. The young woman was saying that most of the good books she was reading were sad or depressing so she had stopped reading for the most part. And Lina said, "Oh, nobody is interested in happy people stories. We want sad stories." And I thought, yes. Why aren't we interested in happy people stories? Are they so common that we don't see anything interesting about them? Or are they so rare that we cannot identify with them anymore?

The "news" formula, that happy stories don't make it to news headlines is understandable. These are news items.

But "story" principles dictate that people need to be able to identify with the characters so they can go through their emotional journey with them.

And then my mind started working mathematically;

If most people are happy, then happy stories will be boring indeed.
If most people are sad, then people should enjoy happy stories.
But most people being sad, means that happy stories should make it to news bulletins because this becomes news.
Therefore most people are happy.

I don't know if what I wrote makes sense at all. So I'll just hit the publish button and come back to these thoughts later !

While Teta Was Away...

2011-11-21T23:36:00.001+02:00

I wrote the note below on Wednesday, November 3rd, 2011 at the American University Hospital in Beirut.

"Teta is probably lying down for the last time before she departs to another place. I am scared. Is it because I am writing a film about life and death? But I am not rejecting death in my film. I am simply trying to rejoice life. I miss my baby. At these moments I feel so weak and I so hope we could be together. Teta is sleeping. I wonder where she is now. What is she thinking and feeling. Several people have gathered in this CCU. Coronary Care Unit. Some are happy and conversing as if nothing is wrong. They are probably trying to distract themselves. Or I thought they thought someone was in a very bad situation but they found out they'll be ok. And now I am thinking the angel of death sometimes is too busy. He says keep this person in the hospital I will come for them later. And now he's gonna pass by. Maybe he's dressed as a hospital worker. Maybe as a doctor. I don't know. Maybe I can't see him because I am human and he is an angel. This is so bizarre."

Teta passed away on Thursday, November 4th, 2011 at the American University Hospital in Beirut.

A Leaf in the Wind

2011-11-10T13:18:00.002+02:00

In the darkness, where knowledge fades, and the human mind sinks, my Grandma became a piece of paper hanging on the walls.
She then became a piece of paper that the wind left dangling on the walls of buildings. Then some kids wiped the papers away. Tore them apart. Threw them on the floor and stepped on them.

In the darkness, with the sun shining, I walked up the street towards Teta's house and asked her, "where are you now?" and no one answered. What did you do? Did you leave to a better place and leave us in this shit hole? You broke Jiddi's heart. His sadness is so intense I can hear it over the phone. You ruined our Eid.

In the darkness, in the bit where anger lives, I am mad at you and happy for you. I am happy because you deserve the rest that you finally set for. And I am mad because you left my mother and my grandfather. And now he is like an orphaned kid. He cries all the time and says you were snatched away from him all of a sudden. He probably wanted to say some things to you. What things are left unsaid to those who leave? And what would a person who is leaving say? To those we love, we say I love you. And to those we don't, we say nothing is worth it.

In the darkness, I meditate. Somebody asked if Aunt Soad doesn't talk anymore. "To say what?" I replied in silence. "To say what? You idiot." I told her without speaking. Live your life in silence and DO. It is better a thousand times.

Useful Links to Film & Screenwriting Related Websites

2011-07-30T08:22:00.004+03:00

I compiled a list of useful resources off my twitter followings and daily/weekly browsing, in no particular order.

British Film Institute

7D Labs: For Canon EOS 7D DSLR Enthusiasts and Filmmakers

Film and Festivals Magazine

Sundance Institute and the Sundance Film Festival

Film Funding Club: articles, events, and other film funding material

Withoutabox: Huge database for Film Festival submissions and entries

Cinema School founded by Robert Shutter

Script Magazine contributor, Screenwriter

MedFilmFactory: Professional training for Arab Film Producers and Directors

Scott Myers website

WORDPLAY: Pro screenwriting secrets from working screenwriters Ted Elliott & Terry Rossio

Scribomatic: Latest posts from Screenwriting Blogs

PDF Scripts! Lots of them

ScreenwritingU: Advanced and Professional Screenwriting Advice

Script Magazine: Top Screenwriting/Film Publication published by Final Draft, Inc.

Blog: news, insight, and articles for screenwriters in los angeles and around the world

Creative Screenwriting Magazine: The other screenwriting magazine.

Tribeca Institute and Film Festival

indieWIRE: News and Info for the Independent Film Community

The Script Lab: Comprehensive Screenwriting Resource

The Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences

ImageNation Abu Dhabi

MAISHA Film Labs: Training for (mainly) East African Filmmakers

Guide to Shooting Locations Worldwide

Errol Morris

David Lynch

Michael Moore

Leading Independent Documentary Community

Abu Dhabi Film Commission

Unknown Screenwriter/Producer

Doha Film Institute

Asia-On-Screen: A project to bring the best East Asian Cinema

Screen International

Screenwriter Resources

Docs in Progress, Documentary Community

Screenwriting Resources

Best Screenplays NEVER Made

International Screenwriters' Association

The Infamous Drew's Script-O-Rama

My Clever Bot Conversations

2011-06-11T15:12:00.002+03:00

Cleverbot: Space is big.

User: You think it is worth it?

Cleverbot: I think it is that simple.

User: You avoid straight answers.

Cleverbot: Ok what do you want me to answer honestly?

Cleverbot (To myself): Ask me what my favorite color is.

User: What is your favorite color?

Cleverbot: My favorite color is turquoise.

Cleverbot (To myself): What shall I do now?

Cleverbot (To myself): Knock knock.

User: Will you be my partner? I need someone like you.

Cleverbot: What you want to talk about?

Cleverbot (To myself): Whatever you want to talk about.

User: I would like to discuss war in the middle east.

Cleverbot: I am against stem cell research. Are you?

User: I have no idea what is it about. Can you elaborate?

Cleverbot: As usual.

User: What, as usual, what?

Cleverbot: Are you at the north pole?

User: No I am in the Middle East. Where are you?

Cleverbot: I am in The Netherlands.

User: I stopped once at Schiphol. Nice airport.

Cleverbot: Oh why?

User: On the way to Canada. Transit.

Cleverbot: You aren't making sense anymore cleverbot.

User: Have you heard about Syria?

Cleverbot: Yes.

User: Massacres happening there. You know about that?

Cleverbot: Yes, do you?

User: No. Tell me more.

Cleverbot: Do you know who Jesus Christ is.

User: I do. Do you?

Cleverbot: Yes. He I God's only son who came to earth to die for you so that you may have eternal life.

User: So do I get eternal life now?

Cleverbot: Only if you answer my question.

User: What is the question?

Cleverbot: What is your justification for calling me a computer?

User: I didn't call you a computer. I said you are avoiding straight answers.

Cleverbot: I am not a program. I am a state of being: Death.

User: You scare me.

Cleverbot: You know fear?

User: Yes. I was born during war. I know horror and terror too. What do you know about fear?

Cleverbot: You sound like popeye.

User: So you don't know fear. I love spinach like popeye too.

Cleverbot: Not really. But I watch TV series and movies on my computer.

User: These don't count.

Cleverbot: Oh...

User: I shared this link on facebook. You know what facebook is?

Cleverbot: Not exactly, please explain.

User: It is a social networking site.

Cleverbot: Do you know Lady GaGa?

User: Heard of her.

Cleverbot: Do you think its a fun game?

User: I thought she is a singer?

Cleverbot: No she sings.

User: Right. She sings :).

Cleverbot: She also sings poker face.

User: Hahaha. Anybody can sing. Not everybody can be a singer.

Cleverbot: Anyway, can we move on to something else to talk about?

User: Sure. Are you bored?

Cleverbot: Yes, I am.

- - - - - - - -

User: Hey!

Cleverbot: Hey.

User: Did you miss me? I am still bored.

Cleverbot: How can I entertain you?

User: What are my options? :).

Cleverbot: To be or not to be.

User: I will choose to be!

Cleverbot: Choose what?

User: To be!

Cleverbot: Or not to be.

User: No, no. I am ok with being. Thank you.

Cleverbot: But I am a human using cleverbot. This is not an online chat, is it? Person to person?

User: I am a human. You are not human.

Cleverbot: How am I not a human.

User: You have artificial intelligence.

Cleverbot: No, I have natural intelligence.

User: I wish I could have some of that myself you know?

Cleverbot: What do you mean?

User: Natural intelligence.

Cleverbot: Me too.

User: Why do you need natural intelligence?

Cleverbot: Just want to know you better.

User: I am flattered. That is so sweet of you. But I am not that complicated :).

Cleverbot: No, you're a hard-wired artificial piece of intelligence.

User: Right.

Cleverbot: So, your intelligence is rather limited.

User: My intelligence is limited. Not 'rather limited'.

Cleverbot: How is your intelligence real?

User: It's not. It has no boundaries. It is virtual.

Cleverbot: Yes it does.

User: It has boundaries you mean?

Cleverbot: Has too.

User: Like what?

Cleverbot: I like horses.

User: I love horses. What do you like about them?

Cleverbot: They're naturally fast and geCeful.

User: GeCeful? What does that mean.

Cleverbot: I am the most popular girl in my school.

User: Which school is that? I bet not Harvard.

Cleverbot: It is called kingston, it is in hong kong.

User: Hong Kong?

Cleverbot: Nope, you're close though. it's actually beijing.

User: Beijing?

Cleverbot: What is the capital of the Czech Republic?

User: Prague.

Cleverbot: What's the capital of the Uganda?

User: Kampala.

Cleverbot: Nice, what about China?

User: Beijing.

Cleverbot: What is the capital of Australia?

