Sun soakers in the midst of war: unforgettable beach life in torn Lebanon

I’m in my kitchen, sitting at the dinner table, having a serene moment after a very busy weekend, I’m drinking my tea and gazing out of the vast kitchen window, I take a deep breath because I absolutely adore the view. It's a natural painting that changes in one day into 4 seasons, the seasons are sometimes serene and sometimes stormy, it is a beautiful spectacle throughout my day. I observe the weather shifting before my very eyes. The green grassy fields extend towards a wide river, where large shipping boats gracefully sail. This view holds immense value to me, as I also spot a few sheep scattered across the lawn, peacefully grazing.

Unexpectedly, the rain starts pouring down, completely altering the summery vibe of the weather. However, it's a beautifully nostalgic kind of weather, with scattered clouds and the soothing sound of rain in this serene part of the city. It evokes a flood of nostalgic memories, making it the perfect blend of elements to savor the moment.

I invite you into my moment, come with me in my nostalgia for when it was 1989, I am living in what feels like a never-ending war that had been going on for years. It all started in 1974 when there was a conflict between Palestinian refugees and Lebanese Christian militants. But over time, things got even more complicated as other countries like Syria and Israel got involved, making the situation even messier.

The war has been going on for fifteen years, and it affects every aspect of our lives. But despite all the chaos and uncertainty, we, as kids and teenagers, manage to find some beautiful moments in the darkness of it all.

As the years goes by, the war keeps changing, and different groups fight against each other. It is tough, and it feels like our country is tearing itself apart.

Even with all the difficulties, we learn to adapt and pursue happiness at every open door. We hold on to hope, hoping that one day, peace will come to our land, and we can finally leave the scars of the past behind.

But today in my memory, the trouble of war is on hold, it is a peaceful day, the warm summer sun shines brightly in the sky. 

I wake up early in morning and ask my mom to help me prepare to take a shower or maybe better explained to wash my hair and my body, yes, I am not a princess and I don’t need someone to wash me, but the 13 years of war have made electricity and water very scarce, and a shower is not an option, actually I never had a shower until after the war. I ask my mom to help me pour water out of a gallon, the water in the gallon we fill it somewhere in Beirut where the water is abundant and clean… this is how twice a week my mom, dad and siblings gather with the neighbors and drive to where clean water is, we fill our gallons and use them carefully for washing, cleaning, and cooking.

So, with the help of my mom, I empty just enough water to wash me. I hear my mom saying to me:

This is, this is enough Roula, once the water boils, you will add cold water to it and it will be enough, after all it is summer, and you don’t need lot of hot water.

She is right, this is enough, I Trust my mother’s words, and in a hurry, I pour a bit of water in the soup pan put it on the stove and go to finish filling the 5 liter bucket with cold water to have it ready in the bathroom. I am in a hurry because today is going to be a fun summer day. the teenagers from our apartment building will gather at 10:00 am at the entrance, we are heading to the beach together and I must shave my legs and be bikini ready!

Finally, the hot water is good enough and I wash myself, shave my legs, proudly wear my brand-new bikini, an oversized white shirt, and my favorite jeans shorts, this for me is the perfect beach outfit. My sister is also performing the same shower routine because she and my brother are also coming with me to the beach.

With the three of us ready and each one of us lost in his own head we greet my mom, reassure her everything will be fine, say bye to my dad and from behind his the door we hear him yelling at us: I am only allowing it for this time and only because you are together, you must be home before it’s dark, or else… hearing these words we slip one by one into the building staircase.

Once my siblings and I reach the entrance of our building, we feel excited to meet up with the Marwan from the 5th floor and Maria from the second floor.

We are all set for an awesome beach adventure, carrying our must-haves - sun umbrellas to create some shade, colorful towels to show off, and those sexy bottles of sun cream labeled "Hawaiian Tropic" in big white letters.

