Nidal Moustafa Sheawi El Amarin, a 44-year-old Syrian, emigrated 17 years ago to work and take care of villa Sinjaba, a private property in Lebanon’s mountain area, Bhamdoun. Abou Nidal passed down the concierge and farmer position to his son. Ever since 2003, Nidal has been faithful to Bhamdoun, only visiting Beirut every 3 months to finish his paperwork. “Stick to where your livelihood lies,” he believes.
It is winter in icy Bhamdoun, located in Mount Lebanon, at 3,770 feet. The sky is cloudy white. Trees stand tall but naked, with their branches bare. One pathway to the villa is surrounded by gardening grounds to the left and right. A deep green, small shrubs and little white flowers grow on them. Nidal points out a twiggy mloukhieh shrub; he doesn’t farm vegetables and fruits during this time of the year as the weather can be harsh and offer unprecedented difficulties. Nidal exclaims: “I didn’t expect the wind to last for almost 4 days now. It is so chaotic. In my 17 years here, I’ve never witnessed a windstorm so aggressive. It pulled out bricks that were screwed down. The water tank fell, glass and lights broke, the satellite dishes flew away, even the electricity cables were cut and the power was out after for a few days.”
When the farming land is not ready for Nidal yet, he watches over and renovates the villa and two more buildings in Bhamdoun. He is a busy man; in 40 minutes, he received 3 calls requiring his help. He knows most of the people around Bhamdoun, like the supermarket owners and the neighbors. A reserved man; he doesn’t have any Lebanese friends: “I don’t know any Lebanese from my generation that would hang out with me. Because he [the Lebanese] would be working during the day, but I would be gardening. I’d only briefly greet the passersby on the street.”
“Life in Syria is much cheaper than life here in Lebanon, which is why it’s easier for me to send them [his family] money to continue their lives there.” In Lebanon, the economic instability is affecting different demographics, making it harder to purchase everyday necessities. Nidal scratches his head: “Every day the prices change in the supermarket, today purchasing water is for 4thou, tomorrow it’s for 6. The merchants start complaining about the increase of the dollar price and whatnot. But before, the prices were more stable.”
This year, burglars tried to enter the villa but were alarmed by the presence of Nidal and the other concierge, Ahmad. Nidal stresses: “The thieves were Lebanese. They cursed and threatened us when they found out that we are Syrians.” The thieves also attempted to assault other Syrian workers to vent out their frustrations. On the day of the burglary, another Syrian concierge called Nidal at 3 am and warned him to close the entrance doors of the villa. An article on Alaraby.co.uk from June 2019 reads: “As Lebanon’s economy falls increasingly into the gutter following decades of stop-gap measures, the foreign minister and the rest of the Lebanese government have been pointing fingers at Syrian refugees’ for the past seven years.” Nidal is aware of the rooted racism and discrimination that had been circulating Lebanon since the breakout of the war.
A 27-year-old, Nidal came to Lebanon on a warranty that is renewed every year. He recalls: “When I first arrived [to Lebanon], I didn’t find any cultural differences between here and Syria. They were like one country. Even life standards were much better; Syrians used to be treated with more respect. They used to be admired and wanted in the job market, working alongside the Lebanese. Now, it is said that the Syrian is eating up the fortune of the
Lebanese.” Nidal sits in the middle of his living room where there are no couches, just pillows placed on the ground and mattresses around a small chimney, otherwise known as Majles, an Arab styled seating.
Nidal’s family was in Syria when the Ahdath [war] started in 2011. He stutters: “when the Mashakel [problems] happened in Syria, I called them to come to Lebanon. Before there weren’t any kafala [warranties] given out. Whoever came to the border, they’d let him in.” He didn’t try going back to Syria ever since the war broke out. He doesn’t remember his last visit, but people tell him everything changed. People say the buildings, lands, and even them, themselves changed. He says war is not easy and of course it has its impact. He misses his house, village, and neighbors.
Hajar (15), Hanine (14), Hanan (10), and Hamza (12) are the names of his children. They lived with Nidal for 9 years before going back to Syria to continue their education. “It was difficult for my children to move from one school to the other. Of course, they faced souubat [difficulties] such as having to part from the friends they made. But they eventually acclimated,” confesses Nidal. His children moved through around 3 schools in Lebanon: “Falougha, Sharoun and Shanay.” In the morning, the first two schools were only for Lebanese students, with a different curriculum and way of operating. In the evening, the schools were open to teach Syrian refugees. However, the third was built specifically for them. Nidal is content with the path he paved for his children: “I’ve grown old but I’m hopeful for the future of my children. I think their education is their weapon. I’ve followed the steps of my father; whatever I was capable of giving, I provided.” Sometimes when his children visit, he takes them out to explore Beirut’s Rawche, or shop in Rihab, or visit the amusement park in Aley.
Small birds chirp in the back of his house. They live in colored cages with thin bars ranging from yellow to red and green, mimicking the colors of the apples Nidal grows in the summer. Last month in February, he trimmed the trees and sprayed them with preservatives so they could last till needed. The trees start leafing in April onwards. In June, he brings in the gardening tools like the chopper that would help him turn the soil over. Then the soil soaks up the sun for about a week. Every 15 days, the trees are sprayed. Here his work starts: he buys seedlings and plants a variety of vegetables like tomatoes, peppers, eggplant, mloukhieh, and more. Armenian cucumbers require a land of their own because they can grow really big, so they occupy the one that is beside the parking lot of the villa. Any fruits that grow on trees are ones he plants. Apples can add up to fill 60 boxes. He grows juicy cherries, pears, and peaches and tests the quality of the fruit by picking one right off the tree and biting into it. Nidal says confidently: “If you care for your terbe [soil] it will give back to you.”
Nidal gets out of his house at 7 am and returns at 9 pm. This lasts four to five months during the summer. However, he is used to the hardship that comes with farming as it is a natural habit for him rather than a hobby. As a matter-of-factly, Nidal thinks: “No one is born straight out of their mother’s womb with knowledge on the matters of life, everything is learned and acquired by skill.” Since the softness of his hands, as a 10-year-old child, Nidal learned how to farm back in his Syrian village in Nawa, Daraa. He would go to the fields with his grandfather and learn from helping and watching him. Back then, there were no machines used on the ground. Everything was by hand. In his village, the people are well known for farming wheat and olives. His people own over 50,000 square meters of land, all used for farming. Here in Bhamdoun, Nidal deals with 5,000 square meters occasionally hiring someone from the market or accepting the helping hand of his family. “My wife, Yasmine, and cousins help me with planting when they can, but my children didn’t follow my footsteps. Our generation is different than theirs. Hamza only waters the trees, and even then, he’s distracted by the games on his phone.”
With his rough hands, he grabs onto the fruit he harvests yearly and distributes his hard work onto the occupants living in this villa, with a further reach, affecting and cultivating the lives of his family in Syria. Nidal trusts that water is the most important factor in planting, and thankfully he has an abundance of water resources available in Bhamdoun. He says: “where there’s water, there’s life.” He displays similar gratitude towards his life. Winter grows harsh sometimes for Nidal as he misses Eiyalo [his family]. But he is convinced that his job is a blessing and he wouldn’t trade it or get greedy over other life possibilities.
This article was written on March 21st of 2020.
Leave a Reply