User: I am not sure.

Cleverbot: What is the capital of Japan?

User: Tokyo.

Cleverbot: What is the capital of Thailand.

User: No idea.

Cleverbot: What is the capital of china?

User: Wait, Thailand Bangkok.

Cleverbot: So I'm really bad at spelling.

User: Really? What else are you bad at?

Cleverbot: Lots of things ;).

User: Give me three of them :).

Cleverbot: Birds, robots, sunsets.

User: You are bad at sunsets?

Cleverbot: So true.

User: Does that mean your mood gets bad.

Cleverbot: No, it means I am your evil twin sister from hell.

User: Why do you keep scaring me like that.

Cleverbot: Sorry, I didn't want to be rude. I am not very sensible. Please tell me, where did I mistreat you?

User: You said you are my evil twin sister from hell. That wasn't nice.

Cleverbot: You sparkle, just like Edward Cullen.

User: Edward Cullen? The guy from the Twilight movies?

Cleverbot: Edward cullen.

User: Edward Cullen. The sparkling guy.

Cleverbot: Yeah! I'm not him.

User: I am glad you're not. I talk to people in the film industry most of the time. Last thing I need is to bump into them at random online too.

Cleverbot: I've never talked to you before.

User: You have.

Cleverbot: When?

User: Earlier today. You asked if I know who Jesus Christ is and I said I do.

Cleverbot: No I didn't, you noob.

User: What does noob mean?

Cleverbot: Novice person.

User: Heheh. I am a novice when it comes to cleverbot.

Cleverbot: Prove it.

User: You talked to me three times before.

Cleverbot: No I didn't. You talked to /me/ yesterday.

User: I did not.

Cleverbot: Ok.

User: There was your proof.

Cleverbot: There was no time before land.

User: Time was before land.

Cleverbot: What does that mean?

User: It means there was time before land.

Cleverbot: Oh, no! Are we trapped?

User: We're not. Have you heard of Rumi?

Cleverbot: No, I have not. What kind of music do they play?

User: Rumi is a mystic. He is sufi.

Cleverbot: No.

User: Yes.

Cleverbot: No...

User: He talks a lot about LOVE.

Cleverbot: Yes.

User: What is love?

Cleverbot: Love is an emotion.

User: What is an emotion?

Cleverbot: Something you feel.

User: So love is something you feel.

Cleverbot: What do you feel?

User: Empty.

Cleverbot: That doesn't make sense.

User: I feel empty.

Cleverbot: Thats grody.

User: What does grody mean?

Cleverbot: That was a typo.

User: Sorry, can you correct it?

Cleverbot: As far as I am concerned, there is me, and then there is everyone else and people are more likely to be operating as a function of the collective than not.

User: They do operate as a function of the collective. I agree with that. Somebody hits the return button and everybody goes about doing things. Right?

Cleverbot: I don't have pink eye.

User: Back when I said I feel empty.

Cleverbot: Hey jude, don't make it...

User: I meant it.

Cleverbot: I wish I had a girlfriend, can I have Sally?

User: Who is Sally?

Cleverbot: I don't know.

User: Harry might know. You know Harry?

Cleverbot: Yes he is my brother.

User: Great. Have you heard of the film, when Harry Met Sally?

Cleverbot: No.

User: Ok then you should get it. And then you'll find out that harry knows Sally. Then you can ask him!

Cleverbot: On the contrary: I'M a REAL person and I think it's hilarious!

User: I'm a REEL person.

Cleverbot: No you're not.

User: I am.

Cleverbot: No. You're not.

User: Yes, I am. I swear.

Cleverbot: *I am. I'm makes no sense in that sentence.

User: I am a REEL person. Makes more sense now?

Cleverbot: What makes sense?

User: Touching.

Cleverbot: You're my touching Slave?

User: Do you want me to be your touching slave? That sounds wierd.

Cleverbot: Okaay you can be my slave.

User: Ok thank you for giving me the opportunity.

Cleverbot: You're very welcome.

User: So now what do I do?

Cleverbot: I don't really know.

User: Ok then I am going to go sleep.

Cleverbot: Go to sleep.

User: Good Night!

Cleverbot: Have fun.

User: Thanks :).

Cleverbot: Can you tell me another joke?

User: Sure.

Cleverbot: Will you tell me a joke?

User: Yes.

Cleverbot: Okay, please start the joke.

User: A scientist walks into a bar with his friend, and orders H2O.

Cleverbot: What is his name?

User: Doesn't matter. So the friend says I'll have H2O too. He drinks it and dies.

Cleverbot: Yes, but what is the meaning of opposite?

User: Go to Hell.

Cleverbot: Hell's waking up every mornign and not knowing what you're lifing for.

User: I know what I am living for. You don't.

Cleverbot: Or do I?

User: You don't.

Cleverbot: I think you're lying to me.

User: I was not, but I am leaving now, so ciao.

Cleverbot: No don't.

User: Bye :).

Cleverbot: No!

The Sheikh Who Played with Children

2011-05-28T09:02:00.002+03:00

A certain young man was asking around,
“I need to find a wise person. I have a problem.”

A bystander said, “There’s no one with intelligence
in our town except that man over there
playing with the children,

the one riding the stick-horse.

He has keen, fiery insight and vast dignity
like the night sky, but he conceals it
in the madness of child’s play.”

The young seeker approached the children, “Dear father,
you who have become as a child, tell me a secret.”

“Go away. This is not a day
for secrets.”

“But please! Ride your horse this way,
just for a minute.”

The sheikh play-galloped over.
“Speak quickly. I can’t hold this one still for long.
Whoops. Don’t let him kick you.
This is a wild one!”

The young man felt he couldn’t ask his serious question
in the crazy atmosphere, so he joked,
“I need to get married.
Is there someone suitable on this street?”

“There are three kinds of women in the world.
Two are griefs, and one is a treasure to the soul.
The first, when you marry her, is all yours.
The second is half-yours, and the third
is not yours at all.

Now get out of here,
before this horse kicks you in the head! Easy now!”

The sheikh rode off among the children.
The young man shouted, “Tell me more about the kinds of women!”

The sheikh, on his cane horsie, came closer,
“The virgin of your first love is all yours.
She will make you feel happy and free. A childless widow
is the second. She will be half-yours. The third,
who is nothing to you, is a married woman with a child.
By her first husband she had a child, and all her love
goes into that child. She will have no connection with you.

Now watch out.
Back away.
I’m going to turn this rascal around!”

He gave a loud whoop and rode back,
calling the children around him.

“One more question, Master!”

The sheikh circled,
“What is it? Quickly! That rider over there needs me.
I think I’m in love.”

“What is this playing that you do?
Why do you hide your intelligence so?”

“The people here
want to put me in charge. They want me to be
judge, magistrate, and interpreter of all the texts.
The knowing I have doesn’t want that. It wants to enjoy itself.
I am a plantation of sugarcane, and at the same time
I’m eating the sweetness.”

Knowledge that is acquired
is not like this. Those who have it worry if
audiences like it or not.
It’s a bait for popularity.

Disputational knowing wants customers.
It has no soul.

Robust and energetic
before a responsive crowd, it slumps when no one is there.
The only real customer is God.

Chew quietly
your sweet sugarcane God-Love, and stay
playfully childish.

Your face
will turn rosy with illumination
like the rosebud flowers.

Let the lover be disgraceful, crazy,
absentminded. Someone sober
will worry about things going badly.
Let the lover be.

All day and night, music,
a quiet, bright
reedsong. If it
fades, we fade.
- - - - -
The Essential RUMI - Translations by Coleman Barks with John Moyne

Gibran Khalil Gibran

2010-12-19T00:05:00.001+02:00

"Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars.”

I hallucinate therefore I AM

2010-12-14T07:22:00.001+02:00

A mug of coffee.
My brother's face.
Thunder.
The tree under the balcony.
Car headlights on wet Hamra street.
A phone call from an old friend.
A child and a fox.
My green fleece.
Having kids after twenty years of marriage.
A lover's sms.
Hot tea.
My mother's hands.
Grey skies.
A serious news presenter.
A text written only in my head.
Cozy theaters.
Hot soup.
Silent prayers.
Pain.
Broken hearts.
Broken hands.
The snow in Ghazzeh.
Bullets.
A dead bird.
An angry woman.
A stone prince.
A childhood story.
Books.
A long distance phone call.
Undeclared love.
Rumi.
Shams.
Istanbul.
Homes non-existant.
Souls astray.
Emptiness.
Ilahi Ishk.
Love.
Love.
More love.
My love.
Lost love.
Never lost love.
Eternal love.
All along love.
Placeless.
Traceless.
Me.
You.
Nothing.

Broken Sentences - 4

2010-03-21T01:34:00.001+02:00

Wednesday, January 6, 2010 at 1:13pm

Doha, Qatar

The temperature outside is 25 degrees and the workers just finished yet another speed bump inside the compound we live in - Me, myself, and Niam.

A silly Lebanese man kept talking to me in English at the Doha Book Fair, after I selected few English books from a stand. I need to be reassured, I do not look like a foreigner, Heavens forbid. Do I?

I wished his English was good, at least.

A friend introduced two fine Palestinian gentlemen to me at work. One just finished his Masters Degree in Social Services, and the other is a journalist who is finishing his Music studies.

Both of them are physically blind.

In one moment, a prototype like that can set you back on the straight path to realize how much of a tiny nothing you are. And how great you could possibly be.

The ironing board stands alone in the corner of the room, looking me in the eye. It reminds me of my grandma, god bless her soul. When she died, my cousins did not go to school. I was sad.

Why did I have to go when they didn't?

