A fragile truce

The ceasefire in Lebanon has been in effect for about seven hours, and so far so good. News reports from both sides of the border say - in the overwrought militaryspeak that journalists tend to trot out in wartime - the guns have gone quiet. The Hamra district of Beirut where I've been staying for much of the past three weeks is more vibrant today - there are more people on the streets, more cars, more conversations, more life. The contrast is palpable. It's still early, and plenty of things can go wrong, but it's clear that people are hopeful that the truce will hold.

 

I've obviously waited far too long to post. My only excuse is that it's been terribly busy here, with lots of long hours and late nights and days running together. The war is now in its fifth week and today is my 29th consecutive day of work, starting from the day I traveled to the Middle East from Nairobi.

 

But there are other ways I know I've been here a long time. I've tried nearly everything on the room service menu - the best thing, surprisingly, is a Mexican salad - and I've had to go shopping to replenish notebooks and razorblades. I have favorite coffee shops and favorite restaurants. I've made friends and I've appeared on at least one local blog. In many ways, I now feel like I live here and not in Nairobi, where over the last 12 weeks I've spent about two.

 

Part of this feeling is a product of the Lebanese people, who have almost uniformly been warm and welcoming. The brief looks of disappointment that flash on their faces when they realize I don't speak Arabic quickly disappear - and they don't even return when I tell them I'm American. Many people here feel profoundly betrayed by the Bush administration's almost unquestioning support for Israel in this war. Caricatures of Condi Rice looking like the devil-woman or carrying a purseful of missiles are plastered all over town. But the Lebanese tend not to share those feelings with you unless you ask.

 

I can't say the same for Yatin, who had to cut his vacation in Africa short because I'm still here covering the war and don't know when I'll be back home. In his most recent blog post, Yatin, who I have to say is becoming quite the little writer, described me as "an ass-kissing glory hog who can only say no to his girlfriend and his friends, but not his boss." For the record, I prefer the term "brown-nosing," for obvious reasons. (I was somewhat relieved to read on Seth's blog that he, too, has had to leave visiting friends in the dust because of a news story - see, it's not just me.)

 

I've now been in Lebanon for 2 1/2 weeks. I spent four days last week in southern Lebanon, but due to the travel restrictions I've spent most of the time in Beirut. Despite the massive damage to the southern suburbs and the exodus of thousands of people to safety either overseas or in the mountains to the north, which I think has given people in the West the impression that Beirut is crumbling, most of the city is functioning normally. 

 

The south of the country is a different story. In Tyre, the base for journalists covering the region, electricity last week was spotty and most of the city was deserted. Driving anywhere outside the city is risky, so most cars have the giant letters "TV" taped all over them in the hopes of convincing Israeli jets not to use them for target practice. (Naturally, it didn't take long for Lebanese to start using this tactic on their cars too.)

 

In our trip along the border, we did the same, but we had bigger problems - our car actually broke down. I mean completely crapped out. The radiator busted and scalding hot water gushed into the front passenger seat and directly onto my foot, giving me a first-degree burn. Then the car stopped moving altogether and the strong smell of smoke emanated from the engine.

 

I suppose it could have been worse. Where we broke down was right in front of the U.N. base, which is probably the safest place you can be if you have to be stuck on the border. Naturally, the U.N., which had a mechanic on staff inside the base, said it couldn't help us (no further comment on that, but the word "metaphor" comes to mind). There were about five families still living in the town, and fortunately we found a 15-year-old in flip-flops who got under the car and tweaked something well enough that we could get moving again. So yeah - I love the Lebanese.