lebanon#10: fatherless

we visited the home of hope orphanage in beirut today.

based on the outskirts of the city. on a hill. overlooking the city all the way to the mediterranean. stunning location.

here lived anywhere between 20 to 170 children that have been referred onto the centre. the children (defined as between 3 to 18 year olds) have been found on the streets, been know to cause troubles. many are half syrian and are a testimony to the impact of the occupation.

the word "orphanage" is not one that those working in these community and social programmes like to use. instead this is called a "home".

the children have anywhere up to 2 years in this place before they are moved on. this place aims to give heathcare, education and love whilst within their care.

i've been to a number of "homes", like these, in my time. some have been horrific others breaming with hope.

we just spent over an hour speaking with the founder. he's certainly a passionate character.

as we moved down we interrupted lunch hour. 30-40 kids having lunch. they were wearing similar clothes and munching on their grub.

naturally they were curious with the visitors. i talked to two lads, who were trying to talk english to me, and very well i might add. they wanted me to laugh with them and i naturally talk about liverpool fc. the international language of football. it doesn't work, but i do notice that one of them was sitting on a stash of recorded dvds. so we look through them, laugh at the pictures, find out which one they like best. the ice was broken.

before long they wanted to fight me. playfully of course. we settle for an arm wrestle (i spend a long time to try and avoid fighting and getting my boys to not do so)... but boys they are.

a few other lads comes over. one thrusts two stones in my hands and gets me to hold them together and then does an array of circles around my hands with some other stones and before i know it my hands are, by magic, stuck together. we laugh. we smile. we leave.

my heart drops as we walk away.

i've been to many "orphanages", never once have i walked away unaffected.

Lebanon #8: Every tattoo tells a story

1.
I notice that one of our drivers has a tattoo on his arm. At lunch I asked him about it. Problem number one- he doesn’t understand a word of English. Thankfully, my host, Dennis, fluent in Arabic, was near by to lend his services.

It’s a dragon tattoo. Pretty cool.

On his other arm was another a tattoo: this was of a heart with a dagger through it. I asked him about it, via Dennis. He tells me it is of troubled love. I asked was it about him. No... not him. He goes on to mention his girlfriend. Her father will not let them be together. You see he is a driver and this is a dangerous job.

The father is a well educated man and even a man within education. He should know better. Even the mother has not condoned their relationship.

The daughter has lamented and vented at her parents. She once starved herself and locked herself in her room for several weeks. They only could speak to her via her widow. She has even stated that she would prefer death than be without him. Real Romeo & Juliet stuff.

Currently the father has said that he will decide in 2 months what the outcome will be... whether he will grant his blessing or not. The two months will be up in January.

I asked him to let me know the outcome.

Lebanon #7: Conservation Work

I once heard Sir Ghillean Prance, visionary for Kew Gardens and the Eden Project, speak. I remember how I was moved by his words. Somehow I mentioned it to a friend and I somehow got enrolled into an Eco scheme.

It was eye opening.

Now here I am in Lebanon, listening to a man called Chris Naylor speak about the hopes to get Lebanon thinking about conservation and bringing the people in touch with their environment. It is somewhat odd in a country where there seems to be little hope that people would take pride in their land.

After hearing him speak it was like going back and showing the people that they have a rich legacy. One too be proud off, not just because of its political value, but of the natural or environmental value. That it allows a place of resting for migrating birds, that many can walk around and see the hills around a place that can be restored. I was impressed.

Lebanon #6.5: Baalbeck

1.AA temple that is truly wonderous in this biblelands territory and persevered well over the centuries.

It’s like stepping onto the set of Jason and the Argonauts. Sword in one hand waiting for the legion of skeletons about to arise from the ground.

Lebanon #5: Inside a Palestinian Refugee Camp

In 1948 the Palestinians fled their region due to the Arab-Israeli war. Hundreds of thousands of people were forced out. Many went north over the boarder into Lebanon. The hope was, that someday they would return home.