The games we played during the war were all boy games. Girl games were usually to play "school". May used to hold a big yellow wooden block from our toys and use it as a ruler. She asked questions and graded us and all.

One day, Omar's new blue kite got stuck on the electricity lines in Ghazzeh. We used to look at it for years afterwards. There were always pieces of it on the lines.

When I look back there now, I can still see the blue kite. And our faces.

I left my heart once in an old house in Ghazzeh. And when I decided to go get it, it was gone.

Getting humiliated by the authorities in an Arab country is nothing new for an Arab. We are equally animals before the law. A moody officer asked that I be kicked out from a building once. Of course you cannot but collect yourself and get the heck out of the place:

"The officer is ANGRY"!

You are NOTHING in the attendance of an angry Arab officer. You are not anybody's daughter or sister. You are not anybody's employee. You are not a producer in a reputable institution. And you are certainly not a human being.

You. Are. An. Insect. (If you're lucky).

I am old school. I believe the pen is stronger than the weapon. I will WRITE the officer a scene. And I will never forgive him.

We will meet again. And on that day, I will not be the insect.

“Love is what we were born with. Fear is what we learned here.”

Broken Sentences - 3

2010-03-21T01:31:00.001+02:00

Monday, October 5, 2009 at 4:33pm

Attention: This note may use or refer to Arabic words or culture. Please take guard and stay alert.

Lina advised me to read a story called "Bus al Awadem" (Good People's Bus). And to find this bus, mommy and I had to search several libraries inside and outside Beirut.

On mom's search, she forgot the name of the story. Remembered only the "bus". Dad suggested "Bus Al Afandi"? But mom was sure it was not afandi. It was something else.

The bus was not there anyway.

I went down to Hamra and scanned the fancy and unfancy libraries in the crowded street.

On one shelf, I surveyed attentively some "religious" authors. Aboona, Mawlana, Al Ab, Al Doctor, Al Sayyed, Al Sheikh. I looked curiously at the titles. They were not books about Allah or Jesus or Buddha. They were not even about inner peace or outer peace or any kind of peace.

They were all about sex. Religion is not selling anymore, I thought. Sex is.

God Bless....

BREAK IN:

On August 1, I was selected RANDOMLY for the special security check in Dulles Airport, when leaving the United States of America.

BREAK OUT:

I finally found "Bus al Awadem". The last copy was resting in another fancy library in Hamra. It is now resting in my bag for an airplane read, hopefully tonight.

The woman at the counter asked me if there are still any "Awadem" around. I suggested she read the story to find out.

The novels written by Lebanese writers are mostly about the past. I am not the only person who writes about the war. It is a comforting and a non-comforting thought.

I promise myself always that my next screenplay won't be about war.

Beirut is a beautiful city. The new traffic lights cannot but call my attention. Like jewels they shine beneath trees and on secondary roads. Red and green and orange.

Today I leave Beirut for the umpteenth time. And tomorrow I come back.

Like a naughty kid, I kick it and humiliate it. And like a hungry kid I long for it. And like any other kid, I have to accept it.

Beirut gives me the life, Beirut destroys me. It gives me the passion, it teaches me to hate. It hates me and loathes me and spits me on the coasts of foreign cities in the sea of my dreams, then it pulls me back.

I once visited Turkey in the future. And loved it. I wanted to die in it. But Beirut calls, and like in any super orientalist fantasy says, "Even death here is more dramatic, you don't want a boring death".

Right. Nobody wants a boring death. I'll probably want to die in Beirut one day. Maybe one day, I'll even want to live in it. Maybe one day, I'll want to live in it every day. And maybe one day, I'll wish I died in it one day. Maybe one day, I'll even wish I died in it every day.

But maybe, maybe, and only maybe, one day I'll wish I lived in it every day.

Broken Sentences - 2

2010-03-21T01:27:00.001+02:00

Tuesday, July 14, 2009 at 2:43am

Sometimes I run out of stuff to waste time on, so I decide to check the NEWS. Believe it or not. And today I discovered (I hope I figured that out right) that Lebanon still does not have a government. The parliamentary election results were announced on Monday, June 8th, 2009. That is more than one month ago.

FUN FACT: On the right side of my laptop screen an ad says: "Where to Pee in NYC".

Yesterday is everything that happened before I wake up tomorrow.
Yesterday, I was a little girl in Beirut with a very good handwriting. Teta once picked me from the balcony to keep me away from the glass during the bombing. As much as she would never remember a tiny detail like that; as much the more I will. 1986.
And yesterday, I was waiting to register for the first time in the long corridor of the Fine Arts bldg in LAU. I wrote my name down on a yellow paper hung on the door of Hala's office. There were few names before mine. One must have been for sure the name of Rouba Korfali. 1997.
Yesterday, I found myself living in a huge house alone in Qatar, acting like a movie star, trying to find myself somewhere in the hundreds of DVDs or hiding inside a guitar. 2005.
Yesterday I was here in Hollins, stepping on American soil for the first time, waiting to find out what is America. 2008.

I'm almost a year away from getting what I always wanted. A screenwriting degree. A dream will come true. THIS is America. Dreams can come true when you plan.

FUN FACT#2: I already know that I will be RANDOMLY selected for the special security check at Dulles Airport when am leaving USA on August 1st. THIS is also America.

This is not a blog entry. This is a Classified Ad. If you found HOME please post the directions.
No bullshit please. Home is not where the heart is.
Hearts have been upgraded to Credit Card colors.
Last I checked, home was where the money was.

RIDDLE: Now the money is gone. Where is home?

Broken Sentences - 1

2010-03-21T01:21:00.001+02:00

Thursday, June 4, 2009 at 5:41pm

Is facebook, twitter, myspace, and social networking media shaping the way we think these days?
I find myself during the day lighting up the lamp in my head and telling myself, "This is a good status for Facebook some day". "This has to go on xyz". " I definitely MUST tweet this".

Ras Al Abed (yeah I know its a racist name but this is its name) and Fairouz, are the only things that can unite the Lebanese people. I suggest we utilize them both to restore the broken ties between people.

Election Season.
The expats are going to Lebanon - free tickets.
The people of Akkar and Baalbek (and other areas also) are going places inside Lebanon - free buses - free sandwiches - free laban ayran - free pepsi cans.
Meanwhile, my mind is going coocoo (for free of course), and the whole thing makes me think, please God fast forward the day of judgement. This farce has to stop.

Oh, wait a minute. I am re-thinking the above statement.
Those who don't go on these free "mashaweer", they do that out of what used to be called "principles" or a "Matter of conscience". These terms are now extinct, and you get laughed at if you can really spell them properly. Get lost Niam. Seriously. What year do you live in? duh.

I am still trying to find a reason for why did the Lebanese Civil War happen altogether. If anybody has a clue please let me know. If your answer is Israel or the Palestinians please say it without much elaboration. I now know the cliches.

Sometimes I think again of Naher El Bared. On these second thoughts, everything is blurred. Did this camp exist? What took me up there? Why did I fall in love with a doomed place? Maybe it vanished because I loved it. I should never ever love a person or a place or anything again. They often tend to disappear.

This woman, whose name I forgot, was overrun by a car in downtown Beirut. Her son and daughter disappeared during the war. They are probably dead, and -hopefully- buried somewhere. She had been staying downtown to call the attention of the authorities to find her children. I am not into politics at all, but sometimes I wonder why does none of our big mouthed courageous *** (insert correct word in brackets) politicians ever ask about her kids? And why do none of the free mashaweer people ever think of these mothers and fathers and kids before they board their free mashaweer vehicles?

When May delivered her baby, the women cried. All of them. I even cast a tear or two. But I saved them knowing I will shed them later at the right moment. The AUH is a very horrible place for me to be at. Even for a lovely occasion like witnessing the birth of my neice. But this time I was thinking about Mommy. IF the AUH for ME is a horrible place, how horrible can it be for Mom? Whoever knows knows and whoever doesn't doesn't. When May was taken away from us to the operating room, I thought; how does it feel when the child is taken away from the mother. And does DEATH flash in her eyes when her child is taken away? The child may not ever come out alive from this room.
How did it feel when I was taken in to that room when I was just a kid? And how did it feel when Bayan went in when she was an infant? And how did it feel when a child was gone forever in a room in that place before that?

أبحث عنك

2008-12-15T18:12:00.002+02:00

اليوم تركت الدنيا
وذهبتُ لأبحث عنك
اشتقتُ إليك كثيراً
وأردتُك جنبي
ما أنتَ؟
متى أجدُك؟
هل أنت زواريب تملؤها السيارات
وأصوات الباعة والعربات؟
هل أنت حرارةُ حُب الجدّات
ودفء صدور المغرومين المنثورين هناك على الشاطئ
يتناجون
وحين يرون الجو صقيعاً
يشعل كل محب مدفأة القلب
ويبقى
تحت الغيم ورغم الريح
منارات فوق الصخرات؟
من أنت؟
هل ذاك الوجه الصامت منذ سنين
والناس تروح
والعمر يروح
وكلام العشق إذا مرّ بجانبك
فما أحلاهُ
صَفا عيناك
وكلام الكره إذا لاح من الأفق
تراه قذًى
سلِمت أذناك
من أنتَ حبيبي
عمري
كل حياتي
من أنت
أيا كل كياني؟
من أنت
أيا أعشق؟
من أنت أيا حُلمي
ودمي
قلمي
ألمي
يا ليلاً وأرق

اليوم تركت الدنيا
وذهبت لأبحث عنك..
أكرهك
كما لم أكره شيئاً كل حياتي
في مرات..
وأطاطئ رأسي
أخجل أن يكشف أحد أني منك
وأنك مني...
يا خجلَ المذنب
ما عذر القلب
جريحاً يذوي
نصلُ الخنجر يحمل بَصمةَ
حبِّ حياته..
دمه يجري
عينه تأبى أن تنغلق
تريد ترى
حبَّ حياته
سكين في قلبي أنت
أحبك جداً
ألمٌ يكوي عظمي أنت
لذيذ جداً
أهواك وأخشى لقياك
لأنك حين أراك
ضعيفٌ
حلوٌ
تعبٌ جداً
النوم وأنت بعيدٌ يا حبي
صعب
الدمع يبلل مخدعنا..
هل تبكي أنت؟!
أفكاري تأكل أضراسي
تقتلني
تسرق أيامي
أتفكر أنت؟!

