It was a warm day. I looked up from my laptop screen to a tattoo. A barely legible one from where I was sitting and from where she was standing. Her back to me, picking up her drink. Something drew me to her. I squinted at the darn thing. Too far to read. It was too quick of an encounter for me to react.
To my left, she sat slightly shifted, looking out. Occasionally sipping from a cold drink, her virtual team meeting on her screen was engaging. This woman was so loud that I had no choice but to listen. Obnoxious, I thought! The volume of her towering voice owned the store.
She's straightforward, transparent, vulnerable, and titanium-strong. Holding her coffee in both hands, she told me that no matter how difficult your life turns out to be, you have a choice. You can break down or consider what happens to you as a blessing.
It was a hot day. Noonish. 30+ Celcius. Muggy. An authentic Beirut summer day. If you’ve been, you know what I’m talking about. I’ll attempt to describe this 2021 special blend.
He carries and has carried many titles. As for many of my friends and me, he's simply Fr. Paul to us. I spent an hour with him in this historic office suite in Bkerke. He wanted to dedicate our time to the issue closest to his heart — education.
Hold the coffee. Meeting Nancy was over steak and sauteed vegetables. As we prepared lunch, two Martinis, an intriguing discussion, and air-conditioning, we were isolated from the 42 degrees in Doha.
I was visiting with his parents in Doha. His dad called him to greet me. Ray appeared Slender and tall, shook my hand, said hello, and quickly turned back to attend to whatever he was doing. The parents and I visited. One conversation led to another and another. I wanted to say hello to Ray one more time.
Ah! Her laugh. I can still hear its reverberations. Contagious. Starts deep from the guts and blasts out to a high-pitched giggle. The 6-second roar detoxes your spirit like a 60-minute massage relaxes your body. Happy, clean, pure, and joyful!
Three children buzzing in that suburban house. Each has their own needs, quirks, and wants. And when do they want it? Now. Mamabear is a master juggler. She's a zen master, fearless in her moves, caring, giving, knowing, and elegantly sloppy. At 29, Jeanine surfs life with zest, faith, and laughs.
They lived alongside this one traditional family whose customs were like the Lebanese villagers of a century ago. The man woke up at dawn, carried his steel pick, and walked down to the valley to work his orchards at the river bank.
A ball of fire. A bull at work. A big teddy bear at home. I met him through a common friend in Baskinta — a beautiful village in Mount Lebanon. Anthony encouraged me to have a coffee with the man. Fady has a story. A few weeks later, we met at Starbucks.
She’s clear-headed, in a good place, and grateful. An hour of intense conversation about the people who left an imprint in her life. The ones who helped her be what she is today. “I’m here because of them. It all started with us eight.”
I met her a day before her birthday (A gentleman never forgets a lady’s birthday but always forgets her age). She loves Aquarians. That’s me. She’s happy, grateful, thankful, and full of empathy towards other people. She is spiritual and works on her inner harmony.
When my usual conversations with him cover technology, entrepreneurship, and politics, this one took us to a different level altogether. He roared with laughter when teasingly I asked him: “Why don’t you just give up on Lebanon?”
As journalists, they met many people and witnessed firsthand the industry's technological and financial fluctuations. Unfortunately, they see a decline in moral, ethical, and political standards. People in charge today don't have the same fabric as the statesmen they knew.
The 13-year-old boy would spend all his savings buying 33 and 45-rpm records. As a kid, he loved radio and Western music. At 16, with a voice that hadn't matured yet, he presented a program in French on the once-top radio station — Magic 102 FM.
She wasn't sure what to talk about, and I didn't know what to expect from our conversation. Once she warmed up, the words rolled out from within — logical, emotional, clear, and intense.
I sat with Yusuf at the Starbucks on the Corniche by the American University of Beirut. A walk away from his office at the Olayan School of Business. He would frequently refer to his father in our talk, who passed away a couple of weeks prior. From his mentions and non-verbal cues, I could tell he loved and admired him.
The clarity of where home is for him and not leaving home is his driving force. He understands other people, but for him, immigrating is not on the table. He doesn't question how happy or not he'd be if he left. He decided to make home a better place for himself, his family, and everyone else.
She raised one daughter in an apartment on the west side of the Lebanese Green Line. During the civil strife, leftist militias did as much action in their building as they did in the neighborhood. She was a rebel and an activist, yet she still managed to be the conservative mother she was supposed to play.
She's bubbly, sharp, energetic, and self-aware. She knows what she knows and knows what she doesn't know. Mental health is her thing. Coffee is not. Yet, she indulged me with a chat around a coffee table and got straight to it.