As we stroll down the street, our group of teenagers keeps growing, with new friends from nearby buildings joining us at every turn. Roger, Mike, Carmen, Karin, and Gilbert, adding their own flair to our lively march. We're like an army, but not the battle-ready kind. Oh no, we're the sun-soakers, all dressed up in our coolest summer beach outfits, channeling the vibrant vibes of WHAM!'s "Club Tropicana" music video but also inspired by the latest looks at the beach taken of Stephanie de Monaco as we seen them the French gossip magazine OK!

Despite the ongoing war, these days feel unusually calm, thanks to a temporary cease-fire that allows soldiers and us teens to catch a break. Our destination is the harbor of Beirut, in a city under siege, our options are limited. The harbor has its charm though - surrounded by tanks and militants, it adds a little excitement to our day. We feel safe and pumped up for our adventure.

And yes, it's the same harbor that'd tragically explode on August 4th, 2020. 

On this beach day, everything feels very special, it's where we simply soak up the sun, flirt, swim, and have a blast together. We don't think about the future; we live in the now, enjoy the good times like what we see in the movies.

With beaming smiles on our faces, we finally reach the "beach," our excitement palpable in the air. We finally reach the entrance of the harbor, as we approach the harbor entrance, we feel a sense of security with the soldiers around, knowing they are here to protect our city and us. The entrance is guarded by an imposing M113 tank, and one soldier pops his head out from the top while another casually smokes a cigarette just above.

A few more soldiers gather nearby, all dressed in their army green suits, each equipped with a belt holding one or two grenades. They stand confidently, with their arms resting on the M16 rifles hanging around their necks.

Seeing them, I can't help but admire the coolness of being a soldier. They look powerful and their demeanor suggests they are exactly where they belong, doing a crucial job for Lebanon in these times. As I say these words, I catch a unique whiff of their sweaty scent under their thick army clothes. It's a familiar smell that seems to belong to soldiers. Considering the bright sunlight and the hot summer day, I imagine they must be feeling quite warm standing there.

And now I see two soldiers meet us halfway. Suddenly, our entire group freezes, a mix of determination and uncertainty swirling in our minds - we are the sun-soakers, and we must make it to the seaside.

In this intense moment, our friend Mike, who's visiting Lebanon these days and has quite the adventurous background of smuggling cigarettes in countries like Russia, Libya, and Congo, steps up as our spokesperson. We all look up to him, amazed by his eloquence and commanding presence, especially at just 24 years old. With skillful negotiation, Mike starts talking to the soldiers:

Soldier: "Ho Ho, khallik mahalk ma tetharrak." (Hey, hey, stay where you are.)

Mike: "My friend, my name is Mike, and I am the nephew of General Francis Badr. He's currently at the Headquarters. You can call him to verify."

The soldier appears both impressed and skeptical at the same time. The idea of General Francis Badr being Mike's uncle sounds like a big deal, but he's not entirely convinced. He glances at his comrade and asks:

Soldier: "General Francis Badr, you say?"

Mike confidently responds: "Yes, he is my uncle. We live in the same house."

The soldier seems puzzled, I think he is confused as why this guy lives with his uncle in the same house. He then asks for identification:

Soldier: "Do you have an ID?"

Without hesitation, Mike reaches into his pocket, pulls out his wallet, and presents his ID to the soldier.

Soldier: "Wait here…"

As we stand there, the scorching sun adding to our nervousness, the soldier walks away to his service post. We watch as he dials a number on the old-fashioned black phone hanging on the wall, with its rotating numbers.

Our anxious sweating is disguised under the heat of the sun, we await his return. Time seems to stretch while all the other soldiers watch every move we make and listen to each word… Finally, he hangs up the phone and walks back towards us.

Addressing Mike, the soldier delivers the news:

Soldier: "Your uncle confirms that you are only allowed to be in section 5… He says you all must leave this location by 18:00 pm"

With a sense of relief, the soldier hands Mike back his ID. Both soldiers then step aside, gesturing with their hands to welcome us into the harbor. Like a deflated balloon, our tension dissipates, and we proceed our walk, ready to enjoy our day at the beach. 