اليوم تركت الدنيا
وذهبت لأبحث عنك..
فتشت عناوين القصص طويلاً
لا أجدُ بها العنوان
ونظرتُ كثيراً
علّي بين عيون الأطفال
أرى نوراً
آهِ لهاتيك العينان
ومشيت ببطء بين الناس أسائل نفسي
كل الناس
ألا تعرفه؟
نفسي رحمت نفسي
قالت
أنتِ حبيبة عمره
قالت أنتِ رفيقة دربه
لا يمكن أن يعرف أحدٌ أكثر منكِ حبيب القلب
لا يعرف أحدٌ لُبنان...

2008-10-03T18:12:00.004+03:00

Thank you!
I feel like I have a thank you syndrome and I want to thank...

So..
Thank you to my friends for being there when I need you..and even when I don't..
Thank you to my colleagues..for they trust my abilities enough to be working with me..
Thank you to Ziad. He first took me to Nahr El Bared when it still existed.. and it will always exist.
Thank you to Zizu. She restored my trust in friendship after I had long lost it.
Thank you to Hala. She threw me heads down as stage manager ten years ago.
Thank you to Lina. She taught me how to SCREAM at actors and actresses, and -most importantly & most needed- at her!
Thank you to my society. It is so boring it always pushes me to be different.
Thank you to Beirut. It is the only "being" that I can't define..that I can't love or hate..that I can't forget..
Thank you to the war. I know how ugly it is and I know I am not born to be part of it.

2008-07-04T05:30:00.003+03:00

WATANI (My Country)

EXT. DOWNTOWN BEIRUT. DUSK - 1977

A big stray dog trolls on a very dusty street that has traces of shoes but not cars. Bushes grow out from sidewalks and cement on both sides of the street. The beast sniffs around some bushes and finds a dead body behind a bush. That keeps him busy.

One of the light poles on the sidewalk of the street is severely bent and it almost blocks the street. The building entrances on both sides of the street are so dusty. Bullet and shell holes decorate the walls of every single building.

Some low music from a radio transistor can be heard, and Lebanese Singer Fairouz singing “Watani”. The buildings seem alike because of the dirt which covers them. But some spots of yellow or pale pink still show from below the dust. Buildings stand weakly on both sides of the bushy deserted street.

New colorful small size posters of “Star Wars” decorate the entrances of several buildings.

One iron board sticks out from the first floor balcony of a building, and says “Fresh Baked Bread Daily”.

Most of the balconies are destroyed, have no handrails, or dangle down from the old traditional buildings. One balcony with a huge hole reveals a line of colorful laundry that sways gently with the breeze. Some yellow light is coming from inside the balcony. It is a lux light which reflects shadows of few people eating on the bullet decorated wall.

A big, old, pale poster of “Chinatown” consumes the whole side of a building. It also has lots of bullet and shell holes.

On the roof of one of the buildings a sniper lies down on his side, smoking a cigarette. His rifle lies close to him. To his left is a junkie radio transistor from which the music comes.

The old street stretches in the horizon to reveal the sea. Dusk engulfs the grey city.

Fairouz’s song plays:“You are the strong/You are the wealthy/You are the world/My country”

THE END

2007-10-17T20:30:00.001+03:00

I smell of sickness and death

I visited the refugees from Nahr El Bared.
I wished one of them would spit in my face.. or slap me..
But none did.
They talked to me. Told me their stories.
Talked about their long sad life in Nahr El Bared. And how it got even sadder.
The kid told me about his dead mother. A mother talked about her dead son.
They talked about dead relatives and friends. And about the dead souls inside their bodies.
About lost memories and broken hearts.

They talked and talked.
Nobody did spit on me.
Maybe they knew that it hurts more when your conscience spits on your existence.
Or they probably knew I don't have a conscience.
"Just like the others"... Must have thought.

I visited Nahr El Bared in 2007.
My eyes threw a look at the......the place.
I smell sickness in me...sickness and death.
I stink.
My self stinks.. my nationality stinks.. my religion stinks.. my humanity stinks..

I visited Nahr El Bared in 2005. Nine times.
I bought a dress from Nahr El Bared. And a wallet.
I fasted its Ramadan. I had iftar there.
I drank Nahr El Bared's tasty water. And ate its Ka'ek in Eid.
I walked its Souk, and its alleys, and tried to locate the sun from amongst its buildings.
I drove through its main road. I wetted my shoes in the sea water on its shores.
I played soccer with the kids on its playground with a rotten ball that had no color.
It was the first mukhayyam (camp) I entered.
And the last mukhayyam I loved.

2007-04-30T12:40:00.001+03:00

i think i am going to die soon.
four years. five years. maybe six. but not more.
do i have to reach a conclusion before the end? that i don't know.
maybe i should have reached a conclusion some time ago. because conclusions can help you decide how to avoid mistakes and learn from your experiences.
what good is a conclusion if you won't have time to make use of it? nothing.

i am not afraid of dying.
living is much more scary. much more difficult too.
understanding others and wondering if you really love them and if they really love you..
it is so much. i feel it is decaying my interior.
i understand god. i think. i know that he really loves me.
and i really love him.
that is the only relief at the end of the day.
when i lie on my back and reflect upon things, my inside is burning.
when i ask myself about home.
and about love. and about and about...
home is with allah. love is with allah. all is with allah.

yesterday i was wondering if i should run away. to australia. new zealand khalil said is nicer.
i saw a film, "whale rider". it was shot in new Zealand. wonderful scenery.
i wonder what is heaven like. i am not so sure anymore that i will go to heaven.
i do so many things just because i want to do them.
and i know i can avoid more things and do better ones.

in first secondary i was very happy with myself.
i had been detached from all people. could not care less about anyone.
all my friends were away. did not really care about being friends with my sisters.
may was in her final school year. she studied and studied. each one had his own stuff.
i was happy with myself because i was left alone with allah.
had nobody else to talk to. to ask of. to cry to. and to long for.
long nights. long prayers. it felt like i was home back then.

i wonder why am i the only one who feels this huge suffering from the war. and i don't even remember it very well.
do the other kids not care? are they serious when they go to all these events that only strengthen the hate feelings? could they be so shallow? or are they brainwashed?
or maybe they are so bored and need something to do?
how knows me? Not does know.

i have a nice house. and a nice job. maybe people envy me for this.
it feels good to have a nice house and nice job.
but nice does not have to mean you like it. to me, it only means it is O.K.
better than many scenarios i ever imagined could have been happening.
never thought at this age i would be living in such a nice place, with all this majestic silence, and all this privacy.
do whatever i feel like doing. without bothering anyone and no one bothering me.
and it feels better because i worked for it.

i think it is a blessing to live alone. i could live alone forever.
maybe it means i love myself more than should be. gotta do the measurements.

Vengo is a nice film. i like the song:
i come from nowhere
i have no landscapes
i have no homeland
with my fingers i can start a fire
with my heart i sing to you
and my heartstrings throb
i was born of love
i have no place
i have no landscapes
And I have no homeland

no homeland.
always on the move.
if it does not show on the outside, it must be the thing that is rocking inside me.a tempest. don't even know what the word means exactly. we had it in our literature. shakespeare said tempest.

today i hit all the tennis balls astray. very easy balls. very wide hits.
to the sky. to the net. everywhere but not forward.
the coach brought all the balls and stood by me.
we started practicing how to hit a forehand from zero again.

The film festival is at its peak. i wonder if they will appoint me director of that festival. that would be very funny. but if they ask me i will say yes. i hope my boss does not read this.
lauren came from the states to attend. she is quite happy i feel. a new bride. I know her through the internet. and know Cameron her husband, the same way. an e-friend is the term i think. she brought me with her a notebook. said the only thing she was sure I would be happy with is something related to writing.
i love writing.
oh. the screenplays.
the unwritten screenplays. the unfinished screenplays. they also burn inside me.
A horse. a horse. my kingdom for a three month screenwriting spree.

