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Published: January 5th 2005
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I head out to Sabra and Shatila in the pouring rain this morning. I figured I need to see the conditions they live in if I'm going to claim to "support the cause", especially since it's so close.
I took an excruciaingly slow bus out to the general area named "Shatila" where I assumed the camp would be located. The lady at the tourist information center had given me a cold "I don't know where that is" when I asked about how to get there... I think people are trying to forget about its existence. A guy in the vicinity offered me a ride to the cemetery but strongly cautioned me against going "in there" as (he said) I might not come back out, and they "have knives and guns" and might take my passport and/or money. At one point I almost faltered in my resolve, but I couldn't turn back having come so close. So I pulled out my *keffieh* (the black/white checkered thing that Arafat wore.. I picked mine up in Diyarbakir, as the Kurds there wear something very similar), took a deep breath and plunged in.
Unfortunately the first person I met was a teenager who persistently asked me for 1000SL (less than $1, but as you all know, it's the principle), which was a bad start... After him, however, I didn't see anything to justify what I had heard about the place... I made a point of smiling and saying hello to everyone I met (to build up good will), but I don't think I'd have a hard time even if I hadn't. The place was quite a shock after flashy downtown Beirut: it was a true ghetto, with narrow streets with broken paving, half-finished houses crowded together, and the small stores which are inevitably found in such places... A large-ish street passing through the slum area has the usual "bazaar-ish" collection of shopping stalls that I had gotten used to seeing in Syria... I guess this is where the poor people shop in Beirut.
A group of young people were amused at seeing me, and called one of their friends who brought out his 2 1/2 year old so I could see him smoke! And he did. It was quite disturbing. They were also going to show me him mock-humping one of the guys there but I think the kid got scared of me so I was spared. But apparently I was in the wrong place, and this ghetto wasn't *the* ghetto... a mistake I made over and over until a young guy who spoke a bit of english pointed out the side of the street where the refugee "camp" officially started. Camp is a bit of a misnomer since the people have been living there for decades, and have built multi-storied apartments which line the crooked streets where wooden planks form makeshift bridges over the deep puddles of rainwater and the electric wires hang overhead in a confused jumble. Apparently the Lebanese government has more important things to tend to, like the Disney-esque downtown area where the bourgeoisie dine and smoke nargilehs surrounded by riches.
The kid, Mohammad, showed me around the area, complaining that people from all countries have come to see the situation, except I'm the first person from Turkey who has cared to visit. He showed me the mosque where on a wall are written the names of 500 slain during "the war", and within are their mass graves. The main street (outside the camp) had pictures of Hezbollah martyrs hanging from the lampposts. Palestinian flags and graffiti were also rampant within the camp. I saw one kid with a tshirt featuring a picture of Arafat and I wished I had kept an eye out for that sort of thing. Mohammad showed me to a group of destroyed houses right at the border of the camp and said that the members of Amal in the neighboring street had fought with the Palestinians, using weapons supplied by Syria, and most of the camp was demolished during the fighting which also claimed two of his brothers. Apparently buildings in the camp had formerly been 3 stories high, but after the destruction they were rebuilt, this time with many more (up to 10) stories. He tried to explain some of the inter-party politics of Fatah, Amal, Hezbollah, Islamic Jihad and some other gropus that I had never heard of. All I really understood was that Amal and the Palestinians are now at peace, and a lot of his friends are from Amal.
He also said that most people in the camp have weapons, and he owns an AK-47 as well as an M16.. apparently he emptied 3 AK-47 magazines in the air when he got drunk on new years. I asked about RPGs and he said they'd get them if fighting began. There are 8 boys and 6 girls (one of which I saw, and was cute) in his family. When parting he said if I'm ever again in the area I should stop by his parents' house and they would contact him and he would come from Beirut within an hour. All this for a stranger he met on the street...
The camp ends suddenly, melting seamlessly into the neighboring slums. A short ways away from the camp you are once again surrounded by the glitter and shine of Beirut which parties on as hard as ever, unaware of and not caring about the whereabouts of, much less the occupants of Sabra & Shatila.
Sorry for the lack of pictures. Even
I didn't feel right pointing a camera at the people living in that squalor... It would be like pointing at a cripple.
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anonymous
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its mothers day
hadi hadi demiyorsunki ben aslinda gitmedim, uyduruyorum yazdiklarimi ondan resim koyamadim nerden bilecegiz gittigini? bende istersen buna benzer bisey yazarim - broken glass