The 4th of August 2020; 24 Countries, 24 Expats, 24 Raw Stories
Opinion Piece by Annabelle Ghanem, Staff Writer
October 1st, 2020
Have you ever asked yourself, what exactly is an expat? Or why people are expats to begin with? Textbook definitions would explain the concept of an expat as a person that’s living outside of their respective native countries, abiding by different laws, governments, and lifestyles than those present within their original lands. However, I believe that the common definition used does not provide a proper image of what an expat really is, especially a Lebanese expat. It merely scratches the very surface of such a strong word layered with hundreds of different emotions, decisions, and above all sacrifices. To be an expat is often glorified as a privilege. To some extent, I can understand that assumption.
Being an expat, particularly a Lebanese expat, comes with the baggage of not being able to live and grow in one of the most beautiful places our world has ever seen. To wake up every morning without the site of tall green mountains, and views of wide blue waters, layered by modern buildings and old houses, embedded with history, culture, and diversity. To be a Lebanese expat is to wish everyday that our country will one day be able to give us a life of stability and tranquility. That our country would be able to give us a safe space to raise our children and grow old, knowing that we are well taken care of by our people and home. To be a Lebanese expat, is to make hard and courageous choices for the purpose of survival, while impatiently longing for the utopian version of our beloved Lebanon to become a reality.
On the 4th of August 2020, the third largest explosion ever recorded globally had managed to find its way into the non-existing Lebanese History book, marking the day hundreds of thousands of Lebanese people lost their homes, business, lives, and sanity. The occurrence was too surreal, in a time where nothing was going right for the country to begin with. With a depleting economy, widespread hunger and near-famine, and lack of security and leadership present, the Beirut explosion was the sour and rotten cherry on top of complete and utter chaos.
Being an expat had never been so hard before that day. Seeing your home, your people, broken and destroyed, scrambling to help one another without a care in the world about anything other than being Lebanese, and saving their country. Being on the sidelines, feeling helpless and useless, drenched with survivors guilt and anger, plastered in front of television screens with little to no sleep to go on for days. We might not have all the answers to our questions about what happened on the 4th of August, however, we do know how every Lebanese felt after witnessing or hearing about what is sure to be one of the major turning points in Lebanese history, the Beirut Explosion.
Thus, 24 Lebanese expats coming from 24 different countries gathered the time and strength to provide me with 24 raw stories detailing what happened on the 4h of August 2020...
Grace Mazzawi; Lebanese expat residing in Dubai, UAE
We lived on the news the past year and more, waiting to hear stories of glory from the Lebanese that shed blood, sweat and tears in hopes of freedom, only to watch them lose their lives as if they were dispensable, as if their blood that leaked the streets of Beirut was merely water.
Broken is how we feel. Homeless, guilty and ashamed that we cannot do anything to assist. we can’t help but wonder why. For what. And what now.
We deserve to live in our country with our families and loved ones, we deserve to be respected, to be honored and to be cared for. We deserve to live in peace, we deserve to have leaders and people in seats of power that care about our wellbeing. We deserve the basic human rights all countries are giving their expats - rights locals in Lebanon never received.
No words can describe our sorrow and pain. The scenery was mind blowing and the demolition the explosion caused was unbelievable.
There is a ray of hope however amidst this tragedy that came in the form of all the young and old generation residing in Lebanon and all across the world who offered their time, hardwork and resilience as they stood by helping each other, despite their suffering, pain and poverty. We salute you, celebrate you and pray for you and look forward to the day Phoenix Lebanon would rise again.
Nabil Nasr; Lebanese expat residing in Warsaw, Poland
I was in Warsaw when I learned about the explosion. My first reaction was to contact my family to make sure that everyone is ok. As the enormity of the tragedy became clear I felt a deep sense of sadness for Lebanon and the Lebanese. It seemed that Beirut is destined to endure one disaster after the other. Shortly afterwards I began to feel angry at the complete detachment of the Lebanese government and political leaders towards what happened to the people they are supposed to represent and protect. On a personal level, I felt guilty and helpless for being so far away and unable to assist the wounded, help clean and restore the streets of Beirut.
