When everything is falling around you
Education is a winning lifeline
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. In 1983, Lebanon was still in the middle of civil strife. The journey had you cross several checkpoints: the Lebanese Army, right-wing militias, leftists, and others in between.
At 18, Fouad was leaving everything he knew behind. He had his passport, I-20 documentation as a prospective student in the US, and all the courage he could muster for the new life. He was leaving at a time when communication with home was impossible. Roads were blocked, phones barely operated, no postal service, and no internet or cell phones.
At the airport, Fouad stood by his suitcase. After giving him the longest hug, his father stared into his eyes and…
“You will hear more killings, stories, and bad news. I might die; maybe your mom, too. Whatever happens, don’t let anything distract you from your goal. Nothing. Get the highest degree education can give you. If you don’t, don’t come back.”
Eight years back (1976–1982; 10–15 years of age)
In a hurry, Fouad’s family had to pack and flee their home in the village to Tripoli’s neighboring city. The war made them refugees in their own country. This period was pivotal in shaping him.
He grew up with very little. He grew up happy.
His father secured a loaned apartment for his family of seven children, the eldest son being 12. A few months later, when the landlord wanted his property back, the father and the boys roamed the city to secure another shelter. After days of searching, the proud son spotted an old, deserted house in a narrow alley of a poor, seedy neighborhood. They carried the little they owned, moved in, and made the rundown place a livable house. It became home for 5 years.
Photo by rashid khreiss on Unsplash
With no windows, they got a roll of nylon, cut to pieces to measure, and pinned them to the wooden frames. The made-shift windows cut down on winter winds, did not break during the occasional shelling on the neighborhood, and did not shatter from the pressure car bombings would exert. Spare nylon was always available.
The 7-meter high ceiling made it impossible to heat during the cold winters. While keeping many clothes on, one fire pit in the middle kept family members slightly warmer. The shower was in the corner of the kitchen. To take one, everyone left the kitchen. You heated water on the burner, mixed it with water in a bucket, and used a can to wash it up.
The boys were in charge of the drinking water. They created their own trolley from ball bearings they found in the neighborhood. They would roll the loud things in Tripoli’s narrow streets to reach the water source, fill the containers, and haul the water back home.
There was no piping in that house. His duties included emptying the dirty water buckets from underneath the makeshift kitchen sink and the washing basin.
Your shoes did not retire when they got torn. You went to the cobbler to change half or full soles once, twice, or three times. You fixed them. You taped them. You nailed them. They retired when your feet outgrew them. The shoe cobbler was your best friend. You visited him frequently. Not the expensive one on Tripoli’s Tal; rather, the one in that narrow alley in the old Souk behind the Grand Mansouri mosque. The one who got to know Fouad and his brother by name.
The Grand Mansouri Mosque in Tripoli, Lebanon
Fouad perfected his periodic visits to humanitarian organizations. For example, he knew when to stand in line to pick up his family’s care package at the Red Cross: Flour, rice, oil, canned food, bed sheets, blankets, etc. Once his main task was secured, he did the same for other families for a delivery fee. The ball-bearing trolley did wonders in Tripoli’s narrow streets, including delivering butane canisters and installing them for his clients.
It was a difficult environment. The boys had to keep a watch over the family, especially the four girls and mama. A gang had their questionable car spare parts operation right by the house's entrance.
On Sundays, his father would take the family for a long walk through the streets to later cross the orchards to reach Tripoli’s port — the Meena. They would all stand right where the Mediterranean waves crashed, looking southwest to eye their village 30 km away. For five years, they yearned for the day when they’d go back home again.
“We would say we are from there. This is our land. Over there is our legacy and our orchards. We would keep looking, dreaming, hoping until sunset.”
He told me that the best thing that can happen to a refugee is to go home.
Fouad didn’t know any different. How can you miss something you did not know? If anything, this forced experience developed in him grit and persistence. It shaped his character. He realizes now that he had very little. He thought how he lived was the norm. And yet, he was happy as his parents loved them all. Love was the force to continue.
Sitting in one of the fanciest Starbucks in Beirut, I asked Fouad: “Thank you for accepting to talk about your childhood, but why now?”
A picture triggered old memories
A picture of refugee kids carrying buckets of water triggered old memories for him. He felt them and very much related to them.
He gets exposed to and involved with refugee issues in his current professional position. They analyze on a macro level: trends, statistics, and more.
Being a refugee has broken so many people. It takes so much to overcome it, let alone rise above and self-fulfill as a human being. It is tough, if not impossible, to do it alone.
“These are people beyond statistics. I know because I was one of them. Each one is an individual, a human being. The pain lies in their daily details.”
Fouad was lucky. He had a loving family who pushed him to develop himself. He was saved. Education saved him.
“I want to convey hope, even to one child.”
He agreed to tell this part of his life, hoping that someone who feels helpless can get the strength to keep going. Learn. Learn in a school, in a tent, in a makeshift classroom. It doesn’t matter where. Learn. Education is your lifeline to escape your condition. Once you acquire knowledge, no one can take it away from you. You will have a better life for yourself and the people around you.
Maybe one of the 70 million displaced in the world can get the message. Perhaps teachers, trainers, or social workers would tell his story to their students.
A lifeline and home values
An incremental positive change started happening after 1982. However, the major leap came when Fouad received a scholarship from the Hariri Foundation to study in the US. It turned out that this was the lifeline that changed his life and the lives of everyone around him.
Education saved him. He worked hard for it. His father, who never went to school, pushed him and all his siblings to get an education. They all went to college. For his father, education was the most important to acquire.
A rigorous education, especially in these times when some are taking shortcuts, is essential. Being a social media influencer and collecting likes without education will fade. The things that can be obtained quickly can also be lost swiftly. The sustainable and rewarding approach is to build knowledge gradually. Even if your education does not make you a superstar, it can definitely contribute to an honorable, dignified, and happy life.
Education without values is incomplete. His father and mother taught them the values they needed to navigate life: Truth, empathy, honesty, trust, and learning.
He took a pause as if the years were rewinding.
“My father was entrusted with the financials of all village activities, committees, municipality functions, and donations. Toufic was the name to trust and depend on. I inherited this legacy. I inherited his name. I continue to work hard to honor him.”
His daydream tells it all
He sometimes fantasizes by asking himself what he would do if someone entrusted him with $ 1 million to dispense of at his discretion.
“Being a graduate of the public school system, I would contribute the funds to upgrade the curriculum. That’s it. Nothing else.”
This incremental push would make a massive leap for children who can only afford public school. Spend money on education to save the next generation and to save Lebanon. Education will give the neediest a big leap forward.
Since his parents never went to school, it would have taken 5 generations of an incremental build-up to get to a point where one child would become a university professor or a director at the UN. The support he received from the Hariri Foundation sped up the process to see its fruition within 10 years.
Sometimes, it takes one person to lift up a whole community. Imagine supporting thousands of capable, promising, and curious young minds.
About this 10-year-old refugee
Having been displaced, living on very little, hugged with love and values, and extended a priceless lifeline for his education, Fouad has been propelled to serve, support, and inspire thousands of people to date.
He tries to be honest, patient, generous, loyal, and, most importantly, honor his father’s legacy.
Still, reading and have a million dollars to spare? I promise he can tell you exactly where to put it to save some community. Seriously!