As we stroll along, a slight worry creeps in. With so many soldiers around, we wonder if our group will find a private spot. We're eager to escape the shadows cast by the tanks and finally lay out our towels to begin our sunbathing day. After some searching, we settle a few meters away from a half-damaged T54 tank, thankfully devoid of soldiers and any prying eyes.

And here we are, the girls donning the trendiest bikinis and swim pants, with eyelashes reaching for the sky, adorned with transparent, water-proof mascara, and our toenails painted a dazzling neon fuchsia. Meanwhile, the boys exude the charm of heartthrobs like Dave Gahan from Depeche mode,  Simon le bon from Duran Duran, or Morten Harket from A-ha... true heartbreakers, as I know them.

A few weeks prior, my sister and I embarked on a bikini shopping spree. A friend who returned from France brought with him the latest swimsuit fashion. Despite having no job or income, my sister, who works at an export company, is the epitome of generosity. With confidence, we enter the container shop, and amidst racks of colorful bikinis, we find the perfect ones. A beautifully floral printed bikini for my sister and a chic, sporty striped one in black and white for me. Feeling beautiful and ready to flaunt our new swimsuits, we step out excited with big fun plans in our minds.

That day at the beach remains etched in my memories forever. We know, that such carefree moments might be rare in times of war, so we make the most of it. The laughter, the splashing, and the joy we share resonate within me, reminding me of our spirit of youth and our power to live our youth in the darkest days.

A few years back, when I was younger, the war between Syria and Lebanon confined us to the eastern part of Beirut. Although I am not allowed to go to the beach with my friends just yet, my parents make sure we go to the beach a lot… my mom and dad are true sea lovers. Every Sunday, they take us to a beach at my father's workplace at the Electricity of Lebanon. This beautiful beach is dedicated to all the employees and their families, a place of refuge and connection, where my father and his co-workers formed a strong bond while going through tough times together.

On those Sunday mornings, the excitement would build as my mom packs our beach essentials - snacks, towels, dry clothes, shampoo, and everything we need for a day of fun. As early as 8:00 am, we would fill my father's Opel diplomat V8 coupe car - a humongous vehicle with wine red color leather for the large front seat and an equally spacious back seat. The trunk alone was the size of a living room, allowing us to pack a lifetime's worth of supplies and food for our beach adventure.

Despite the ongoing war between Christians and Muslims, living in east Beirut meant that the entire eastern part of Lebanon was relatively safe for us to explore. Electricite du Liban beach is our oasis during those tumultuous times, and every weekend, when there is no bombing, we would bring some of our neighbors' kids along to share in the joy and camaraderie.

What makes these sun-soaked days with my parents and siblings truly unforgettable are the cherished moments we share. I vividly recall the festive atmosphere my father and his co-workers create while we kids joyfully splash in the water. Picnic tables adorned with a mouthwatering feast - not just any food, mind you, but the finest, freshest cuts of meat they could find. The cost didn't matter to my father and his colleagues; their focus was on cutting, cleaning, and slicing the meat to perfection. The succulent pieces were then carefully wrapped in Lebanese bread and savored with a hearty sip of arak, our traditional Lebanese alcohol.

Arak, with 57% alcohol content, is the libation of choice for the grown-ups. When diluted with water, a fascinating transformation took place. As they poured it into small glasses, a bit larger than a shot glass, the 60% alcohol mixed with 40% water, creating a mesmerizing alchemy. The liquid turned from clear to a beautiful white, reminiscent of a swirling cloud - almost like witnessing a magical mushroom slowly emerging. Even as a young child, gazing at those glasses felt like being on a surreal, enchanting journey, that at a later age I see it as a LSD trip in glass.

On the warm Sundays at the beach, the hours pass quickly, I hear the loud chatters escalate, as my father and his colleagues embrace the joyous effects of the arak, they are all responsible for driving their family’s home, but the men are invincible and I am not preoccupied with the boring chatter of my dad and his people.