Almost a month after the explosion I still feel a mixture of sadness and anger. While I have no doubt that the Lebanese will overcome the destruction caused by the explosion, I fear for Lebanon’s future as the country continues to be held hostage by incompetent leaders who continue to take their orders from foreign powers and ignore the peoples’ demands. God help Lebanon!
Sandro Azzam; Lebanese expat residing in Seoul, South Korea
From Seoul in the middle of the night, the first message I received was a video of the blast.
My reaction was, verbatim, “is this the trailer for a new Marvel movie?”
I didn’t even notice the Beirut coastline, the port or the city so many Lebanese call home. And why would I? It was unfathomable that an explosion the size of the one on video would be in Beirut so I had no reason to believe it was. Fast-forward a good 10-15 minutes for reality to actually sink in and for me to identify what was left of the buildings that used to define the Beirut skyline. I wanted to book a flight back right there and then to get my boots on the ground and help. Needless to say that just like so many Lebanese, I didn’t sleep that night and was constantly messaging friends and family to check on them to see if they were OK.
As soon as the Red Cross started posting about the need for blood donations I started to feel helpless and above all, guilt. How could I, from 8000km away, help the people suffering on ground zero?! I genuinely felt stupid posting about it on social media but at the time I, and so many others, saw it as the only way we could be of use in the first moments after the blast. Eventually, and with some friends from my university, we set up some fundraisers to help local NGOs which not only proved that expats can make a difference in such situations but also that the Lebanese People have friends all around the world. Friends from Italy, France, Germany, Egypt and India all asked “how can we help our Lebanese brothers and sisters”, it was overwhelming.
Ahmad Chorbaji; Lebanese expat residing in Istanbul, Turkey
Beirut has come to know the sound of explosions ever since I was living there, people unfortunately got used to it, and we can’t but hate this thing. None of the explosions before felt like the blast on the 4th of August, which laid waste to the central districts of Beirut, and around it as well. It was devastating for the people outside Lebanon as well, everyone felt like it’s a huge earthquake that shook the Lebanese’s capital, Beirut. Lebanon was already in a tragic economic situation because of the negligent government, and people started asking for an outside help, because they gave up on their government. The blast drew comparison with the Hiroshima atomic bomb that took place 75 years ago. It resembled a symbol of corruption and incompetence among the country’s government. This explosion with the increase of the economic disaster, it put Lebanon in a situation where it needs several years for it to go back up on its feet. I can’t do anything but wish for the people to live the life that all human beings are meant to live, peacefully.
Stephani Moukhaiber; Lebanese expat residing in Montreal, Canada
It was a normal Tuesday, I had just shared a couple of pictures of our beautiful Beirut on my profile when I saw the breaking news. I watched the same video over and over and over. I couldn’t fathom what I was seeing. It was unlike any other blast or explosion we have seen happen in Lebanon. I started shaking and immediately started messaging and calling my family and friends to make sure they are still alive. I can’t remember how much I cried. The last time I remember checking on someone to see if they were still alive was in middle school, when I found out that my mother escaped a blast by a miracle. I still cry. As an expat, it is extremely difficult to see your home being wiped out through a screen and not being able to be there for your loved ones. The guilt is immense; it shreds your heart to pieces. The anger is even worse because the only outlet you have is through charitable work and relief initiatives. But then what do you do when you also have nightmares that keep you up at night, and loud noises that make you jump and remember the trauma of all the other explosions that you’ve lived. I asked myself time and time again whether or not I had the right to feel these emotions and fears and PTSD because again, I was not there.. so who am I to feel like this? I am still in the process of accepting that I lost the Beirut that I’ve known all my life and the streets that saw me pave my way into adulthood. But Beirut also taught me to fall seven times and stand up eight, and that’s what I am doing. Channeling all my anger, my resentment, my loss into making sure I take part in building a country that will one day be the beacon of hope, love and courage once again.
Cynthia Ghoussoub; Lebanese expat residing in Freetown, Sierra Leone
The stinge of death permeated through my bones as I watched the devastation on my phone
This city is all I’ve known.
Beirut! My beloved,
I consider you home.
Fifteen years I spent around all your districts, where I met my friends and all the misfits—dancing to the sounds of your moonlight magic, soaking up culture, the arts, and my heritage. A melting pot of diverse perspectives, embedded in history; generational reflections. As I learned to cope with the spectrum of differences, my country has been divided by psychopaths and narcissists.