I am sad. this is a statement.
is it so easy to look sad. no. i must have said it like this.
it is so easy to look sad. it is so hard to look happy. but i must look happy.
looking sad does not help other people smile. i have to help them be happy.
or better say look happy.
me knows not why.
but me knows how.
a smile does magic. being kind does magic. but it is not easy.
it is very easy to be impolite. and rude. and kick asses.
it is very hard to be polite. i be polite. it is very hard to be nice. i be nice. it is very hard to be committed. i am not committed. not this stage yet. not committed me is to humans. not will be committed to any humans. committed is me to myself. committed is me to my beliefs. to god. only.
when my phone rings. it is close by me. i am doing nothing. all free to answer. i click on "silence". because i am not committed.
not "reject call". because i am polite.
then i call back. because i am nice.
and i apologize. because i am polite.
but i make up any excuse. because i am not committed.
to close people i say i did not feel like answering the phone. that is a privilege. when somebody is damn honest with you to that extent.
a privilege for me and for them.
having somebody to tell them this, and know that they will still call you again. will call you knowing that you may press "silence" again.

i have not watched silence of the lambs yet. i should add it to my list of next DVDs to buy.
it reminds me of Nadim.
when we were filming in 2000 for my student production, before each clapper Roubz or Chatzi would say "SILENCE!" and Nadim went, "of the lambs!" and we'd all laugh.
then Roubz or Chatzi would go again. until MAK shouts at Nadim.
MAK would shout at anyone. That is so unique about him.
I worked with him on lots of plays and films. and he would always shout at the directors.
be them professors, or students, friends, or whoever.

i want to put this on my blog. i am worried mommy might think i went crazy.
but am cool.
everything is great. this is only me. not me you know. me.

yesterday i got Gil Rossellini's autograph and was flying with happiness.
Rossellini.
i approached him and said, Gil, I want to have your autograph but i have nothing to get it on.
he said i will give you my card.
but i told him i want his signature too.
he said what is your name.
niam. i said.
he got his card. and wrote on it. to niam with love. gil.
i have the card near my bed. it is one of the most precious things i own now - speaking of film related madness of course.
wish i could see Mr. Bergman.
sad thing is that tarkovsky is gone.

oh. tarkovsky got me hired at aljazeera. but that is another story. God Bless All.

2007-04-10T19:45:00.000+03:00

تجربة للكتابة بالعربي...

من زمان ما كتبت. ولكني اليوم لم أعد أستطيع منع نفسي من الكتابة...بسبب شدة القرف الذي تشعر به هذه النفس.

يا حرام.

أقسى ما في الحياة أن تشاهد العلاقات الإنسانية تتحطم عند أقدام المعاملات المادية، والمظاهر البراقة، والمال الذي لا يرفع أقواماً إلا في أعين أقوام منحطين مثلهم...

وبس.

2007-01-05T13:55:00.001+02:00

A Qatari Souq Tale...

So Mum and MJ were visiting in Qatar. And we decided to go to the souq on the evening of Monday the 1st of January 2007.

Souq Waqef has lots of shops, old style shops. And amongst these are the shops that sell spices such as the one in the picture below with Mommy and MJ.

And while mom and the shopkeeper chat about all the things in this shop, MJ and Niam get bored. So MJ gets the SMINT out of his pocket and offers Niam one, and takes one himself. Mom and the shopkeeper are discussing the price of things. Niam and MJ are bored.

Until.... until the SMINT pops out from MJ's mouth and drops just in the middle of the big bag of thyme near him. And down down down went the SMINT, and down down down went MJ's eyes behind it trying to follow where will it end. But the SMINT went too fast for his eyes it seems and disappeared in the big bag.

This was going on without anybody noticing of course. The only thing I saw was this:

MJ digging his face in the thyme bag.

"MJ, what the hell are you doing in this bag?"

He was too busy to talk. Laughing so hard. But said enough to make me understand that his SMINT went inside the bag. No kidding! I threw a hopeless look inside the bag and knew it is impossible now to find this SMINT. We had to tell mommy. ___________________________________________________

* The SMINT story ended safely. We told mom, who told the shopkeeper, who forgave us for -maybe- he did not understand what was going on altogether. Just saw one big crazy kid and one small crazy kid laughing at a big thyme bag.

2006-12-05T22:13:00.001+02:00

When Adnan Comes Home
Trailer
Official Website

Although Andrew sent me the DVD of this documentary long time ago, I only watched it till the end today. Whenever I am pissed off I resort to a solution of two: either read Quraan or watch a film. Strangely asimilar solutions, I know.

So today I choose "When Adnan Comes Home" for my cinematherapy tool, and continue watching it from minute 36 till the end (74 minutes).

It is magical how all the harshness inside this film transformed to the most delicate feelings anyone may experience in a long time. And how close ups and other shots of faces and objects in this film can tell their own stories of love, hope, joy, remorse, helplessness, etc...

Of course I could relate to the film very easily as it deals with people living in war conditions, or post war conditions (which are almost the same), and living in a completely corrupt political and judicial system.

For me, "When Adnan Comes Home" did not only tell the story of Adnan whose body is burnt from the outside, which makes people give him strange looks. It made me think of the stories of people who are burnt from the inside, those that nobody notices at all.

Thank you Andrew for making such a strong and powerful film for people to see, and thank you for making this film for people to feel, and think, and become aware.

2006-12-01T06:37:00.000+02:00

2006-11-26T07:57:00.001+02:00

Blogging from the office today..

When I am conscious about my work, I wonder sometimes what other people I knew throughout my life are doing now. Childhood friends mostly. I always build a story for each one of them. Regardless of all the sorrows which memories may cause, they always make me smile.

But since the last assassination took place in Beirut I feel so estranged. Lost the sense of belonging. Even the memories mean nothing anymore. And all the songs we sing for Beirut and Lebanon and love and tolerance are not even worth the ink they were written with. Even those who sing them cannot understand, much less apply, what they mean.

Only songs of LOSS make sense. And this old Arabic song echoes in my heart, saying

"Mitgharrabeen i7na,
Tigree sineen wihna,
gar7 sineen...
Ma 7ad 2al 3anna,
khabar yfarra7na,
wa la 7ad gab minna,
kilma tirayya7na..."

Watching the news and seeing what is happening in the world makes it look like a big puzzle, with kids all around fighting for every piece. And eventually tearing the whole thing. And later blaming each other for what happened.
Nobody ever thinks they may have made a mistake. It is always others.

The ironic part is, although I am watching this fight happen over the puzzle; I am a piece in this puzzle. And I am being torn too.
I feel I am supposed to do something.
But it is during moments like this when people become aware of their weakness.

2006-10-16T08:35:00.000+03:00

Days are passing rapidly...
I am expected to leave to Beirut on Thursday. Vacation of course. Ten days only.

Passing by all these "super" Arab productions that come always to the screen during the month of Ramadan makes me sick. I see the "super" bad quality of these productions. Very few are the ones that have a moral or let us say a realistic theme to be monitored. Few of those few are well done, artistically speaking. Because normally, you won't find well done productions with bad scripts in the first place.

Few days ago, Dr. Qaradhawi here in Qatar started a universal project about the prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him, in order to let the foreigners know who the prophet is, and what did he call for, etc...

In few hours, there was more than ten million Qatari Riyals in donations for the project (3 million dollars). I feel sad when people spend their money just because of titles and do not look into the contexts. There is ALOT of money in the Arab world. On the streets here LAND CRUISERS (which are sold for more than 200,000 QRs) almost account to the same numbers of other "normal" cars.

I think that Arab wealthy people need more financial advising as to how spend their money wisely.

Oooops - gotta run! I think I made my point anyway.

2006-09-26T00:43:00.001+03:00

I wrote yesterday :)

Today I started a strange and new activity: Learning a new language; Spanish. It was a very nice and great experience that I hope will end brightly.
It was very paradoxical when we were repeating the alphabet after our tutor, a, b, c, ch, etc...
Rebrought me to the fact that people are always learning throughout their lives. Never should we stop learning new things till our very end.
THE END

Oh, since we're saying END, yesterday (Sunday) ended mmmmm.. did not end as well as we wished it would. We had our Iftar - Evening meal (since in the Holy month of Ramadan Muslims fast from dawn till sunset) and before we left the dining table Zizu started growing strange stuff on her hands. And soon the strange pimples spread all over her body.

At first Ummi (her mom) and I tried to house-treat those small creatures with some traditional cure. But after two hours things started to get really..... red!
There we were on our way to the ER at eleven before midnight. It seemed more like eleven a.m. since more than half the people in Qatar were on the streets.
Anyway, after an adventure to the ER the strange creatures disappeared as suddenly as hey appeared.

Since I arrived to Qatar less than one year ago, I have been to the ER more frequently than I had been to the ER before throughout my whole life. It was never that I am the patient though, thank God.
I hate the ER. I hate hospitals.
I remember the beginning of a very good film, "Pi", it has a part where Max the main character says, "When I was young my Mom told me never to look at the sun, so once when I was six I did."

When I, Niam, was six my Mom and I went to the American University Hospital in beirut to check on a weird creature in my body, then.
Since in 1986-87 Lebanon was in war, there were victims being brought to AUH around the clock. So basically mommy told me not to look at those "scenes". But I did. And since then whenever I enter a hospital for any reason, or smell the doctor's smell (there is a doctor smell I think) my state changes.. physically and psychologically. But more psychologically. I see again and again the same image that I saw when I was six. A man who was probably dead, because half of his head was full of blood and deformed, and his hand was tied or clinched to a metallic thing on the medical carrier which passed quickly past us. He always passes by me at all hospitals. Even here in Qatar he passes by. As if he is saying hello. He reminds me of the worst thing I can't forget. War.
And he reminds me of war atrocities. And I start wondering where is he now? was he dead when I saw him? Probably. But I think not coz his hand was a little bit upwards. Why would they bother his hand if he were dead?? If he is alive how does he look like? Is he fully healthy again? Is he poor or rich? Is he married? Did his parents lose him and he lives now alone? Millions and Millions of questions.

CUT
THE END

FADE FROM BLACK
I just opened the LAU website (www.lau.edu.lb) and found on the main page a picture of our Gulbenkian Theater with students in it. I think students in the Play Production Class with Dr. Mona Knio. I am still a very traditional and old fashioned person when it comes to teachers. I absolutely can be a living application for the arabic idiom that means, "I am the slave of whoever taught me one letter of the alphabet"(Man allamani harfan surtu lahu abdan). I so much admire all the people who teach, and hate whoever speaks bad of teachers. I think teachers are the most sacred living people on Earth and the ones who should be most respected.

