On the morning of April 13, 1975, the Lebanese civil war got underway and for the next fifteen years, countless broken agreements and cease fires, un-eventful negotiations, foreign "peace keeping" troops, special envoys, US Marines and warships, Israeli Invasions, Arab League accords, International interventions and shifting alliances, all failed to halt the violent massacres, the cruel bloodshed and the total destruction of my country. Its cause was multifaceted yet its effects clear, deliberate and calculated.
With over 200,000 civilian fatalities, one million wounded, 350,000 displaced and over one million fleeing the country, Lebanon, nicknamed "Switzerland of the East" along with its capital Beirut, "Paris of the Middle East," lay in ruin, powerfully disintegrated and effectively polarized.
Among all the ruin and chaos, a small boy and his family miraculously endured and survived to tell their story.
A story of wealth and poverty, of laughter and pain, of holy visions and depression, of sadness and loneliness and of triumph and survival. A family desperately trying to stay alive and stay together against overwhelming odds, hopeless chances and dire circumstances.
I was eleven when the war started yet its effects, memories, sounds and smells will remain forever fixed in my mind. For better or worse, these events and their ensuing effects made me the person I am today.
This is my story of growing up in Lebanon.