Thirty years into my existence and the same ruling powers continuously haunt my spirit. While my parents had to pick up stiff clay corpses, I myself was forced to set out with various losses.
My narrative is not the unknown; many others have walked this path like stone.
I'm not sure how I feel at this point… On August 4th, we all lost our throne.
If I knew then what I know now,
I would stay behind and take a bow.
Having to make difficult decisions to leave,
I bit my tongue and kept a grieve;
Three thousand four hundred ninety-three miles of dreams,
I'm going through life living in extremes.
Confused and disoriented,
my reality seems exceedingly augmented.
Uncomfortable, and feeling weak,
my anxiety is at an all-time peak.
Help, I can’t go to sleep!
You see, I miss my friends with all their freaks.
I miss my bed and the outside peaks,
waiting for the calls to plan the week.
Am I even allowed to speak?
With a roof over my head, food on my table,
a loving family, oh, I am eternally grateful.
But not everything is as it seems,
being far away brings different screams.
Haven't you also been glued to the screens?
Ruled by a government of incompetent schemes,
annihilating a city known for its great supremes,
I sit back, horrified, watching in tears,
a deadly blast took away their dreams.
Unbelievable but very real.
Wait, I have more to reveal.
While everyone is hanging by a thread,
two hundred and twenty people are already dead.
A collective trauma has been triggered,
and six thousand people were left injured.
Three hundred thousand are left homeless,
and Fifty-two are still missing under the rubble, lifeless.
Thirty years of degrading oppression,
a government of warlords initiating tension.
We will no longer fall victim to the repression,
It's time to wake up and lead by aggression.
It's a fierce power struggle for coexistence,
fighting the fight with remorseless insistence.
Met by heroes with mighty resistance,
and an army of men watching from a distance.
If I knew then what I know now,
I would stay behind and take a bow!
Daniella Debeis; Lebanese expat residing in Kuwait City, Kuwait:
August 4, 2020 - My heart was shattered into pieces like the blown glass of my hometown.
I remember I was on a call with my husband, who was visiting his dad at Saint George hospital, informing him about our baby’s gender. It was such a beautiful moment that we shared given the circumstances that his father was ill and I am 1000 miles away. 20 minutes later, my phone blows up with forwards of an explosion in Beirut. At that moment I was just confused. I had no idea what was going on. People started calling and texting me if my husband and his family are okay. I sprinted to the living room, turned on the news and I see Saint George hospital shattered into pieces in front of my eyes. I couldn’t fathom the magnitude of this disaster at that moment but my heart just stopped and I froze in my place. I grabbed my phone to call my husband to make sure they’re okay but no one was picking up. I kept calling nonstop for 10 minutes (the longest and worst 10 minutes of my entire life) until he answered me and told me they’re still alive.
At that moment I just broke down; I couldn’t stop shivering and shedding tears of relief. The thoughts that went through my head were so dark and traumatizing that I wasn’t able to eat nor sleep for 3 days. II knew this was affecting my unborn child but I couldn’t do anything about it until I made sure all my friends and family made it out alive. I still get nightmares to this day and I wasn’t even there so I cannot begin to imagine what these pour people went through.
Nay Fares; Lebanese expat living in Al Khobar, Saudi Arabia
I was so sad because I was giving birth to my first baby, and the first grandson in the entire family. Everyone was waiting to welcome him. But later on when the explosion happened in Beirut i thanked god everyday I wasn't there.
At the very beginning I received a message from a friend of mine asking me if I checked on my parents. When I asked her why, she realized I didn’t hear the news yet, and decided not to reply back. She knows my brother works at the port and didn’t want me to hear the bad news from her. At the same time, my sister sent on the whatsapp family group the word “infijar,” so I turned on a Lebanese news channel, only to figure out that the explosion was at the port . I can’t find words to express my feelings at that moment, I called my brother but couldn’t reach him. My husband kept trying to call him as I was shaking and crying. I felt as if my life was ending, and then finally he answered and told us he was home sleeping. I didn’t know if I should've cried or smiled or laughed. I was so happy he was fine, but so sad because our home was damaged. I have many family members living in achrafieh and Beirut, whose homes were totally or partially destroyed.