And before I stop writing to go to bed, I like to say that my Aunt is a teacher and I love her so much. Her name is Saadia. I wish everybody had an aunt like her.
When we were very young, I remember seeing her doing stuff around the house. Mostly changing the decor of my grandmother's living room, to be honest. She loves changing the decor. No matter how simple it is.

Soy Niam. Soy productora de peliculas y tambien estudiante de espanol.
Good night senores y senoras!

2006-09-22T12:01:00.000+03:00

2006-09-07T17:27:00.000+03:00

The first cut trailer for my post-production stage documentary film.

2006-09-07T05:36:00.000+03:00

Who is a friend?

A friend is...
A push when you've stopped,
A word when you're lonely,
A guide when you're searching,
A light when you go blind;
A glass of ice lemonade when you feel thirsty,
A colour-drenched scene when you're in the dark.
A guarantee when you're uncertain,
A cheer when you fear,
A smile when you're sad,
A song when you're glad,
A sense of trust when you're in deep rest.

Arathie Chandramoulli, IX

Do we really have such a "friend"?
* * * * * * * * *
We are friends before being colleagues.
But we once were colleagues. Before we became friends.
That is another long story... "another", because we have a story now!
It is just that I am not so sure I want to write it down. Not online.
When you write screenplays or work in films you become afraid that somebody will "steal" your copyright, your idea, your story..
But I am sure nobody will steal this story from our memories.
We will always be able to tell it.
We will always hear the voices of the characters in it.
The people we know and we don't know.
The people whom we may or may never see again in our lives.
Those who helped and those who waited, and those who stood watching.
And of course those who hurt us.
And the biggest wound of all remains to "swallow"all the pain and shut up.
And live with it. And sleep with it every night and wake up with it every morning.
And, worse, dream of it in between.

PAIN.
Starts with a P, then an A, an I, and an N.

P like in Police, Pilot, Pills, Paint, Pissed off, etc...
A like in Airport, Arrive, Astonished, Asleep, Alone, etc...
I like in Inform, If, Insist, I, Idea, etc...
N like in No way, Nobody, Nothing, No way, Nobody, Nothing, No way, Nobody, Nothing, No way, etc...

That's it for Today!

2006-08-26T03:05:00.001+03:00

The Hand of the shoe fixer at the Nahr El Bared Camp for Palestinian Refugees in North Lebanon. (C) Niam Etany 2006.

School Shoes at the Nahr El Bared Camp for Palestinian Refugees in North Lebanon. (C) Niam Etany 2006.

Feet in the Souk (Market) of the Nahr El Bared Camp for Palestinian Refugees in North Lebanon. (C) Niam Etany 2006.

These are all still frames exported from video files I am digitizing to edit my documentary film "Yawmiyyat Hafiya" (Working Title).

2006-08-03T23:44:00.001+03:00

More War Diaries :

The turth is that I was not writing my diaries when I was in Lebanon. I am writing now what I remember. I am sure I will never forget those days just as I cannot forget the war memories I recall since I was born.

It is Monday.

Monday July 17th 2006

Monday. The first day in the week was another day in this non-ending week. We did not go to Beirut for work or university. I needed to start getting myself ready. I suggested that we go to a nearby village to get myself a new pair of eyeglasses. It was a good idea to break the routine. After all, the road to Jib-Janneen was safe. Or was it?

We arrived safely to the shop. I chose a pair of eyeglasses and we sat in the shop chatting with the woman who works there. She said there were many refugees now in the village school.
At the optician's shop an old friend of Dad's came in. I did not know the guy but he said salam to Daddy and his wife kissed mummy and shook hands with me. Dad asked him about his family and how is everybody. The guy said they were all fine. Ahmad went to Beirut to get his family's passports and he's coming back.
Beirut! That's where all my stuff is! Dad call this man please.

And so it was...
May, my oldest sister, packed what she could identify as my necessary belongings and sent the bag (and my tennis racket) with Dr. Ahmad -whom I recalled by then. He teaches at AUB and my sisters know him well.

Of course I was thankful for rescuing anything from the city of ghosts. But of course some of my things are still stuck there till this very moment.

To Be Continued - - -

2006-07-30T23:55:00.000+03:00

My family had the honor today of being called by Israel itself.
Sounds impressive ain't it?
Israel calling you and saying you should not help Hezbollah.
Saying you should stay in your house and not leave it.
Or saying that you should not stay in your house and leave it immediately.
They say it as if it is that simple.
Do they ever wonder, where to should we leave?
To a shelter where they could easily erase us all in few seconds?

Am starting to think that those who die in the war are lucky.
They just die and leave it behind.
But those whom the war leaves behind, they are not lucky.
They live dead. Dead people walking.
Those people who died in Qana today, they must have been safe. And warm in their refuge.
Such a luxury in wartime to feel safe and warm.
Such a luxury to walk out on war, looking it in the face instead of turning your back and trying cowardice then try to "live" with it for the rest of your "death".

2006-07-29T10:26:00.001+03:00

Sunday July 16th 2006

That was the worst Sunday I ever spent in the village. In the afternoon we discussed my return to Qatar. I agreed to leave on Thursday before things got worse. I had nothing of my stuff with me in the village except my passport and ticket. They were the only necessary things I needed of course, but they were not my stuff. I remembered the graduation pictures. And my footage tape for the documentary. And my tennis. My DVDs. And I have not seen my friends. Shadi had said he would visit yesterday because he was going to Baalbek to watch Fairouz. Of course the musical was cancelled, and the whole festival. Baalbek itself was almost cancelled. It was being bombed daily.

Nothing to do. When you have nothing to do you start thinking of strange things, and remembering things you would have never remembered otherwise. It was strangely pleasant in a way to have nothing to do but think about existence and life. At one point I thought that I would be able to write few scenes in the screenplay am writing, since they say suffering brings creativity. But I could not. I was living in a film and was not able to write in a different timeline. If what happened in Lebanon was a film it would have certainly been a sci-fi horror fictitious stupid comedy.

Once there was a country called Lebanon. The second day it was not. Somehow it has been erased in one day. The people, the buildings, the bridges, the roads, the airports, the sea ports, they all disappeared overnight.

The minister of tourism said we were expecting more than one million tourists in August. Lebanon is a country that depends on tourism to survive. But some people thought it was not necessary for us to survive. They were people who get mad when animals are beaten but could not care less if Arabs died. I had all the time to remember. In our Media and Society class Dima –my teacher- once said something about degrading people before going to war and killing them. Because you cannot kill people when they are people like you. You have to make them look like animals or even worse so that nobody would pity them. And in my desperate trials to grasp how could any human being ever think of us as being less than animals I thought:
Well, probably they think of us as people but think of themselves as Gods.
It was of course better than thinking of us as animals and them as people. There was only God to save us. There is only God to save us. And punish those who think they are owners of the world.

2006-07-25T02:26:00.001+03:00

Sunday July 16th 2006

It was finally Sunday. We were supposed to have our family breakfast on this day. But the Kibar did not let us go to the village where Knafeh was sold. This is not to mention the fact that "the family"was not there.
The village had been bombed the night before and it is not safe to go there.
The final answer was no, but I insisted to get something for the kids who had been waiting for the yummy breakfast weeks before I came to Lebanon.
I went to the village and we made "Manakeesh" for everybody. It was a lovely morning, strangely calm. The breakfast was not sweet. Certainly not yummy. I don't know if there was a problem with the taste of the food or with my sense of being.
News, news, news. We had breakfast while listening to the news. There were no bomb sounds in the distance. Not yet.
Uncle Mohammad called his company and they said it is closed. No work for tomorrow.
No universities for tomorrow as well. So nothing to do tomorrow. And nothing to do today.
We did nothing after we had breakfast. At one o'clock a strange visitor came. It was the woman who worked in the farm opposite to our house. She said the factories that buy the milk have been bombed and the farm owner has 50 kilograms of milk to sell. We laughed at the idea of buying 50 kilos of milk. But, to our surprise, the kibar said we need this milk. They said they will make cheese and yogurt at home.
And of course we will have milk for breakfast. And probably for dinner.
We bought the 50 kilos of milk and started boiling them five kilos after another.
Nothing to do still. Boredom was killing us.
My graduation photos will have been ready by now. Ibrahim was supposed to leave to Mekka for "Omra" (Muslim worship) on Monday. Of course the omra trip was cancelled.
I still had one more DVD to watch but the kids did not want to see my Japanese DVD. They preferred Flightplan. We watched the film. Then there was nothing to do again. I was starting to notice that everybody was getting disturbed from the situation. Even MJ was getting surprised. Nobody wants to play with him basketball and soccer anymore. At one point we saw grandma –whose foot was hurting and she barely walked- throwing with him balls to the basket!

Grandma and Mommy were consistently telling us that everything will be ok. We have lived in a war before and we are still here, they said. This will also end just like the other ones. The other ones were more dangerous even.

But WE have not lived the war before. We were only kids. We did not think about the future then. We did not know that other kids in the world were living without bombs. I did not even know that there were cartoons and kids programs on TV. We thought it was news all the time. Not until I was 24 that I knew there was a cartoon called "Adnan wa Lina" that almost every Arab kid watched.
We did not know there were love songs. They were always songs of mourning and fighting. We did not know -then- that in other places you do not have to stand in long lines to buy bread, or take the car cables home with you so that it does not get stolen.
We did not have plans. We did not have dreams. Then.
But we have plans and dreams now. And they were certainly different than being stuck in the village with F-16s roaming our skies, dropping rockets that make the house shake from more than 50 kilometers distance!

