Lebanon // Part Five // Final Day in Bekaa

Over the past week I have been sharing some of the experiences I had from my trip to Lebanon at the end of March.

I have tried to write this a few times hence the delay. Today is the final post. I want to thank you all for liking and sharing. I also want to thank those who have been kind and contacted me to tell me how it has affected them. As a story teller, all you want to do is tell your story, via words or images, in a way that allows people to experience some of what you experienced. So, part five, let's go. 

I knew very little about Lebanon before I found out I was going there. 

I was unaware of the social and political history. Upon doing my research and talking to people when I was out  I was even more amazed by how the Lebanese are reacting to the Syrian refugees. For over 20 years ending in 2005, Syria occupied Lebanon. From stories I have heard and things I have read, to say they occupied with a firm hand would be an understatement. So in 2011 when war broke out in Syria and the Syrians started crossing the boarder, you can imagine for a lot of people that this wasn't a welcome sight. 

I can only speak of the people I met and the organisation I was documenting the work of [Heart for Lebanon] but watching the reaction of Christians towards their Muslim brothers and sisters was inspiring. It's as if they read their bible  and started taking the challenging passages of Jesus seriously. For years the passage that has kept coming back to me has been:

“39 “Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? 38 When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? 39 When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’

40 “The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’”

— Matthew 25: 39-40 [NIV]

This passage is one that I speak on but RARELY act on. However, over the few days I was on site with Heart for Lebanon, I not only saw these things being done, but the heart that they serve with is something I could only aspire to. I watched as people came to pick up their food package, every single time, they were engaged by at least one member of staff with a smile and a question. I then watched and listened when the staff were offsite and as they told stories of the people they came into contact with I saw their hearts break all over again. 

We conducted one final interview on our third day in camp. It was with a lady and her husband. Strangely the husband requested that his wife spoke on behalf of their family. One of the children was with them and she sat patiently as the mother recounted her story. 

Her demeanour was quite calm and unemotional. So it was with great surprise when the translator told us her story that she had just told to him. 

She was traveling with her family from one village in Syria to another. As they approached a check point the  guards at the check point opened fire. 5 of the bullets that were fired hit her 11 year old son in the head. Her son unsurprisingly died of the injuries inflicted upon him. Her father in law was also hit and he died too. So a simple journey from one village to another changed their lives forever. Her demeanour was misleading. Her grief, whilst still very fresh had made her numb.

Strangely I was numb too. When I heard the story I was disgusted with myself that I didn't have an emotional reaction. In the short period of time that i had been there, my heart had already started to become hardened to the stories I was hearing.  

I asked Bashir, one of the staff members how he keeps going. How he protects his heart whilst keeping it soft. He says he has one story that for him keeps him going. It drives him forward, the one he revisits. 

He tells of a grandmother who had to look after this small baby when they arrived in Lebanon because the mother of the child [her daughter] had died in the fighting in Syria. The grandmother couldn't produce any milk and she couldn't afford any. So for days she struggled to find milk with no prevail. Days later this little starving baby died and was buried in one of the camps. For Bashir, this broke his heart and drives him forward. It was his line in the sand. 

In 2011, in Northern Ireland one of the things that had people up in arms was Pop superstar Rihanna shooting her music video for 'We Found Love' in Belfast and surrounding areas. When the video came out  people were upset at the hook line in the song, as if there was a reason other than her touring schedule that made her shoot this video in Belfast. 

“We found love in a hopeless place”

— Sang by Rhianna, Wrote by Calvin Harris

Walking around the camps in Lebanon it definitely felt like the most hopeless place on earth. I have heard someone describe it like time is standing still. 

For me, one of the biggest criticisms that is thrown at Christians that has the most sticking power is that Christians are known for what they don't do, rather that what they do do. The Christians I met through Heart for Lebanon, not one of them ever told me what they don't do. It was refreshing that the heart for service was one that didn't get tainted by arguments of church stewardship, conflicts over differences or even a bakery*. 

I have spent a lot of time thinking about the few days I had in Lebanon and the hours that we spent in camps. I have been searching for the thin line of hope that exists there. Then it dawned on me. 

Hope walks into these camps everyday with supplies.

Hope knows the residents names.

Hope touches the knees and hands of the broken.

Hope listens to the painful stories.

Hope weeps with the broken.

Hope shines its light in dark places.

Hope causes people to smile with its presence, even if only for a minute. 

Hope bandages up the scars of the past with its healing touch.

Hope waits with you. 

Hope takes the shape in extraordinarily ordinary people. 

Hope is relentless. 

Hope does the simple things like just getting up in the morning and being there. 

Hope strives for resolution even when the horizon line of change is nowhere to be seen. 

Hope has a name. 