I was supposed to go to lebanon in may 2020, to deliver my baby boy in August. But due to the coronavirus and the lockdown, the airport was and still is closed till the end of the year. From August 4th and onwards, I wasn’t able to breastfeed my baby anymore. The stress of the disaster was so overwhelming that I couldn't produce enough milk.
Until today, everytime I remember the explosion I cry. Everytime i talk to my brother I tell him I can’t believe I am actually looking at him, and I thank god every single second that he is safe.
Anthony Ghanem; Lebanese expat residing in New York, United States of America
As a Lebanese born American, I was speechless, heartbroken, and angry to see the devastation that transpired in Beirut. A government sworn to protect the best interest of its people failed miserably as a result of egregious misconduct and gross negligence. It left hundreds of thousands homeless, injured, and deceased. Seeing Achrafieh, the city I was born in, ripped to shreds quashed the little hope I had for peace in the middle east. A country fueled by corruption and greed has no place in modern society. Michel Aoun, a coward beyond a reasonable doubt, must be held accountable to the highest degree. Without the order of law, democracy, and sensible leadership, a country which is described as the Paris of the middle east will never live up to its name. Setting emotion aside, I’ll leave you with this. The time has come for the Lebanese people to take their country back, to raise Beirut from above the ashes and exile the tyrants who oppress the growth of our citizens.
Lara Fakhry; Lebanese expat residing in Dakar, Senegal
I learned about the explosion through a twitter news alert. Before the footage of the explosion was shared on social media, I think everyone outside of Lebanon didn’t really process the magnitude of the blast. I immediately checked on my friends and family, nervously waiting for responses. They were all physically okay but emotionally wrecked. Back home in Senegal, my family was glued to the news and social media feeds, monitoring the situation and waiting for infos on the victims. We were all crushed to see yet another disaster happen to Lebanon. I felt and still feel incredibly powerless. I asked myself so many questions: What happens next? How can the country survive after this catastrophe when it’s already struggling with a social, political, and economic crisis? What can I do to help? It’s hard to put into words the sadness and despair I felt at the time, though these feelings were gradually replaced by anger as light was shed on the cause and circumstances of the explosion.
Since then, I’ve been spreading awareness on social media, donating to trusted organizations in Lebanon and to local initiatives in Senegal meant to raise funds for Beirut, but it does not feel like I’m doing nearly enough. I’ve been begging my parents to let me go to Lebanon since in order to help on-site. Through all the pain and sadness, seeing our younger generations organize and unite, whether in Lebanon or abroad, has been inspiring and makes me hopeful for the future of our country. I’ve rarely felt this sense of community and solidarity and I cannot wait for the day I get to move to Lebanon.
Sarah El-Abd; Lebanese expat residing in Copenhagen, Denmark
The day of the tragedy I was having the first good day of a long while. I had been in complete self quarantine since the end of February. But on august 4th, the sun came out and the clouds were far gone - a rare occurrence in the danish summer. I felt a duty to enjoy the good weather and decided to have a day out and grab ice cream at the local shop next to a lake with some family friends. We talked about Lebanon, what was happening back home, what the future had in store and what it did not have in store, and I struggled to acknowledge that it is so tough for non-Lebanese to fathom what Lebanese are/have been living through. At some point I glanced at my phone, it was filled up with notifications from Lebanese news outlets. Had a warehouse gone on fire? Was it a media stunt? Was there war? Was it a joke? I had no idea, but I played it off. I thought that for once Lebanese news could wait, I was for once having a good day, and the reality of Lebanon could wait.
But it couldn’t wait. And as I began to frantically call my dad, my friends, check up on colleagues and respond to messages I was caught in a smoke of confusion. One friend was crying, the other was mute, another wouldn’t answer the phone, a fourth was driving home in a bashed and trashed car. It was surreal, it was unreal, and it still remains so. I pray to all expats you find peace, I pray for all locals you find stability, and I pray for all Lebanese we find justice and solidarity for us and our country.