I met her once on April 13, 2011, for a project. Social media suggested her posts as of a year or so ago. A mutual friend got us back together. We met at 7 a.m. at Starbucks in downtown Beirut on a beautiful Saturday morning.
I called him to North Carolina. We chatted for over an hour. It's a long way from our Starbucks conversations 4+ years ago in London. The foggy city got us together, time made us grow fonder, and the distance became insignificant with technology.
I read his material, watch his videos, and saw him on TV, but this was the first time I sat with him and had a one-on-one conversation. Jihad has an unpretentious wealth of knowledge and is humble yet very opinionated about who the youth are and what they should be doing.
This was probably the third or fourth time I saw her come in, pick up her drink, and walk out. Always loud. She is always colorful by what she wears and by the color of her hair. I’ve witnessed black, red, silver, long, short, and a lot in between. And that’s only in about 3 months.
On a hot summer day in a village in Northern Lebanon, Fouad packed his suitcase and kissed his mother and siblings goodbye. His father was waiting in the taxi to take them to the airport. This usually one-hour ride took four.
Petite, pleasant, strong-willed, and full of energy. The youngest of three sisters who decided to have an identical tattoo on their chests’ right side. Forever sisters. Per sempre Sorelle it says. She likes what it means, what it stands for, and the beauty of its calligraphy.
Her passion lies in permaculture, a design system that mimics the patterns in nature to create diverse and balanced productive ecosystems. She was a biology teacher with a love for the environment and everything related to plants and ecology that started in Horsh Ehden.
Even in war, good things happen. Elise very rarely visited her hometown of Becharre. In July 2006, her parents fled Beirut to their village in North Lebanon for the remainder of that summer. Being there was safer and farther from the Israeli-Hezbollah war.
On a hot summer day in 1952 in the Libaa South East Saida village, a four-year-old girl would leave home barefoot, as she always was, to visit with her grandmother. Walking through the woods and orchards for two hours to the next village, she would depend on the water springs for reference.
She never got to high school. By ninth grade, she was out. Effectively, her education was disrupted from the sixth grade due to war and other factors. She remembers that she quit schooling when she started learning English. In Lebanon, it’s usually by sixth grade.
Starbucks was empty. We took one out of the only three tables available due to social distancing. A meter apart across from a coffee table, masks on/off, we visited for a good hour and a half.
She’s a person of extremes. She did not like school and had a problem with figures of authority, be it work-related, political, or religious. She can’t be an employee. She enjoyed cheating at school for the fun of it — copied from students and allowed students to copy from her. An outlaw.
Two people serve one meaningful purpose. Denise, Muriel, and their Zyara [visit in Arabic]. They get invited to other people’s lives and get entrusted with their stories to document and share. Their story-telling invites hope and waken inspiration.
Abouna (Fr.) Tony is a brand name kneaded with love over five decades. He brings out the good in you. A master listener. Generous with his time and resources. A youth dynamo, team player, and team builder. Obedient to his church, a servant leader, and an inspiration by example.
I had seen him with a dog a few times. He’d grab a coffee, take a table on the outside terrace overlooking Beirut, and read. What brings this European-looking biker to Lebanon? These days, and to this Starbucks in particular? What’s his story? I was intrigued.
Osta became Costa after half his family moved to the US. His dad’s cousins are the Costantine’s (sometimes spelled Constantine). The Osta’s are originally from Maghdousheh (مغدوشة) near Sidon, Lebanon.
She is multi-talented. Sports were big with her. She loves the outdoors and being in the scouting movement. Music plays a big part in her life. She uses the written word to express herself. The visual arts, however, are something else. It’s the closest to her self-expression.
His life as an adult has challenged him four times over. Born and raised in Amman, where life was not nearly as complicated as it is today. Everybody came from the same culture and spoke the same language. His values came from his family, his house, and his tribe. He grew up not thinking as an individual but as part of a collective.
She fell in love and got married against her parents’ will. He wasn’t Lebanese. Foreigners divorce quickly, her parents thought. They resisted but eventually accepted. He was 27, and she was 21. Foolishly in love, they married to be with each other. Five years later, they had their first child, Jazz, and Sky came 3 years later.
Teaching is something she might like. If so, she would prefer teaching to an older student audience. At the university level, it would be perfect. Her personality isn’t right for disciplining — sit, stand up, and go out.
I had just finished a meeting that ended about an hour before Iftar. Taxis were scarce. So were Ubers; within 20 mins, three of them canceled on me as I stood baking in the sun. Then, AbdulRahman, my fourth attempt, messaged me in Arabic to say he was on his way. A while later, ...