In prison, she was Mama; for Karam, the whole world.

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. Reaching the cemeteries on the foothill of Kfarfalous, she would yell for her grandmother. Knowing that no one would hear her, her voice kept her company.

The next morning, her father would show up on a donkey and ask about her whereabouts. Picking a fresh willow-like branch, he would whip her little butt, put her on the animal, and walk back. She reached home exhausted to be welcomed by her mother, who would scold her and give her another fresh whipping before going to bed.

She loved her childhood.

“Today, children are ill-behaved because they didn’t get a spanking every now and then.”

She’s the eldest among two girls and one boy; she is 72 now, and this story starts 65 years ago.

She was born when the current Republic of Lebanon turned 5.

An earthquake welcomes them to Beirut

Sometime in 1955, her dad found a job in Beirut and relocated. The apartment they took was in the Armenian neighborhood of Burj Hammoud. On March 16, 1956, at 9:32 pm, an earthquake hit southern Lebanon with repercussions in Beirut and further north. They must have run out of the house for safety. Eight-year-old Helene remembers clinging to her four-year-old brother’s hand and looking for her mother, who was carrying her baby sister.

The panic drove people towards the town square to try and find their loved ones. For two days, they stayed on the streets; she would see people eating and ask them for food. Everyone helped. The church priest would make regular announcements to try to reunite families. Neither the kids nor their mom understood Armenian. On the third day, she walked with her brother to where their house was, in the crumbled neighborhood, and waited. When she eventually found her mother, they all cried. A wall had fallen on the dad; he was taken to the hospital and did not know where he was. He surfaced later.

Every time she drives in Burj Hammoud, she poses and gets a lump in her throat. The neighborhood is no more. It’s a highway now. Helene’s father got another apartment a few hundred meters north in the Dora area.

Living in and around the neighborhood

Helene would take her brother and watch Egyptian movies in Cinema Arax when they first moved to Beirut. She remembers kicking the rodents with her little feet as she watched. On good days, she’d venture beyond Cinema Arax to Cinema Rivoli for better conditions. Going to downtown Beirut was a straight shot by tramway. It was 5 piastres standing for kids and 10 for a seated trip. Her 5 piasters were hollowed and in a chain around her neck.

100 piasters = 1 Lira.

She still hid behind big men to try and save on the fare. She’d sometimes get cheese, mortadella, and other grocery items for her mom from Bab Idriss. On the way down, she’d hang on to the horse carriage.

Yes. Horse carriages and tramways coexisted in Beirut in the late 1950s.

At 10 years old, she would demonstrate with other adults on the streets of Beirut. They had Hanna El Haddad in custody. They chanted:

“ما مْنِهدا ومَا مِنكِنْ غَيرْ تَيِرجَعْ ابو الحِنْ”

She turned heads on Mar Maroun Street

She studied at a school run by Catholic nuns about a 5-minute walk from her house. An honor student straight through. At 13, she started tutoring Arabic, French, English, and Christian education at a school nearby.

When she turned 14, she raised her heels, groomed her lengthy hair, and looked gorgeous.

“Really. I used to turn heads.”

In the old days, if a boy liked your daughter, he would walk to your door and address your father: “I saw your daughter in so and so place, and I like her.” They would invite the young man in and check his intentions and family. Sometimes, marriage happens, and sometimes not.

“Every Sunday after church, 4–5 follow me home. If I tell you that I used to cause traffic jams in Dora by simply walking, you’d think I’m exaggerating. I’m not!”

Giggles! Long hair, well dressed, high heels, eyeliner, earrings, and colored shoes. How couldn’t she cause excitement in Dora?

“Now, I’m old, I can’t anymore.”

*Eyeliner, dark blue dress, earrings and heels. Still turning heads.*

To the village for a funeral

The earthquake destroyed some southern villages. Libaa was no exception. Her uncle died, and his family was living in a tent on their property. A funeral was to be held, and family members traveled from Beirut south. Since very few owned cars, taxis were the best means of transportation. Helene’s mom hailed a taxi to Saida. A brand new one they got.

Before heading east from the coast, they stopped in Saida to get coffee and other food for the people attending the funeral.

Unlike today, services were not outsourced. People served in their homes.

Helene and her brother sat in the back while the driver stayed in the car. He kept staring at her through the rearview mirror. This eight-year-old child felt disturbed.