Mazen Jouni; Lebanese expat residing in Budapest, Hungary:
As a lebanese student who is living abroad I always get touched by the happenings of Lebanon. When I got the news of the explosion on the 4th of August, I felt deeply hurt. Although I am thousands of kilometres away from my country, I felt the same pain as my brothers and sisters back home. This was a catastrophe that shook the world. Fortunetly, it did not effect my town, however my mom called me in tears to notify me of the tragedy. As a software engineer student, who works a lot on online platforms of all kind, it made me proud how fast youngsters and celebrities of different nations came together to raise awareness and to help the situation.
After the incident it was so nice seeing how everyone stood together as lebanese without thinking about any religious or political differences and did their best to help the affected people and to clear our beautiful city, preparing it to be rebuilt again.
Yasmina Wazne; Lebanese expat residing in London, United Kingdom
I moved to London a year ago for university so I kind of am an expat right now. When the incident happened I was in Greece with my paternal family, all of them are expats as they never lived in lebanon. I was under the shower and My phone started buzzing nonstop. I checked my phone and saw that my friends were sending me live photos and pictures of what was happening, voice notes of their cracking voices explaining what was going on. I couldn’t process the information, I didn’t know what exactly was going on, where it happened when or why. I was just shocked and I was scared. I called my best friend and the only thing she told me was : my house is gone, it's destroyed. I cried so much that day, partly because I felt like my home was gone forever, the houses and the places I have lived in and that hold a thousand of my memories. I also felt like there was nothing left of Lebanon, and I wasn’t there to help my people in any way, or share the pain with them. I’ve never felt this much useless and disconnected. Later I learned that close friends were injured and lost family members and it just broke my heart. It broke my heart to see my country suffering so much and I felt like it could never heal.
Although beirut was destroyed so many times and still rebuilt itself, I was losing hope to be very honest. Until I saw my people coming together and cleaning the streets, helping each other out. That's when I realised the power of this country. It's us, the unity, our youth, our pain. And I realised that no matter what, as long as we stand together, at the end everything will be okay.
Anonymous source; Lebanese expat residing in Brussels, Belgium
At first, I felt a lot of pain and I was very worried.
It took me approximately one hour to have news from all my friends and family and to make sure everyone was safe. It was such a hard time, I was with my sisters, and we couldn't talk about anything. We were very shocked (as was everyone).
The following days, my feelings changed a lot. I felt sad with what happened especially with the accumulation of bad events in lebanon this year. I felt angry because of the negligence that led to this explosion. I also felt frustrated because I wasn't there and couldn't help on the ground. I was obsessed with the news that were on social medias because it made me feel closer to my country. And I was and still am very worried about the damage that it caused to so many people. It's very hard for me right now to think about lebanon's future, but I'm still hoping for the best for my beautiful country.
Elias Debeis; Lebanese expat residing in Doha, Qatar
I got the news from my partner at work, he sent it to the company group. A picture of a fire in the port. I thought it was just another fire, another problem. I didn’t think of it as something serious. Then 30 minutes later, he sends another picture of a massive explosion. I directly turned the TV in my office on and was like my god, what’s going on. My first reaction was nothing major, I thought it was another day in Lebanon, death and fire. Then when I had realized the scale of the devastation, and started to receive updated information from my family group. I mean my niece Daniella sent us a video of her husband with part of his ear missing after being in Al Roum hospital during the explosion. The only thing I could think of is, although I know how badly managed our country is, it’s just like, is there no limit? Is there no limit to negligence? To disregard human life? To property? What is going on in these people’s minds? Storage of this kind of chemicals that they themselves knew was dangerous, for so many years. Neglected and put in a warehouse with no safety norms or precautions in place, nothing. How bad can they be? Chaos everywhere. This is like the worst form of negligence. You can look at it from all angles and think, waw, that bad? Things are run in such a bad way that you, i dont know. Bad seems to light of a word to describe these leaders. And then you start hearing about all the hospitals, all the dead people, all the missing people, all the people that can’t recieve healthcare. On top of the corona that we already had. It was just indescribable, I was really down that day. And not just that day, I was like that for a while. I am very much attached to my country, and unfortunately, it keeps disappointing me, for a long long time in my life. During the civil war, during all the chaos, I always felt embarrassed. When people ask me where I’m from, I don’t even want to say I’m from Lebanon. All they see on the news is people killing each other. Explosions, assisinations, wars. And then in the early 90s, things started to get a bit better, and I started to feel proud you know? I was saying I’m Lebanese with such strength behind my words. Now I’m back to square one, where I am just so disappointed. It takes a big part of you. It’s nice to feel patriotic, but unfortunately, we have a government that keeps disappointing us, and something needs to be done.
