© Arab Images Foundation® 2005

Near Aley

Why do two identical buildings, built side by side, share such different fates? Why is one empty and the second inhabited? In the first building, the main door is

non-existent, the trash is piling up, the walls are covered with scary inscriptions.

The second building offers a drastically different picture. On the corner balcony,

a man is setting up his chair to get the best view of what is happening on the street below. Next to him, white sheets are hanging, waiting to be dried by the light summer breeze. On the lower level, a child's bicycle is leaning against the balcony.

I later realize that the first building looks down onto the valley as far as the sea. Soldiers are fond of a good view, after all, their job is to keep an eye on things.

The civilians who had fled Beirut in the early days of the war, when the attacks were focused on the capital took refuge in this region, not realizing the strategic importance of the place.   Once the mortar attacks reached their new homes, they had to move again. Where would they go this time?   Out of Lebanon or deeper into the mountain?

Why clear out when you can simply brush aside the annoying traces of the past?   Brand new villas are built next to former battle grounds with no one objecting to these curious associations.   Everything is left just as it is. People live next to empty waste lands and odd fields still noisy with the traces of propaganda slogans.   A flag, drawn as if rippling in the wind is lightly crossed out by a green marker yet its symbolism is in no way impaired.   This is how the country operates. Everything is simply brushed aside, assigned to the mental margins, though not the urban margins. A country full of traces. One can ignore them, but if asked, he can point to the empty buildings, filled with the strata of successive inhabitants.