Hope is Chris

Hope is Denise

Hope is Bashir

Hope lies in the faces and the in the actions of the rest of staff at Heart for Lebanon. 

As I left Lebanon, taking a last look at the sunrise over Beirut as we walked through the doors of the airport, I thanked God for people who take their faith seriously. Not in a way that gets upset when someone offends them through something they have said or done, but who are upset and offended when there is something that isn't being said or done. 

To that I say Amen [so be it]

*https://vimeo.com/123653742

Lebanon // Part Four // School of Hope

When I was 17 I was very fortunate. 

I had staggered through GCSE's and miraculously was allowed back into school. However, my joy of getting in only lasted a year when with the same lazy attitude towards my studies,and with a 'slight' preference to focusing on the social aspect of school, landed me with pretty poor AS Level results. I knew how bad the results were when the they literally spelt how I was feeling.

DUU. 

I remember as clear as I see the screen in front of me now, being called into the headmasters' office at school a couple of weeks before the start of the new school term. I went with my mum and to be perfectly honest I was hoping he was going to say that he would  give me another chance to improve and let me back in. But he didn't. He said I had two options;

1. Head on to technical college.
2. Repeat the year.

I had never thought about repeating the year and immediately in my head dismissed it and resigned myself to thinking of what options I had at technical college. To be honest, something more technically minded seemed like a better call. For the majority of school I felt like I was my friends'light relief when it came to results, they would all be challenging each other for the most amount of A's and I was perversely winning by being the best at being the worst. 

Whilst in a day dream of what my life in technical college was going to be like, I was jolted out of it when I picked up the second half of a sentence he was saying. He said 'because a year out of my life, at my age was a big thing, however, a year out of your life, at your age wasn't that big'. Wait a minute I thought, he is trying to convince me to repeat the year. 

During the next 20 mins of a conversations, my life literally turned around. Yes, that seems extreme, but let me explain. 

He told me that he believed in me.

He believed in me so much that he personally wanted to explore the subject options that best suited my interests and skills. He believed in me so much that he would also meet with me every week and check in with my teachers to see how I was getting on.

Wow. 

Having that level of encouragement spoken into your life by someone who had no blood relation to me or had nothing to gain from me left me speechless. If I left school no one would have been surprised. No one would have pointed any fingers and said that I should have been given another chance. 

I agreed to repeating the year. Over the next two years as I finished off my secondary level education I lifted my game. I still enjoyed the social elements of school that I still miss to this day, but I remember the day opening my final A Level results and seeing the letters

C

D

E

The youth work course I wanted to get onto only required me to get DD, so I knew I was in. 

Now, this is not me saying how important in life it is to get good [ish] exam results and go to university. There are lots of examples of people who have left school to go onto technical colleges etc and have done really feel from it. No, I am saying that a senior figure in my life who I respected took the time to believe in me. He was FAR more interested in me as a human being than the exams results I could deliver, but could see how my lack of effort was not me being the best I could be. When no one else believed in me, he did.

He stood in the place between my doubt and my dreams and said, give me your hand, I trust you can do this. 

Mr Young, to this day is my hero. I have tried to explain to him how much his actions influenced my life, however, no words can explain this, I am just trying to lead a life that explains it better. 

Day two in Lebanon we walked into a school in Beirut. This was a slight detour on our planned trip, as our partner couldn't host us in Bekaa that morning, so he arranged for us to visit a school. The school wasn't directly supported by Tearfund, but Tearfund support a programme that aids the families of the kids that attend. 

This was a school that was set up by Heart for Lebanon to teach some of the Syrian refugees who were living in Beirut, the simple literacy and numeracy skills needed, as well as some other subjects. 

On the surface this school seemed like any other school. As we walked up the stairs towards the classrooms we got ushered into the staff room. Immediately we were greeted with such warmth by the staff. The embarrassing thing was that I wasn't really interested in the school, because I knew we had lots of work still to do in Bekaa, so my mind was elsewhere. 

Within 5mins of being in the staffroom my body language was  reminiscent to how I am whenever Julie has asked me to hoover upstairs in the house. I was sitting with my back in a sofa, not really paying attention, thinking of all the stuff I should be doing. There was a knock at the door and a little girl came through the door. She was visibly upset, and immediately engaged in dialogue with one of the ladies we had just met. The girl sat in a chair and through her tears and that sporadic breathing you have whenever you can't gather yourself, was putting her case to this teacher. 

My occasional glances at what was happening with the girl turned into a full stare of wonder as I watched this teacher comfort this pupil. She very gently placed her hands on the sides of the little girl's face and wiped her tears away, time and time again. She held the little girls head into her chest. I could image the still and steady heartbeat of the teacher as she was quietly soothing this little girl. My Tearfund college Stella then went and spent sometime with her. I could see that the interaction was moving Stella, tears visibly forming in her eyes too. 