Amir Jaouhair; Lebanese expat residing in Lecheria, Venezuela
I was sleeping when the explosion happened. Then when I woke up, I started getting videos and pictures on several Whatsapp groups showing what had happened. I thought it was a joke at first. Then when I realized this had actually happened I was in complete shock. First thing I did was call my family residing in Lebanon, my siblings, my friends. Can you imagine? I had to call them one by one to see if they were all still alright, still alive. Some people I know got hurt, and others had their houses destroyed. I did my best to help as much as I can from here, but of course all I wanted to do was be there. Helping the Lebanese people. It was honestly so hard. This was the first time I had experienced something like this, something in my country, affecting my people. You know we hear a lot about the killings and bombings happening in Palestine, and we don’t really think of it much as Lebanese people. After August 4, everything became different. You start to understand where they’re coming from. It became hard, we experienced that hardship. And we are all really doing everything we can to help from the outside, as much as humanly possible.
Omar Soubra; Lebanese expat living in Groningen, Netherlands
I was actually on a call with my friends in Saida when the explosion happened. We were just playing games together, and then my friend says “Omar I think an explosion just happened.” I was like seriously? Shouldn’t be something too big. Which is really sad if you think about it, that we are so accustomed to terrorizing things happening in our country. My friend decided to go outside and get a picture of what happened, only to find smoke clouds coming from Beirut’s direction. A minute later we started getting the videos, and the initial feelings I had were shock and utter disbelief. My heart just sunk, I couldn’t believe what I was looking at. I couldn’t believe this was happening to my home, to the very places I walked the streets of. The very place I passed by almost everyday for three years until I moved of course. My mind directly reverted to my friends, and I couldn’t help but feel so powerless. I couldn’t do anything other than ask if my friends were okay. Later on that night, like everyone else I did not get any sleep. It was like that for the next few days. I tried my best to do what I could from outside the country, but honestly, I just lost faith honestly. I lost faith in our country. I lost faith in our government, not that I had much to start with but this was definitely the final straw. And as much as I wanted to help the people of Lebanon, it also gave me a clear idea that a future there is not possible. And although most people don’t feel that way, I have completely lost hope for the future of the country that is beyond recovery and repair. Unfortunately, that is what I have to live with. I hope I am wrong. I genuinely hope that is not the case and that Lebanon would become better. But unfortunately, the disaster that we have witnessed, and all the preceding events before it clearly indicate that it’s not getting any better. We will never know I guess, however my advice remains the same for all the people living in Lebanon who have the opportunity to leave, to do just that.
Fida Hamadah; Lebanese expat residing in Zurich, Switzerland
One full month after the blast in the port of Beirut, the emotions of shock, anger, and frustration seem to linger on. Receiving the news was a hurtful disbelief “This might be an explosion in Beirut”.
The toughest moment was hearing the news. I felt horrified and started calling everybody I know, starting with my family, my husband’s family, our relatives, and friends. After I was reassured with their safety, I started realizing what happened. It was a huge shock to every Lebanese. And the difference between the expats and the actual citizens is that the latter can be of help and assistance in such a case; offering their houses and providing food for those who were homeless after the explosion demolished their buildings.
Never have I felt fear and uncertainty of what’s to come from listening to the political and economic analysis. Yet my biggest fear was concerning the wounded, the martyrs’ families, and those who were missing. My heart fell into pieces while watching the victim’s funerals.
The first time I watched the footage of the explosion, I cried and screamed. I feared that this would be the launch of a series of explosive events, turning us back to the days of war and destruction, losing our loved ones and friends.
But now, one full month after the Beirut port explosion, the thread of anger is still burning in my heart as I reflect on what would have happened if I were there, would I have been able to assist in any way possible?!