It is now 60 years later. Over 395,000 refugees are living in Lebanon and still waiting to go home.

Over 10,000 refugees live in Al Bass refugee camp in Tyre. It is a condensed camp. Interestingly built around a hospital. The Lebanese soldiers do not go in. They hover, instead, around the entrances at their checkpoints. Around the edges are high houses with barbed wire around them.

I am told the reason is that there is supposed to be no commercial or building activity to go on from within the camp. This is clearly not the case.

We went in. I was, naturally, nervous.

Inside there were narrow lanes, a few vending shops nearby. The roads inside were remarkably well kept. The houses meagre, yet homely. There were young guys on their motor bikes. A school. A brand new PLO centre (new building materials are not, by any means, allowed inside!) Students on the sides of the roads shouting hello. This camp was... it was very pleasant. The atmosphere was quite peaceful. We saw mechanics at work, kids smiling and even a small electric vendor with some IT equipment. This was not what I was expecting.

80% unemployment. But my guide tells me that the 20% that do work ensure that they feed their families, their friends and beyond.

The two Palestinians that meet me sit down and start to speak speak. They share that all they would like is for the recognition of their human rights and would like... to go home.

Lebanon #4: tinker, tailor, soldier, spy

Just had lunch next to the spice souq (market) in Tyre, Lebanon.

As we were sitting eating our falafel a man with a moustache, comes and sits on the table behind us. As Jerry gets up and takes a photo of us, he moves away. After the photo op is over he sits back down behind us again.

Later Jon mentions that it was highly likely that he is from the secret police listening into our conversations.

Lebanon#3: Muslim Women

Muslim women are great fun.

Or perhaps I should rephrase, in my experience of muslim women, they are great fun. At the our hosts house yesterday I was really struck by the fact that it was the women who were taking over. Once the welcoming and traditional honouring of guests with teas and drinks came we settled into a great bustle of jokes, laughing and talking that was all from the women.

It maybe that one of our party was a chiropractor and had treated a lady for her bad back. But it was the mother who was babbling away with wonderful animation and humour. Her daughters who were leading the chats and sub points and her grand daughters who were making any attempts to speak in English to us.

Simply put, the ladies of this muslim household were great fun :)

Lebanon #2: Bananas, Terrorists and Roberto Carlos look alikes

I am in Lebanon as I type this. I am here to be “exposed” to business ventures that are seeking to aligning themselves with development priorities (job creation, social justice, transportation, health, education etc.).

After attending one of their conferences I was convicted that I needed some field experience and here I am in the southern town of Tyre.

My goal here is simple: observe.

Lebanon, in 2006, was invaded by neighbour Israel. After 34 day assault and bloody battles, embarrassment, thousands killed, the Israelis retreated. The devastation that they left were not just physical, but also financial, political and economical.

In disasters there are what is known as the 3R stages: Rescue, Relief and Recovery phases. The first two stages are concerned with the first few months. The Recovery phase is about rebuilding towns, villages, infrastructure and stability. This last stage is often not seen as disaster work, but it is perhaps, arguably, the most important. I wont go into vast details, but to illustrate this phase: there’s no point rebuilding a school when a hurricane has taken the roof off only for it to happen again. It would be better to rebuild to prepare for such eventualities.

I’m here visiting an NGO called MRDS that are seeking to operate in these manners. I wanted to find out how recovery projects/efforts actually form and speak to the practioners and the businessmen that are seeking to rebuild.

Today I visited a Banana Plantation grower, his business has suffered. Not only has his product decreased in value by 50%, his overheads have gone up exponentially, and he have a distinct lack of opportunity as the government are only allowing him to sell his goods to Syria and with limited selling capacity in Lebanon itself.

We went round his plantation. We went round his house that he built himself talked politics and we even we went round his brother’s house whose son had just got engaged to celebrate.