This teacher who I hadn't given any attention to now suddenly  had all of it. 'Sorry, remind me of your name' 'Denise' She replied. I then explained that how she interacted with that little girl was really moving. She said that the girl was feeling unwell but didn't want to go home. I could see in Denise's eyes that home for this girl wasn't a place she enjoyed. I don't know many primary aged pupils who whilst feeling unwell would choose to stay at school. She explained to us that this girls story was tough and that was also the reason why she was upset.

Denise then asked if we wanted a tour of the school. 

She showed us round each of the classrooms introducing us to each of the classes and individuals in each class as if they were her own children. I can feel the glow on my face when I see my boys, and although I can't see it in myself, I can recognise it in hers. 

We walked past a wall of photos of the kids from the school and a few of the pictures showed the pupils at McDonalds. I commented on how happy they all looked. Denise looked at the picture in a way that took her back into that memory of the day. She smiled as she told us how much the kids loved it. Her face turned as she then went on to explain the heartache she felt when most of the kids wrapped up the majority of their food to take back to their families to share. 

Denise and the staff at this school are doing the same thing that Mr Young did for me. 

They aggressively refused to give up on them. 

Denise joined us for the rest of the morning as we visited a lady whose kids go to the school and we heard about the heartbreaking story of what led her to Lebanon from Syrian and the issues she is now left with. 

Denise and her staff seem to be cut from different cloth. Denise arrives early in the morning because some of the pupils leave the house as soon as they get up to get to school and Denise wants to be there to open up. She also stays late, when I say late, I mean into the evening time, allowing the kids to stay on to watch movies. Allowing them to be children.

Lots of times I hear about teaching being a vocation. I have lots of friends who take their vocation [calling] very seriously and the pupils they come into contact with are fortunate to have them.

Denise didn't see teaching as her vocation, she saw being there for these kids as her vocation. That even meant marching herself into the middle of a Hezbollah gathering because she heard one of her boys in school had got dragged into in. She marched into the middle of it and demanded the boy came with her. 

She didn't give up on him, at any cost. She left the many to go and get the one. 

I am sure I have heard that story before.  

Click HERE for the Fifth & Final Part 

Lebanon // Part Two // Day One in Bekaa

Here are some photos followed by my reflection from the first day in the Bekaa Valley.

“A lot of the time, I write a lot of angry stuff, but then I don’t want to be a finger-pointer - I’d rather be a cheerleader than a judge. I don’t want to preach as if I’m in some position of righteousness, but I do want to speak my mind and scream at the clouds and shout out of the pit of hopelessness that I sometimes think the human race is in.
”

— Dave Matthews

Sometimes in life its good to prepare yourself. Other times, no matter how much preparation you do, the circumstance you find yourself in brings you to a place you could never of predict. 

As we drove down into the Bekaa Valley, it looked like the world was opening up before us. This vast land we looked down on from on high. The land then rose up on the other side to lead into Syria. Looking across the valley, nothing could prepare me for the circumstances that people are living in. 

I remember taking one step off the mini van in the first camp we went to, and seeing a number of temporary houses, built from a timber frame with white tarpaulin as a cover. The sun was out and at the start of the day it was getting warm. This was a change as the months previous had been severely cold weather with a lot of snow. 

With my first breathe of the warming spring air of the camps I remember feeling like I had just stepped into a news report. This was what I had been seeing on my TV screen as I watched people report back from camps in Lebanon or other places like this. 

As a photographer I live my life in a constant internal tug of war. With one side wanting to use my camera to capture the images that are in front of me that help tell the story of what I am seeing, but the other side wanting to get involved. Get my hands dirty. However the images in front of me captivated me so much I could but not get the camera out.

In any situation I have been in different countries, its the children and old people that have interested me the most. 

The first person I saw was a little blonde girl. She was standing outside her home with a pair of blue jeans on and a blue/red jumper. She looked on with intrigue. 

The ground was uneven, there was a large pool of dirty water to my right, there was electrical cables over head and satellite dishes everywhere. We had been told that TV, apart from keeping people from being bored as there was very little to do, was the only way they had to keep an eye on what was happening across the boarder in their homeland. 

The food truck arrived and in a very orderly fashion, people started queuing up. The numbers of people grew as word got out the truck had arrived. 

At first I was very cautious of the photos I was taking. I did this as to to not offend or take advantage of people. I made sure I had a translator near me at all times and used my non verbal skills of pointing to my camera to ask permission before I took peoples photos. 

