A Reason for Being Here

I haven't kept all of you up-to-date on the happenings here in Tyre as well as I had hoped. When I left Texas, I had hoped that blogging would be easy. It has been difficult for a couple of reasons. First, the Internet isn't always on. One can't ever take it for granted that it will be working when the computer boots up. Second, there's more people than just me needing to get on to the Internet. There's Jason and Sarah, who own the computer, and then there's Rabab and Miriam, two floors up, who want to talk to Brahim, in France, on Skype, and then there's me. So I have to take my turn. And third, this has been kind of a rollercoaster of a visit. Emotionally there have been good days and there have been bad. So here I am two days from the end of my visit, and I'm just now blogging some of my visit besides the birth.



Tyre, known hereabouts as Sour (the French name for it, and pronounced just like the word "sewer"), is an ancient city. There are mostly Shi'ite muslims here, and it's a very conservative part of Lebanon. There are some Palestinian refugee camps here in the city. The Palestinians have a very hard lot in life, as they are not allowed to become citizens of Lebanon, and they cannot own any property. So you see them selling food out of the back of vans, or electronics out of a pushcart. They are very entrepreneurial, but their lot in life stinks, as far as I'm concerned. They have been refugees here for 60 years. Yes, you read that right. Sixty years.



The area that Sarah and Jason live in is right in the peninsula of Tyre. Their apartment is a quarter of a mile from the ocean on one side, and maybe 3/8 of a mile from the ocean on the other side. I went to both seawalks, known as corniches, on my walk two days ago. First I went to the south side and walked to the little beach at the end, where I looked for seashells, but my main purpose was to grab a little of the Mediterranean in a little bottle to bring home with me. I know that's silly, but it is somehow important to me.

Then I went to the city ruins, which Jason had led me to about a week before. When the two of us went, I had no camera. Since then, they have loaned me a camera to use, so I made my way to the ruins through the Tyre traffic, and took a picture over the fence. Those ruins were a Roman bath. It's very interesting to look on things built over 200o years ago. The people here don't hold them as sacred. People can basically go touch everything. We walked on some of the mosaics, for crying out loud. In the States, everything would be cordoned off, and there would be a look but don't touch attitude. Not here. We could see where the water was stored, and how it went from one storage building to another, and we could see the hundreds of clay disks that were used for warming the baths. And there is a double row of columns leading to the ocean. Who knows what they were used for -- a gymnasium, perhaps?

After the ruins, I made my way to the Souk, the market. It is pronounced "soo," with no k sound at the end. I'm following a map that Jason gave me, and just finding my way. I have no fear, except for the cars that drive crazily everywhere. It's the craziest driving I've seen anywhere in the world, including Zanzibar and Beijing and Mexico City. Jonathan, another person I've met here, says Cairo is the worst. I cannot imagine how, but I guess I believe him, since he's been there, and I haven't.

At the Souk, I make my way past the spice vendor and the antique vendor to the scarf shop. I have to get one more. I finger the different scarves, and ask, in English of course, how much one is. The owner responds in English, and starts showing me all kinds of scarves. I finally settle on one, and give him a little more than he asks, expecting some change. Instead he hands me a dollar back. I am surprised, and say "Shukran," "thank you" in Arabic.

I am so proud of having bought something by myself. Not that I should be. The merchants will do anything for a sale.

From the souk, I make my way to the northern corniche, which I haven't seen before while walking. It's much longer than the southern one, and I've already been walking for awhile before I get there, so I don't go all the way to the end. I go about halfway, then consult my map some more, and find my way home by the map and my eyes. The map has street names, but the streets themselves don't, so you have to remember landmarks. I go straight home, with no false turns.

I've been gone two hours. I let myself into the apartment with the key they've made available to me, and I show them my purchase and tell them where I've been. It's been a good morning.

Later I'm told it's not the same in other countries like Syria and Egypt. I'm so glad I'm here, then. Because I've really enjoyed the freedom to explore and behold the beauties here.

I have truly enjoyed my stay here. I will be coming home in two days. Perhaps I can share some of the pictures I've been able to take along the way. The only sight I wasn't able to capture was snow-covered Mt. Hermon. It was beautiful. And I didn't have a camera.

But the main thing I wanted to share is an experience I had in Beirut two days ago. We went to Beirut to the US Embassy to get started on the paperwork for Jude's American birth certificate and passport and Social Security number. While we were there, Sarah wanted to visit a new mosque in the center of town that was built by a famous Lebanese politician who was murdered four years ago. We started to go in, and were stopped at the door. Sarah and I had to go in the back door. Jason and Jude went in the front. We cannot go in the front because it is the hour for evening prayer.

So we go to the back and don black robes and scarves, and shed our shoes. We go into the elevator (!) and into the room for women's prayer. It is two stories above the main room, and we can peek into the main room and see the men below. Sarah gets a call on her cell phone about this time and wanders off to attend to it. So I'm by myself, sitting on a little ledge by the railing. I begin to pray. Then the Muslim young woman who preceded us into the room approaches me. She says to me in English, "You want to pray?" Surprised and pleased, I follow her to where she is standing and stand next to her. We pray together. We pray together. I feel no constraints and I don't feel uncomfortable. Mainly I pray for her and for the Palestinians. It is one of the most rewarding times of my visit here. And I believe one of the most important reasons for me to be here.

Thank you for your prayers for a safe journey home. The remaining time will pass quickly. I will never be the same.