Some delicious Lebanese sweets were brought to us (simply divine in taste). We laughed and I even got likened to Roberto Carlos. I opted against retorting about his legendary banana kick technique to the banana farmer.

This was supposed to be the dangerous south. Where the people are terrorists. Instead all I see are people trying to make a living.

Here I was in a muslim man’s brother’s house who supports a supposedly terrorist group, yet has named his son, Isa (meaning Jesus), has pictures of his dead family that were killed in war by Israel and looking for ways to make his business work. I certainly feel some of my muslim preconceptions being challenged.

Lebanon #1: Lebanese Sweets

Lebanese sweets never really registered with me. They look rich, probably too rich and a bit odd in appearance for my liking. You see I’ve been brought up on Indian sweets and I have often found them incredibly rich and a bit too much for my palette. This is not to say that I don’t like them, but rather I do have to be in a state of preparedness to eat them.

So here I am in Lebanon, in Tyre to be precise, feasting my eyes on piles of assorted yummies. Pastry: check. Nuts: check. Syrup: check. Am I salivating: check.

Whilst we didn’t buy any of these I had heard several descriptions about the sensual explosions and bringer of delight that these small foods have brought about... as a result I quickly revised my opinion: I need to consume one, some, or perhaps, maybe many of these sweets very soon. Did I mention the salivating?

#12: Global Crisis

It’s pretty hard to escape the “global financial crisis” that is going on. Every day I’m reading about the whether the markets are recovering about rescue packages and speculation over the future.

I don’t really understand the finer details, but recognise that the world is on tenterhooks.

There is a part of me that hopes the world will change and not simply aim to restore itself to the world we are used to. That each country can reclaim, relearn and redeem its ability and desire to sustain itself whilst recognising that the world is interconnected and that its sustainability is entwined with this process.

I guess it’s having a dual citizenship: one to the planet and one to your host country.

I don’t know how sound this is economically, financially or even conceivably, but it seems to make sense in my little brain to do so.

I continually hear about sustainability and one planet mentality being espoused. But it seems to be more aspirational rather than achievable.

I just see a window for the world for change in my lifetime.

#10: Ray Avenell

I want to tell of someone who has actually been somewhat an angel in disguise.

I first heard of Ray Avenell in 2004, when in a meeting with Blythswood Care. They said I should meet with him to discuss how to raise support for GH.

Over the years Ray has humbly offered his help to fund, gather support and be a buddy to GH. He’s given me gifts for the children. Gifts for our house and always been there giving.

He’s now out here with us in Hong Kong on a fact finding mission to see how he can help more.

It was his words that prompted the Kent Police to give us a property to use (another entry on this is coming).

I am in awe of such a kind hearted, giving person. Blythswood really have a reputation of spawning humble and powerful advocates.

Not only that, but Caleb adores him :)

#9: Respite

Respite comes in various forms. Ours was time to stroll down to the beach, to be child free, to enjoy a beer and talk through the many lows and few highs of the day.

By the end of the few hours we got. We were smiling and recharged.

#8: the wedding

today we won the worst parents in the world award.

I am glad that today is over. I am glad that as I type this the kids are asleep and everyone is partying. I am glad too that we can cower away in the refuge of this lovely apartment.

Today was the wedding day. A day centered around Steve & KT. Man did they and all the party look great and it was a beautiful day filled with celebration and joy.

We, however, got to see and take part in very little of it. You know those times when you’re out and you see howling children and parents losing it with their kids. The families that are always telling their children off. The families that you try to make conscious, or subconscious efforts, to avoid. Well that was us.

We could feel every stare and heard every word of sympathy as a painful stab into our souls as we hung our, inward, heads in shame.

I can’t really put my finger on what it was that happened. Yes it could be the little sleep they had after a really exciting day yesterday. Yes it could be the extreme waiting (1 hour for the bride to turn up) that weddings hold. Yes it could be that some stood on Caleb. Or even yes it could be the fact that we were at the mercy of transportation held for us and the lack of a quick getaway. But I rather think it was our inability to cope with the situation.

