The Stories of She

Annahar

a day ago

I still recall the face of this middle-aged man. It was the morning after the first attack on the southern suburb of Beirut in September 2024.
I was walking towards the entrance of the building where my office is. There was a group of men delivering drinking water to the different companies in that same building. When I arrived, they were already leaving.
One of them approached me and told me in Arabic 'Sabah el Kheir, Hamdella al Saleme' (Good morning, Thank God you are safe).I greeted him back and said, 'Good morning, thank you and same to you'.
At first, I thought we know each other but then realized that I have never seen this man before.
Suddenly he handed me a thread and told me: 'I was at Lady of Bechouat yesterday and I got these holy threads; this one is for you. Wear it all the time and it will keep you and your family safe' and he moved on. I did not have time to thank him. I freezed looking at the thread and wondering what has just happened. I even did not turn back to see where he went, I don't know why.
Our Lady of Bechouat is a highly revered Marian shrine located in the village of Bechouat in the Beqaa Valley of Lebanon, famous for attributed miracles and as a significant pilgrimage site for both Christians and Muslims.The day went by, as well as the months.
Four months of daily airstrikes, and drones flying above our head day and night. It was not the first war that I live and survive, but this one was different. A war that separated my country into safe and unsafe zones, breaking with it social structures, acceptance and tolerance. A war in which your religious confession and geographic location defines if you are safe and if you will survive or not. A war that made you as a Lebanese trust your enemy and attacker, simply by following their official social media channel on which they posted exactly where they will drop their missiles, and you trust them for the info they give you.
But some strikes did come unannounced when it was targeting a specific figure.After a few weeks, I left Beirut and stayed with my mother in the village. My husband moved to Amman to continue his work, and my son was in South America. As for me, I used to wake up every day, shower, put on my clothes, carry my laptop and drive to the office. Even though our company offered us full flexibility to work from home, I found the strength to keep my daily routine during these four horrible months.Looking back, I now wonder where I got this strength from. I was never brave during all the previous wars. I was the first one to run and hide in the shelter, and the last one to leave the shelter next day. I cannot deny that I was scared, especially when I heard the missiles flying before hitting their target, a target announced in advance. Our offices were near Beirut, so we heard and saw all the attacks.
This war was different. The sounds, the damages, and the destruction was nothing I have seen before. Hundreds of buildings collapsing to the ground in seconds, and people warned in advance and granted some time to leave their life behind them, their memories, their clothes, their belongings. They had enough time to take a few items, leave the building and stand 500 meters away and watch a missile bringing the building to the ground and taking with it everything they own.Still, I woke up every day, showered, put my clothes on, carried my laptop and drove to the office. On the way to Beirut, I used to see the smoke from the previous night attacks. My hand on the steering wheel and my eyes on Beirut and on the thread around my wrist.Sometimes I wonder who defines justice. Humans? I do not think so, because we proved since we existed as a specie that we are not good at it.Who defines humanity? Humans? I think we proved to be the least humane species on earth.But then I look around me and I realize that we still have a lot of good people around us. I see people around the world protesting against wars. I hear more and more voices rising loud against how this world is being run and ruled. Voices of good men and women who are fighting for justice and humanity in any way they can. I see people I know and others I do not know, carrying the flag of my country, and going to the streets in their city thousands of miles away, to protest against war and injustice.And there is also this middle-aged man, who handed me a holy thread one morning. A man I have never seen before. A man whose name I do not know. A stranger who offered me a gift one morning; a gift that would keep me and my family safe. I regret not turning back and asking for his name. Maybe he was an angel. Maybe it was a simple coincidence, but for sure, it made me believe again in humanity.