Her mom’s cousin eloped

And went to the village to celebrate. Taxis again. As many as possible. Helene had turned 16. She saw the car with the tall, good-looking, green-eyed taxi driver.

“You know, I started noticing :-)”

She looked at her 24-year-old single aunt and said: “Let’s go with this one.” She did not remember him. He knew exactly who she was. Her aunt sat by the driver; she sat by the window. Karam, the driver, kept stealing glimpses of her.

At the wedding, Helene was the center of the party. She danced and Dabke’ed (traditional Lebanese dance)! All drivers left except for Karam. By midnight, Helene’s father told him that he should go. He slept in his car. He stayed for the wedding the next day and took them back to Beirut.

On the way, he inquired with Helene’s father about buying land there in their village. They decided to check things out the following Sunday. Helene had mid-year exams and was studying. For two weeks, Karam would pick her father up and go to scout out more land. Helene continued to study.

She laughed and giggled, telling this part of her story. I felt her coming even more alive. The memories brought back that intimate feeling of youth and playfulness that only she can relive. I saw that other brighter twinkle in her eyes.

He told her dad that he liked all the lots, but he had one specific request in mind. He wants Helene. “Why didn’t you say so earlier?” the father asked. Karam was shy. The father would ask his daughter.

It turned out that he decided to marry her the day her mom went down to buy coffee for the funeral. He would watch her at the start of every school year to get a glimpse of his future bride. He was 20, and she was 7. He decided to wait.

How did it end?

The dad came and told Helene. The aunt went ballistic as she was the one who wanted him. Helene told her dad to refer Karam to her aunt. “He wants you. I can’t tell him to take Souad!” the father said.

He told Karam that Helene wants to continue her studies, and she’s not thinking of marriage right now. Karam insisted on talking to her.

“Yes?”

“Why don’t you want me?”

“I am young at still at school.”

“I will wait for you.”

“I don’t want to get married.”

“There is a problem then.”

“You want me to leave school and marry a chauffeur?”

Ouch!

He kept quiet.

Helene and Karam

He eventually sold his car, opened a spare parts store, and did well. She had many advances after that, including a millionaire from Venezuela. She applied to become a flight attendant with Middle East Airlines. The director was so impressed that he offered her to run the VIP lounge. None of that passed with the family. Helene’s grandfather liked Karam. She argued with him but ended with a strong recommendation to make the union. Grandpa gave her 10,000 Liras [in 1963]. 1,200 Liras went to order the bedroom that is still in service. The wedding cost around 1,000 Liras, and so much money was left over.

“Karam treated me like a queen. All my life. Until the day he died.”

Time flew. They had four children and 12 grandchildren. She loved and respected him. He supported her at all times. When he got sick, she would spend the whole month with him at the hospital, not to leave except with him. Nine months they spent in and out of hospitals. He passed away 18 years ago. She continued alone.

*Karam never got to see all his grandchildren*

Mama and the prisoner stories

After Karam’s passing, Helene’s health caught up with her. Stress did, too. One day, her friend from Family Care came over and asked her to come along and see what their non-profit was doing with incarcerated people. She ended up volunteering for 7 years.

She conducted workshops for them to create artisanal products. She organized the first exhibition of the kind of prison products. She sold it for them, and they sometimes got three times the price they asked for.

One man’s hard work on a cover for the Holy Kuran with intricate beads brought him what is worth a fortune. Another prisoner worked hard and saved enough money to buy a tuk-tuk he used when he got out. Others used their sales to buy heating fuel for their families and books for their daughters. She helped domestic workers, Mohamad, the Iraqi, the 27 Bangladeshis, and the helper whose fiancee came from Sweden to pick her up. Helene liaised between embassies and the Lebanese authorities.

Her twice-a-week visits that started in her early 50s changed her life yet another time. She saw things from another angle, learned about people, and gained more confidence to deal with life. In the prison system, everyone called her Mama.

Helping people in trouble helped her.

Today

Helene is keeping busy with her 12 grandchildren. She visits with her extended family in North Carolina every other year. She has written stories about the people she met in the prison system.

“I’d like to publish a book one day.”

This mother of the mother with no name who’s the mother of the girl who likes the orange gummy bears is still as beautiful as when she ran barefoot from Libaa to Kfarfalous.

*Helene.* *Mother with no name. the* *girl with orange gummy bears*.

She had a tall black coffee then said: ”Is this considered small?”

Helene southern girl