Ground open up and swallow us now.

#7: A Garage Story

Sometimes there are points when you simply have to smile and say “Thank You!”

Today was one of those times.

Not only did we get to go to Hong Kong Disneyland, we also managed to have a prayer answered.

A man & a little boy, who we don’t even know the names of have just delivered a garage with a set of cars at our apartment.

We don’t know them let alone know that they had this beautiful toy set.

But they dropped it off with the simple words “we thought your boys would like to play with this. Enjoy.”

As they left Angie was there with a glisten in her eyes and a huge smile. She later disclosed that the other day she had said a quiet prayer that the boys could have something to play with. In particular she had requested specifically whether this could be a garage and some cars.

Thank you. :)

#4: HK Humidity

Dang, it’s hot here.

If I were saying this back in Tunbridge Wells I would be telling myself to count my blessings as I would be yearning to escape the rain, cold and wet.

Yet here I am avoiding the sun.

#3: Jet Lag

What time is it?

Must have asked myself this a hundred times in the few hours that I’ve been here.

I don’t know if it’s the mental arithmetic that you have to do in your head, the constant working out of which way to add or subtract the hour difference, or even just the curiosity to know what you would be doing at an equivalent time back home. But from a man whose life seems to be governed by the big and little hands of our forth dimensional friend I find myself grappling with this question.

But seriously, what time is it?

#2: A blissful moment

So here I am on the beach with my wonderful family enjoying the view, the sand, the sun, the sea and the beach.

You can eve see the planes coming into land… it looks and feels all good.

(i'll be attaching a photo once i get my shots onto the camera- watch this space)

#1: Up, up in the sky

After getting to the airport, finding the parking lot, transfer to airport whilst admiring the overpassing planes, eventually getting to the counter it transpired that joshie didn’t have a ticket. A small oversight. I’m so pleased that we agonised over the decision where to place joshie and whether to get a seat or not or how to transport him, the wait the ten minute wait (twice) to speak to an operator in the airline to enquire about traveling with kids to check how to fit him in a bassinet and the actual booking of one after carefully calculating his weight eventuated in a chap saying to me: “oh, he’s not got a ticket”

We got our boarding tickets eventually and an unexpected, but welcomingly, we met another wedding guest, Stevie, a groomsman, en route to honkers.

Caleb & Joshie had been loving the airport. It was all new and constant wonders for them to gaze at- buggies, luggage trolleys, conveyor belts, escalators, neon and people.

Once into the departure lounge we met on-duty Jonny. Had a quick cuppa. Caleb kindly spilt his smoothie over Jonny’s jacket. He fought the law…

On the plane, we were let on first due to the kids and then the awe came back. But as did the urge to run around. By this time they were both shattered. I thought this is it. My nightmare is about to come true: two over tired kids, an eleven hour full flight and the eyes of an entire plane pressing upon you. The prospects were not good.

Joshie didn’t like being strapped in at all. Arching his back. Crying. But it didn’t last.

Caleb, once we were airbourne was fidgeting and felt like a caged animal. But it didn’t last.

After the meal Joshie fell asleep. For Caleb it took a little longer. Principally cause he couldn’t get comfy. I don’t blame him.

The one thing that struck me was: this plane is actually really noisy. It was the engines. When the kids did cry. Yeah you could hear them, but only just and those who were not plugged into their entertainment systems probably didn’t hear a thing.

Caleb got 6 hours and Joshie 5.5 hours kip and the coming down was without incident. The only drama was the coordinating their meals and our meals- which was simple: they eat and then when they’re done we get our bite after.

We arrive in Hong Kong and after all that worry we both sigh with relief and are utterly thankful that we are here and through phase 2.