My worry at hands is I cannot help but worry about my siblings and our friend Hilda, who had joined us today. Being the youngest, I feel a bit left out, as my brother, sister, and neighbor seem to be swimming towards a shipwreck that has been washed to the shores ages ago… and leaving me behind alone with the old drunk jolly people. the shipwreck is roost and very creepy to me… no one really knows how this ship ended up at the shore and not even for how long… my father works at this place for more than 2 decades and the ship always been there… I don’t want anything to do with this scary ship, prefer to stay at the shore and observe their movements. After all I am not a good swimmer and going deep in the water is one of my biggest fears… I literally want to have my both feet on the ground.

So, here I am, sitting at the shore, all by myself. The laughter and adult conversations behind me make it hard to concentrate on the swimmers returning from their shipwreck adventure. I decide to plop down on the sand, letting the gentle waves wash over me while I playfully imitate a girl from a TV commercial for RC, that cola drink from the '80s. You know the one - she sits on the shore in her bikini, looks at the camera, takes a sip, and whispers, "RC..."

Now I see Michel, Zeina and Hilda standing in front of me, their feet in the water and in a choir asking me suspiciously: Roro, chou 3am ta3mleh? 

In a stutter I reply: Ehmm I am not doing anything, I am waiting for you… 

I continue asking: was it fun swimming to the ship wreck?

Without paying any attention to me, they continued walking towards the adults who were now on their fifth glass of arak, singing in unison: "Bassak tiji haretna ya 3youni, tetlaffat hawaleyna alla alla, w 3eynak 3ala jaretna, ya 3youni walla 3eynak 3aleyna halla halla..." It is a song by Samira Tawfiq, a famous Lebanese singer known for setting stadiums on fire with her sexy looks and provocative songs lyrics. As we head towards the group, I feel uneasy. I know all too well how adults behave when they drink arak and listen to her music – they become flirty and carefree. I don’t know how to navigate this grown-up, seductive world. So, I follow my sister Zeina, brother Michel, and our neighbor Hilda, keeping my head down, eager to get past this moment of adults celebrating their happiness.

After '87, we stopped going to Papa's workplace. Things changed drastically, and the war became more complicated, with cities blocked and locked from each other. The highway leading from Beirut to my father's workplace was piled with asphalt and sand, blocked off by the Lebanese forces to cut off their enemies. This how we are left with only the Harbor of Beirut as our sea resort.

Sometimes, I reminisce about all the friends we had during the war. I wonder where they are now and what they're up to. Some I managed to find on Facebook, while others, the ones who left a lasting impact on me, seem to have disappeared.

Last month, when my brother was here, I asked him about a few of them. He's still in touch with some, but like me, he's lost contact with others.

But I know, back then, what brought us all together was the war. When it finally ended, we embarked on a quest to find our identities. Some are still searching, but as for me, I realized that my happiness was deeply tied to the Lebanon of those war days. After it all ended, our differences became too vast to reconcile.

Besides all of this, a mystery I will not be able to solve, it comes to me just now while writing this story… how in heaven’s sake have my father bought in times of war and poverty an Opel diplomat A COUPE…. There is one person who might know the answer… I THINK I SHOULD BE TRYING TO FIND HIM SOON, maybe he can tell me more about it.

Now, as I look out of my kitchen window here in Diemen, I can't help but be flooded with new beach memories. They take me back to the time I spent with my brother, my husband, and my son at Zandvoort beach. It was, few weeks ago, on a warm Saturday morning, , around 8:00 am, we decide to hop into the car to beat the crowds and the beach frenzy. Just like my mother used to do, I had packed and prepared our tent, beach chairs, food, and drinks in a cooler box, along with those colorful towels. And off we went!

The beach HOLDS a special place in our heart, far beyond being just a trip to the seaside. It symbolizes freedom and provides us with a much-needed escape from the daily grind and the weight of the war. Now, whenever I gaze outside my window in Diemen, I'm grateful that now it evokes that same sense of freedom and escape for me.