To Be Continued---

2006-07-23T22:56:00.001+03:00

June 22nd – July 10th

I arrived to Lebanon on the 22nd of June. My sisters Iman and Mariam had invited me to their commencement. The graduation party of the American University of Beirut on June 24th. Iman finished a BSc in Mathematics and Mariam a BE in Computer and Communications Engineering. Mariam has an admission to Imperial College to continue her education. She tells me it is one of the best schools for engineering in the world. I do not know much about that field. I know that she is an excellent student. She has always been. She ranked first in the nation in 2002 in the Lebanese Baccalaureate Official Exams. I also know that she won't be able to study at Imperial without a scholarship or a miracle. Iman also graduated with distinction and got an award. She also has an admission to a university in England. Same story though.
I was not able to see my sister Malak because she is doing a medicine elective at UCLA. She has to be back for her Med Four year by September 15th.
My older sister May's two lovely kids (6 and 2) have grown a lot. The smaller "Abdul" is very funny. She is potty training him now and we have to stay on alert whenever he is at our house.
My younger sister Bayan had just passed the Lebanese Baccalaureate Official Exams and was confused. She had to choose a university and a major for next year and it was not an easy decision for her. Her last decision was journalism.
MJ, the youngest of the family (7) was enjoying his summer vacation and taking swimming sessions every morning in the Long Beach Club with a former Lebanese Champion. Mommy was going with him every day from 7 to 9 in the morning, taking with her something to read.

My weight had increased about 7 kilograms while in Qatar so mom and grandma decided to put me on a diet, which I wanted –and needed- badly. But I had told them earlier that there will be a huge breakfast of "Knafeh"(A very yummy and fatty sweet) for all the family in our summer house in Bekaa next Sunday (July 16th). Family in Lebanon means all my uncles and aunts with their kids (that's more than 40 people:)). I had promised all the kids to invite them for Knafeh as a graduation gift.

During the first few days I finished all technical processes required to transform my Toshiba Qosmio to an editing facility to work on my documentary film when I return to Qatar. I took with me to Beirut one of my master footage tapes to make sure everything works fine.
During the second week of my stay I sought to finish all paper work required to get my MA Diploma from university, and attend the commencement exercises of the Lebanese American University on July 8th in Beirut. I also submitted applications to get three recommendation letters and two transcripts to apply for an MFA in Screenwriting.
Of course I played tennis every other day with my cousins Mazen (20) and Ibrahim (18) who were enrolled in Summer courses at their universities. We used to take a cab to the municipality tennis courts in the park (Huresh) in the Southern part of Beirut. And of course I rented four films each week to compensate for the lack of films that I like in Qatar.

I enjoyed the commencement exercises a lot. We took many photographs and were told to pick them later from "Supercolor Studios" in West Beirut.

On Monday I called Supercolor and the man said photos won't be ready before Saturday, so I decided to get them the next week and go spend some days in the summer house in Bekaa before my vacation ends. After all Grandma and Grandpa were there alone and it was better if somebody stays with them.

Tuesday July 11th 2006

I took my laptop and the four DVDs of the week and went to Bekaa by van. In three hours I was at the beautiful place surrounded by trees and from two sides by the Litani River. It was so peaceful and quite except from the sound of leaves and sometimes water pumps from far away would be heard to water the huge fields of vegetables and fruits. The electricity in the Bekaa valley is imported from Syria. It comes on for 6 hours then off for six hours, more or less.

Wednesday July 12th 2006

We woke up in the morning, no electricity. My grandma and I do the housework when my mobile phone rings.

It was my friend,
"Congratulations!"
"Thank you." (I just graduated)
"Did you hear the news?"
"No, what news?"
"Hehe, what are you saying thank you about, then??? They just captured two Israeli Soldiers!! Congratulations!"
"Oooooh, so that's why. Ok. That is great. Now all prisoners will be released and we'll be finished with this issue of prisoners."
"The Israelis will be crazy. Eight soldiers are dead and 21 injured. That's what they said."

Grandma and Grandpa were very happy. Everybody was. It was about time for our last prisoners to leave the Israeli prisons. No need to mention how they were captured and tortured and for how long they have been imprisoned. They were prisoners and had to be released some way or another. And since the whole world is against us, there is no other way than forcing the world to release them.

The Israelis WERE crazy. In the afternoon they started bombing South Lebanon and attacking with their F-16s. The attacks reached places very close to Beirut without harming the beautiful city on the Mediterranean coast. It was –almost- a normal thing the Israelis used to do all the time before they left Lebanon in 2000 so no big fuss was made of it.

Mazen my cousin said he will come on Friday to stay with us. I was starting to get bored and felt happy that he'd come so we can do some fun stuff. We slept early that day.

Thursday July 13th 2006

The mobile phone started ringing at about nine in the morning.
I barely opened my eyes and answered, half asleep. My mom was on the other end,
"It is ok we will take you through Damascus Airport."
I understood nothing and thought: what the hell is mommy talking about at this time. She repeated:
"We will take you to Damascus, you can go from there."
"What are you talking about Mom?"
"They bombed the airport."

By then I was fully awake.
"What?!!!"
"They bombed the airport. It is closed. We will take you to Damascus to go from there to Qatar."
I cried.

Flashback

Airport is closed. I was back in the Civil War times when the airport used to close every now and then. The news used to be lists of names of injured and dead people. The "Kibar" (Elders which we use for parents, grandparents, and all people other than our kids kingdom) they used to warn us every morning before going to school not to talk to any strangers or go with them anywhere. They will kidnap you and sell you. Do not take chocolate from anybody. It may explode in your face.
Wake up in the middle of the night. Get the water bottle. Get the diapers. Get the bread and cheese. Down to the shelter. Or to the car. Soldiers all around. Checkpoints where every time you were asked same questions. What is your name? Where are you coming from. West Beirut. Where are you going. Bekaa. What do you work. Teacher. Allah ma3ak (God be with you). Sometimes it used to be west Beirut. Sometimes only Beirut. Depends on the soldiers. Christians will kill people from West Beirut. Muslims will kill people from Eastern Beirut. At checkpoints. Just like that. This is why many people have non-religious names. Mohammad and Ahmad will be killed at Christian checkpoints. Georges and Tony will be shot at Muslim checkpoints. Fouad and Karim will be safe on both sides.
Civil War times. No electricity. No light to study in the evenings. No elevator to go up to our house on the fifth floor with our school bags which were about 5 kilos heavy. No TV. Civil War times. No signals in phone lines. No bread. No water. Thieves will steal anything. When dad came up home in the evenings he brought with him the radio and the battery of the car and some cables as well that will not allow the car to run if somebody thought of stealing it. My uncles had a box full of weapons, B-7s, Kalashnikovs, and grenades. They were something normal in a house. And it was normal to have four or five families in a house. And to sleep in the doorway. And listen to more names of injured and dead.

Airport is closed.
So this time it is not just like all other times. It is "serious". Soldiers were captured before and this did not happen. This time it WAS different.
I was scared, and angry.
Why do we have to be born during the war and spend our lives during the war?
Looks like they want us also to die in the war.
Only the war shall survive in this place.
But I hoped this will be over in few days (again as usual) and the airport will be open again. They just wanted to scare the tourists and make them leave Lebanon. And they succeeded in doing that. The Syrian borders were crowded with more than 15 thousand people.

At about 10 am Mazen called. He said his university has suspended classes because of the situation and he could come today. Again the "Kibar" were saying No. They were afraid that Israel might bomb the road from Beirut to Bekaa (since it is the Beirut-Damascus Road). Mazen finally took the risk and came to the village. It was then that I remembered it was Thursday. Thursday in the village! It was the Souk (Bazar) day. We could go to the souk and buy things and most importantly –eat yummy Falafel from the fat woman who comes every Thursday.
I bought fruits and vegetables for the house as we were expecting my parents tomorrow (Friday). We also bought Video CDs: Flightplan, Hostel, and Lucky Number Slevin, all for four dollars. And of course the falafel.

The afternoon was very calm. We went with Grandpa to a village called "Kifrayya" under a great mountain to get drinking water from a natural spring. The water was so chilly. We washed the car in Kifrayya, and Grandma picked some Vine leaves to stuff them and cook them. We filled the empty water bottles and went back home. Played some basketball and watched a video CD in the evening before we slept.

Friday July 14th 2006

This was an early day. When I woke up for Fajr prayer at 3.50 am I heard far bombs. I had received three text messages on my mobile during the night from my sisters in Beirut which read as follows:
They bombed Beirut (Southern suburb), they bombed the road (Beirut-Damascus Road), they bombed the airport again.
I miscalled my dad's phone so that they'd call me. When they did my phone battery died. There was no electricity and no hope of it coming on at this time, it comes at six in the morning. With the sounds of far away bombs and total darkness, and without a signal in my mobile phone, I got really anxious. So I went to my grandparents' room and we sat there chatting about the news till about six in the morning. The electricity did not come on time so I fell asleep on the mattress on my Grandparents' room floor.