As I stood there taking in my surroundings it just hit me. The feeling of having to stand in line to be given food. Food you had no opportunity to earn. Food and supplies that was keeping your loved ones away from immediate starvation and disease. I placed myself in the line with Julie standing beside me and Reuben and Ollie running around playing in the dirt. As I placed myself in their shoes, whilst I could conjure up a feeling of gratitude for the Heart for Lebanon staff for passing out the food, the greater and overriding feeling was anxiety and hopelessness. 

Whilst I know that there is genuine need in some of the communities around me where I live now and for sure there was genuinely need in the communities I lived in whilst I was in America, I am normally surrounded by people in need for the things they want, rather than just in need. I was amazed by the stark difference between need and want. 

A lot of these Syrian families came from a similar understanding. In Syria, life was very different, I am sure that for some life has always been tough, but for the majority they lived lives where their kids got an education, they searched for jobs to pay the bills and to feed and clothe their family. Now all the have is a temporary structure that by its nature could be asked to be taken down at any stage, and standing patiently inline whilst someone calls out your family name and you get supplies that need to last you one month, but in reality do you for 12/13 days. 

I was overwhelmed by the overarching issue of what I was seeing, however, it wasn't until I asked my translator to ask a elderly lady and the two kids she was with a question, that the heartbreaking reality of the lives that where in front of me became painfully clear...

Click HERE for Part Three

Lebanon // Part One // Intro

'You are going to Lebanon' 

I have heard this sentence twice in my life time. The feeling I had the second time was vastly different from the first time I heard it over ten years previously. 

I had my head set on getting on a team going to Brazil in 2002. It was also a Tearfund Team being led by close friends of mine. I was 18 at the time and was going to be the second time I had ever been on a plane. During that summer lots of my friends where going on Spanish holidays to celebrate leaving school, but because I had repeated my lower sixth year, I still had another year to go and thought this chance to go to Brazil was too good to be true. However interest in the Brazil team was high, so initially I was rejected and told I was going to Lebanon instead. I am not going to lie. I was really disappointed. Lebanon? Really? It sounds no where near as good as Brazil. However, after someone dropped out I got my place on the trip and had an amazing experience in Brazil that has formulated a lot of how I am today. I still to this day carry the shame of my reaction about being offered the chance to serve in Lebanon, so it was to my excitement when that same sentence was told to me a few months back. 

Last year I was in Uganda [you can see my blog post HERE] - on that trip one person I had away was Jasper Rutherford, who fronts up two christian summer festivals in Ireland, Summer Madness & Catalyst. I have known Jasper for years and it was great to take him to Africa for the first time. I have been to Africa now four times, twice to Uganda, once to Kenya and also to South Africa. I love that continent. Especially the countries I have visited. Whilst in Uganda Jasper & I shot films for a campaign we where going to run at the festivals. On the back of those campaigns, we raised lots of money for water and sanitation projects. The success of the campaign caught us all by surprise, and on the last day of the festival we hatched a follow up campaign about refugees. When I pitched the idea to Tearfund, they where really excited and immediately got the ball rolling for how this trip would work. 

So within a few frantic months of planning we boarded I plane to Lebanon. We have two others with us. Nigel Gilbert is a local business man and is on the board of directors for the summer festivals fronted by Jasper. Huw Tyler is one my favourite member of staff at Tearfund and he was in Uganda, and creatively we work very well together. However last minute he had to drop out so I was able to ask someone else that I have been wanting to work with for a few years. Good friend Greg Fromholz, an American who has been living in Dublin for 20+ years. Greg was coming to help with the film making part of the trip. Greg is an author and music video director. 

After some intense security training and a lot of reading about Lebanon and the current standing there politically and socially, we touched down in Beirut late on the Sunday evening to be met at the airport by the partner project Heart for Lebanon and Stella Chetham, who is Tearfunds new communication manager for the middle east. 

Who got some rest in preparation for the morning. 

Since 2011 nearly 1.2 Million Syrians have crossed the boarder into Lebanon to escape the conflict. I think its safe to say there are nearly the same amount again who have come in unofficially. 1.2 million is roughly the same amount of people in Northern Ireland [1.8million]. 

Monday morning rolls in and we head out of Beirut heading east into the Bekaa Valley. We arrived in a town called Zahlie where Heart for Lebanon have a warehouse. We met up with the staff and got a briefing about what we where going to do. We where heading into two different camps to do food distribution, we would also get the chance to interview some families.

I was involved in a food distribution whilst in Kenya. I was humbled that people would walk 10km to get the smallest amount food whilst they where going through a drought. So I thought I was prepared for what I was about to see. 

This was different.  

I couldn't put my finger on it. 

It had something to do with the circumstance. I have been in some rough Favelas in Brazil or slums in Africa. But again this seemed different. 

Everyday this week I will be blogging about my experience in Lebanon. By breaking it down into sections, hopefully I will be able to make sense of what I experienced, never mind convey to you. 

Click HERE for Part Two