Oh and Joshie turned 1 today… gosh, this time last year we were… wow :)

nervous

today's the day we fly.

i've done this before. angie has done this before. caleb has even done this before.

but we've never done this before: 12 hours on a plane crossing 8 hours of time zones, attempt the already difficult task of sleeping in the flying bird with little ones, taking joshie on a plane, fly as a family, all this and more.

nervous? ... very.

there's is comfort from the fact that we're not the first to do this. there is comfort from the tips that we have read. there is even comfort from the prayers promised to us.

whilst i am really excited about hong kong, the fun, the wedding and work... did i mention that i'm nervous?

marriage course: forgiveness

angie & i have recently been doing the marriage course.

it came about after we were invited to go on it and one of our good friends, just recently completed their course jumped in and said how amazing it was and even offered to baby sit.

we, after some time, said why not. it would be great to spend some evenings looking at marriage, our marriage and talking to one another. it certainly would be good to get some time out.

usually get a little skeptic about these "help" type groups and went in thinking yeah this will just be a dos as we've got it sorted.

we're in week 4 and already we're discovering some hard truths about issues that we've left latent.

last night we were hearing about the power of forgiveness in your relationship. how it is not a feeling, about justice or even a right. rather it is a choice and act of will. also we were reminded that it is costly act and one that isn't a simply just a cure or instant remedy.

what i did hear was that whilst it is not a cure, it is a place for where rebuilding and recovery can start and a place where letting go of hurt can happen.

the lady, Sue B, who leads on this course shared this phenomenal reading of a holocaust victim meeting with one of her former tormentors in a church and is faced with a choice of forgiveness or holding onto her hatred that has defined her for so long:

It was in a church in Munich where I was speaking in 1947 that I saw him--a balding heavyset man in a gray overcoat, a brown felt hat clutched between his hands. One moment I saw the overcoat and the brown hat, the next, a blue uniform and a visored cap with its skull and crossbones.

Memories of the concentration camp came back with a rush: the huge room with its harsh overhead lights, the pathetic pile of dresses and shoes in the center of the floor, the shame of walking naked past this man. I could see my sister's frail form ahead of me, ribs sharp beneath the parchment of skin.

Betsie and I had been arrested for concealing Jews in our home during the Nazi occupation of Holland. This man had been a guard at Ravensbruck concentration camp where we were sent.

Now he was in front of me, hand thrust out: "A fine message, fraulein! How good it is to know that, as you say, all our sins are at the bottom of the sea!"

It was the first time since my release that I had been face to face with one of my captors and my blood seemed to freeze.

"You mentioned Ravensbruck in your talk," he was saying. "I was a guard there. But since that time," he went on, "I have become a Christian. I know that God has forgiven me for the cruel things I did there, but I would like to hear it from your lips as well. Fraulein--" again the hand came out--"will you forgive me?"

And I stood there--and could not. Betsie had died in that place--could he erase her slow terrible death simply for the asking?

It could not have been many seconds that he stood there, hand held out, but to me it seemed hours as I wrestled with the most difficult thing I had ever had to do.

For I had to do it--I knew that. The message that God forgives has a prior condition: that we forgive those who have injured us. "If you do not forgive men their trespasses," Jesus says, "neither will your Father in Heaven forgive your trespasses."

Still I stood there with the coldness clutching my heart. But forgiveness is an act of the will, and the will can function regardless of the temperature of the heart. "Jesus, help me!" I prayed silently. "I can lift my hand. I can do that much. You supply the feeling."

And so woodenly, mechanically, I thrust my hand into the one stretched out to me. And as I did, an incredible thing took place. The current started in my shoulder, raced down my arm, sprang into our joined hands. And then this healing warmth seemed to flood my whole being, bringing tears to my eyes.

"I forgive you, brother!" I cried. "With all my heart!"

For a long moment we grasped each other's hands, the former guard and former prisoner. I had never known God's love so intensely as I did then.