Labels and Lebanese

I have been hesitating to write this piece, as I believe my thoughts are premature. Yet passion knows no time, and the expression of emotion is what makes us so human. For many of you reading this entry, you are well aware of who I am and from whence I have come. I am someone who constantly battles the use of labels to categorize, for they seem to do more harm than good. Yet, at the same time, it’s so hard for me not to use some of those very labels to express my own identity. Behind every generalization and stereotype is some truth, but also so much contradiction. I have spoken previously of diversity, and presently I am reminding myself of the reality of that word. In the end, as different as we all are, individually or collectively, we are all indisputably human.

Humanity binds us much stronger than anything that we let divide us.

With that preface, I am already straying from my intended topic, but then again, a reflection of who I am and how I write: an Arab who revels in the use of language, for in it one finds all the emotions of life.

What does it mean to be Lebanese? I have thought I knew that answer for a long time. Growing up in a Lebanese-American home; traveling to Lebanon to connect with my ancestral origins; doing graduate work in the language, culture, religions, and politics of the land; I thought I was a living emblem. Coming to Senegal has turned that notion upside down. For me, being Lebanese means recognizing and embracing the struggle of the hard realities that life can throw at you. Being Lebanese means cultivating an open spirit and mind, for we are often found in lands where we are the minority, and a smile wins more friends over than a frown. Being Lebanese means learning the local languages and customs to adapt properly and hopefully move beyond survival to success. Being Lebanese means having a profound faith that God will not abandon you if only you trust Him. Being Lebanese means sharing that faith with others--not through proselytizing, but through actions of openness, sincerity, compassion, and giving. Being Lebanese means being proud of your heritage, and identifying yourself as either not being Arab or being a different type of Arab. Being Lebanese means enjoying living, demonstrating a joie de vivre. Being Lebanese means listening to beautiful music or poetry in Arabic, knowing that those words and rhythms have no rival in stirring the soul. Being Lebanese means preparing and eating food with family, friends, and strangers, for nothing epitomizes more our genuine love for one another and respect as equals, than breaking bread together. Being Lebanese means looking out for the family first and yourself second. Being Lebanese means that the group, village, and common good are more important and more natural than individual gain. Being Lebanese means greeting people with “habibi” “albi” “hayati” “noor al’uyooni”--my beloved, my heart, my life, the light of my eyes--because whoever you are, we really mean it! Being Lebanese means hugging and kissing and touching each other, for the human touch is the most powerful manifestation of love for one another.

I have been here close to three months, arriving with great expectations. If the Lebanese here were anything like my definition, I would feel right at home. Unfortunately, my perception of reality here could not be farther from the truth. God bless Imperialism, Colonialism, and Capitalism. You see, around the turn of the last century when the United Kingdom and France took control of much of Africa, in order to fuel their own growth, both powers looked for intermediaries to be on the frontline, dealing with the daily realities of conquest. All joking aside, it is not unlike the current situation in Iraq, where the U.S. has hired defense contractors to do the work of the government’s bidding. In Africa, the British chose the Indians and the French chose the Lebanese. Through the course of the century, with the end of colonialism, those intermediaries stood much to gain as the new power brokers in those soon-to-be newly independent countries. So though independence brought some semblance of autonomous decision-making and self-determination by the indigenous population, much of what made the economies run was still in the hands of foreign minorities: the Lebanese largely in West Africa, and the Indians in East Africa.

The Lebanese here in Senegal are an inward-focused people. Yes, they have mastered the local language, yet they have chosen to dismiss the local culture. They control the lion’s share of business, from dairy processing facilities to high-end department stores to hotels to all the valuable real estate, and everything in between. In fact, they are battling, somewhat successfully, against the ongoing Chinese economic invasion of the continent. There are now three or four generations of Lebanese here, many of whom speak only French and Wolof, not a word of Arabic, and call themselves Africans. In fact, although Lebanese by blood, many have no interest in visiting Lebanon; it’s just an abstract, ancestral homeland; not a relevant, current reality. With that said, they have been cultivated into greed-driven merchants. Money drives them above and beyond any other force. One is only of interest to them if they have something to gain from that person. They, in my opinion, do not deserve to be called Lebanese.
A favorite biblical verse states: “The just man shall flourish like a palm tree, like the cedars of Lebanon shall he grow.” This verse has not been lost on the centuries and millennia of Lebanese in the world; I have seen it in the United States, in Australia, in Lebanon. What I see here is an abomination.

Personally, I expected great welcomes and demonstrations of hospitality. I have stopped waiting. I had one contact here (a couple) because they are relatives of someone back in Detroit. After I had delivered their care package from Detroit and a Sunday spent together, I have not seen them again. They told me about their two sons--both in their twenties--but I have not met them. They would be logical buddies. I have never been invited to their house for a (Lebanese) meal, and they were “instructed” by their relatives back in Detroit to look after me. I think after we had a conversation about my career and reason being here, they must have surmised there was little to gain from me. After all, I am nowhere near their socioeconomic level. In fact, in the same conversation, I asked if their sons had Senegalese friends (I mean Blacks of course), they abruptly said no and that I should be careful mixing with them. And they were the family, who because of family, should have demonstrated great Lebanese hospitality. I have been to grocery stores, furnishing stores, cafes, all run by Lebanese--some Christian, some Muslim. I have introduced myself as Lebanese American...not even a warm handshake or smile. I even told one Lebanese lady that I did not have my mother here so I needed a Lebanese mom; she chuckled, said she would have me over for dinner, and be my Lebanese mom. I have seen her on several occasions since; no dinner, just superficial, shallow words. I have been to the Maronite church three times, and not one person has come up to me to greet me--not even the priest, after he had met me the first time and I was told he was so fun-loving. I went to a high-end nightclub with a $20 cover. The place was 95% Lebanese, for only they could afford to lead such a New York/Paris lifestyle. In fact, the club flew in the D.J. from Paris just for the weekend. I saw some Lebanese there from stores I patronized, but no one struck up conversation with me. Either I’m delusional, or these people are genetic anomalies. It’s funny that couple told me to be careful about mixing with the Senegalese, when even with great effort, I CANNOT mix with the Lebanese. It’s funny and sad that the first to invite me to dinner were Senegalese who don’t have bank accounts, but those with the means hoard their food.

There’s a great piece written by Khalil Gibran that is called, “You Have Your Lebanon, I Have Mine.” In it he bemoans the focus by others on politics, greed, and division; while he defines his Lebanon by the beauty of the mountains, springs, and smiles on the faces of farmers and peasants. I think a lot about that piece now. Thank you Khalil Gibran; I knew we had more in common than just a name.