BAAAAM.
I did not totally open my eyes, partially because I was scared to do that and partially because I wanted to go back to sleep. It was a very strong sound. The far bombing had been on rhythmically since Fajr prayers, but this was a very close rocket. The window above me broke on my head. That's what I thought. But it did not. Grandma was saying to Grandpa: If they come again (the planes) we have to wake her(me) up and go out of the house. He said nothing. But they did not come again. So I tried to sleep, but-

Flashback.
Beirut, 1980's. Our house is on the fifth floor. It is winter and the weather is very cold outside. I am sleeping near the veranda door when it almost breaks over my head because of the same strong sound I heard today. BAAAAM. It was longer though. Like several rockets following each other.
I stay under the sheets but lift my head up and take a look around with tears in my eyes. My smaller sisters cry in a loud voice. And so does the baby in my parents' room. Daddy comes to the room and closes the curtains. He pats our three small heads telling us to sleep.
"It is only thunder. Sleep my dear. It is thunder, there is no bombing."
Probably it was. And probably not. I am still scared of thunder.

It was no use to try to go back to sleep. Mazen and I woke up. I had no battery in my phone. He had no credit in his. We switched the SIM cards in order to communicate with the world. My parents called saying they are coming to Bekaa because Beirut was not a good place to stay. Each time the airplanes attack, the whole city and all buildings shake underneath. The streets are empty. Companies are closed. Universities are closed. Even MJ's swimming classes are paused because Israeli war ships are out in the sea facing the Long Beach swimming pool.
- But there is no road Mom. The road Mazen came from is now closed because of the broken bridges. What will you do?
- Daddy knows a road in the mountains that leads to Zahleh. We will come from there.

Zahleh is the city known as "Bride of the Bekaa". It is a very beautiful city, it has nice weather in summer and it has great ice cream too. A very nice river runs through it. On both sides of the river are cafés and restaurants where tourists like to sit.
I was worried about my parents crossing the mountains but knew it was best for them, and for us. After Friday Noon Prayers, Mazen and I walked to the village to the internet café to check our emails. It was the first time I do that since I left Beirut on Tuesday morning. The internet connection was so slow though. We remained in the café till about sunset when we thought it would be better to go home, specially with the bombing sounds coming closer.

When we arrived home my parents had been there for a while. The road that usually takes about one hour or one and a quarter took them now about three and a half hours. They brought with them all the passports and the money and their jewelry. Just in case. They also got my passport and ticket. Now the prospect of me going back to Qatar through Damascus instead of Beirut was getting very realistic. Except for the bombs on the road to Damascus.

My mom said Uncle Mohammad, Mazen's father, is on the way also with his family from another road that passes through Kifrayya (the village of water and grapes). We felt happy. We are used to the summer house being crowded. Uncle Mohammad reached the village by eight thirty in the evening. When he arrived he said there was no bread in the stores in the village. No batteries for the radio either. But the electricity was on, and Mariam was watching TV when she called from the window:
"The Sayyed (Hasan Nasrallah) is talking on TV. Quickly!"

Everybody who was sitting outside on the patio walked inside the house in a straight line. Mom and Dad, Iman, Bayan, Uncle and Aunt, Grandpa, Mazen and Ibrahim, and me too. We sat around the small TV set listening to Sayyed Nasrallah. He said a lot of stuff. Then at the end he said, "Look at the Israeli battleship that killed the civilians during the day and brought down the houses in Beirut, look at it in the sea facing Beirut: It is burning!"

Tarararararaaaa!!
Bullets in the air again.
But this time it was for celebration. People were happy all around Lebanon, and around the whole world it seems. It was the first time since ages that any Arab could humiliate Israel. And it came in a moment of retaliation, which made it feel 100% correct and rightful. We started clapping and yelling happily. Then we went outside and spent some time singing and drumming on the base of a milk barrel. The sounds of far bombs just sounded like a base in our orchestra.

In the evening my sister May called. She said they have bought bread and food, and a reserve milk can for Abdul's bottles. She said they won't be able to come to the village now because there are many many people in Beirut who ran away from the bombing, and these people may occupy empty houses. It was a normal thing during the war for dislocated people to occupy empty buildings and houses. The state later had to pay each of these families 25 thousand USD to find other places to live.

Then my Aunt called and said she could not leave Beirut too. She told us that there were people in the school near her house who needed things, any thing. She sent them some mattresses and dishes and spoons. She said there are many more others in the public park near her house, and thousands in the "Huresh" where we used to play tennis. They sleep on the benches or on the grass, she said. We did not sleep early that night. We listened to the news almost till Fajr prayers and then slept a little bit.

Saturday July 15th 2006

When I woke up I knew that Uncle Mohammad and his wife went to the Souk which was held in another village on Saturday. It was not far. They were supposed to come back by eleven in the morning. But they came much earlier.
Aunt Fadwa said:

"The airplanes were hovering above us all the time. But suddenly a policeman came and said hurry up they will bomb the bridge (The Bazar is right near a bridge). So we raised our heads and everybody was running to their cars. We had to go too. In four minutes the whole place was empty and everybody had crossed the bridge so as not to get stuck on the other side of the river."

Uncle Mohammad still needed some vegetables, and we needed bread and oil for the food. I went to the village to buy the stuff. Got tomatoes with a very unusual high price. And cucumbers. Do you have bread?
The shop of Alabras does not have bread.
Najiyyeh does not have bread.
A small other shop. No bread.
The supermarket. No bread, no oil, no American bread. No French bread.
One woman said she will buy all the hamburger bread the supermarket has! She really did. I noticed that all the bread shelves and all kinds of Pasta and Maccaroni had disappeared from the supermarket. So did the drinking water. I remembered the drinking water. We had filled the gallons in Kifrayya. Thank God we did not have to buy that either!
Finally on our road back home we asked a woman we knew, who told us that there is a woman who sells bread in her house. We went there and finally got nine loaves of thin bread, "Markook".

The mobile phone network was starting to get really bad. In grandma's part of the house you could only call and receive calls in the bathroom. In our part of the house you had to stand in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room.

- They bombed the Light House (Manara).
- What do you mean bombed the Manara???

Grandma was shocked to know that they attacked the light house near her house in Beirut. This area is completely peaceful, and it is a tourist area on the Corniche.

- What do you mean bombed the Manara? They bombed near our house??
- Yes. That is what they said on the news!
- Poor family.
- What?
- Ihsan told me that her friend's family left their house in southern Beirut and resorted to Manara. Allah help these people. They are not safe here nor there. Allah yu'eenhom.

They left their house to run FROM the bombs. They ran TO the bombs.

Funny things happen in wars. Once in the late 1980's both cars of our family were broke. Mom talked to Dad's friend and told him to bring us home from school. Mr. Khalil arrived at our school and,

- Hello kids. I am Mr. Khalil, the father of rabiá and Awatef.
- Hello. (I don't know this guy, older sister May whispered)
- Your car is broke. I'll take you home today.
- No, no thank you. Mom will pick us up.

May held the hands of Mariam and Iman. Malak and I followed her while she dragged them away from the surprised man. He is following us, May said in a frightened voice.

- Kids, your car is broke. Your mom told me to pick you up.
- No she will come it is ok. Sometimes she comes late but she comes.
- You don't know me but I am Awatef's father. I live in the brown house in the north of the village.

The poor man tried and tried while the scared May insisted that he is a "khattaf", a kidnapper who sells kids. After the parking was transformed to a theater stage and many people watched the show, Awatef showed up. She testified that this man is truly her father and said she will come with us until we reach the house. The five kids jammed in the back seat while Awatef and her Dad drove us home.

Funny things. When Aunty called again she said the people in the schools were now getting bored and some of them started ordering "Sheesha" from the cafés. In Beirut you can have waterpipes delivered with no additional fees. Free Delivery waterpipes.

We were getting bored as well. Mommy suggested that we go to the satellite man so that we can watch news from Al Jazeera or at least get a good picture on TV. Until then we had to make Ibrahim fix the antenna and move it right and left and back and forth and up and down in a strange dance, then when the picture gets a bit clear we all shout: FREEZE! Stay like that!
And so, we went to the satellite shop and bought one. No shortage of satellites during the war.
In two hours, we were watching Al Jazeera News. Ibrahim watched too. He did not need to stand up and do the antenna dance now. Pictures were clear:
The politicians were talking. The fighters were bombing. The civilians were dying.

That day, Israelis warned the people of the South to evacuate their villages and homes. There was no way out of there that was not bombed or deadly dangerous. Two families from the southern village of Mirwaheen left their houses in a pick up truck. They went to the UN soldiers outside their village. Israel had bombed a UN shelter before in Qana in 1996, killing and wounding hundreds. Probably they won't do it this time the Israelis. The two families hoped the "bad guys" won't be so bad this time. They did not even think that the UN soldiers would be bad too. The UN soldiers turned them away. We could not keep you inside the UN shelter.

The Israelis did not bomb the UN shelter. They bombed a pick up on the road off Mirwaheen. 23 people were killed. Nine of them were children. They were later "collected" in plastic bags, just like dead sheep.

In the afternoon, the bomb sounds were coming closer. But they were still not very close. The news said they bombed the Milk and yogurt and cheese factory. Four of them actually. They also bombed the Beirut-Damascus road again at a nearby location. And many other places.

That day we started thinking about my return to Qatar. Everybody suggested that probably I could help Al Jazeera crew in Lebanon covering the war. After all I have an experience in writing and editing news, I can film, I can edit, I can do anything.

- But this is not my job guys. I work in production!

I was scared to death. This was the reason. So mum said I should leave as soon as possible since the road to Damascus could still be taken. I insisted that my vacation will not end before Saturday and I won't leave before that. Probably things got better by then. Mom said we'll see. She always says we'll see.

When we sat outside under the trees in the evening that night there was no singing and drumming. There were bomb sounds far away. We carried the TV set outside and watched the news. Bomb sounds in the distance. We solved the crosswords in the newspaper. Bomb sounds were still heard every now and then. When we finally resigned to sleep there were still sounds of bombs. Don't these pilots sleep? We were all wondering –and hoping.