Suzanne Jaber; Lebanese expat residing in Sao Paulo, Brazil
The first time I heard about the explosion, I didn't believe it was true. When I started watching the tv, and began receiving some messages and videos on instagram, is when I started to believe. I went into a state of panic and started to cry a lot, I couldn't stop. The first thing I did was call my family living in Lebanon, parents and cousins and then my friends.
During all this time, I was terrified, crying, for the people, for all that happened. I couldn't work at home. Till this day, I’m still really sad that I could not help there, in Lebanon. However my friends and I tried our best to do all we can. We tried raising money, to help some people that were facing any and all kinds of damage there. I think the whole world was sad or scared, and here in Brazil we have around 10 million Lebanese people. It was as if we were all in Beirut when it happened. Everybody was so sad, making some sort of tribute and contribution to help fixing all the damage that happened.
My message is for hope, hope for a better country. We that live far from Lebanon know the value of this country, how beautiful it is in all ways, shapes, and forms.
The people in Lebanon deserve a better life, a new government that can help all its citizens.
Salam Salem; Lebanese expat residing in Frankfurt, Germany
When I heard the news, I was in disbelief and then when I realized that this is real, I felt shocked, as if I was watching from another universe. And being from Achrafieh, raised and born, and living so close to the Beirut port, I started having flashbacks of watching the port from my grandma’s balcony there. I started reflecting whether the scenery that I was used to watching has disappeared. I felt lost. And then I started thinking of what might have happened to the Roum Hospital as I received the news that it was greatly damaged. I felt miserable while thinking of all the patients who were in the building. The state of shock that I was experiencing was in no way near to normal.
When we were younger, my grandfather used to work in the Mar Mikhael Church and we were all baptized in that church, all our dead parents and relatives are buried there. And so I started thinking whether the tombs were still intact. What might have happened to the church? What might have happened to the cave that my grandfather had built there? What might have happened to the people living in the area? How many people might have died? Put simply, this is a catastrophe. A huge catastrophe!
And then we started to think of how we would be able to contribute. I know the Maronite Church organization here in Germany and other organizations that we have provided with financial support to help those in need, regardless of their religion.
And then my friends started calling to ask about my parents’ safety, offering their support. The resonance here, from my German friends, the German government, and the press were all concerned about the Beirut port explosion news.
This is a greatly depressing situation and a tremendous disaster facing Lebanon. May God help the people and get rid of the Lebanese government, and send them a person who can righteously lead the country. That is because Lebanon is a beautiful country like no other. It is a rich country that can be of assistance to other countries if rightly taken care of.
Cherine Karam; Lebanese expat residing in Paris, France:
I was having a shopping day with my mom in Paris, when I got a notification regarding a fire happening in Beirut. I didn’t think much of it, this happens all the time. Then I opened instagram and saw all the people, the buildings, Beirut. I bursted out in tears in the middle of the store, I couldn’t stop. My mom got so scared she dropped all the clothes in her hands and took me home. I lost control of myself, and did my best to reach out to everyone I know.
I felt like I was privileged for not being there, but at the same time, I’m Lebanese, I’m not in my own country. I’m seeing all my friends and family dealing with all this chaos and I don’t know. Every time something happens in Lebanon somehow I’m not there, and if that’s luck, then luck doesn’t feel so good. I felt so bad that I wasn’t there, writing this on it’s own is making my eyes tear up.
An expats relationship with his or her country is very hard. People think oh, you live in France? Life must be so easy. But no that’s not the case. I would’ve done anything to grow up in Lebanon, close to my family, have my own friends here when I was young. I didn’t get that.
I lived my whole life in France, not knowing a word in Arabic. My grandma and I used to communicate using body language because we didn’t speak a common language. Then when I was 18, I decided I wanted to study in Lebanon and learn about my origins, my roots, make my own friends there, and learn the language. I got attached to Lebanon, probably more than I should’ve. My dad lived through such hard times in that country. He never got the chance to live the life I did in Beirut, filled with fun and exciting memories I’ll never forget. I think he wanted to send me to Lebanon so I could get a chance to live the life he never could there. And it hurts so much seeing this happening.
However, I still have high hopes for Lebanon. This explosion did show us a lot, especially about our government. Yet, you still have people who support political parties and leaders… I don’t get it, have they not suffered enough? How can they not have learned their lesson?
As a young Lebanese, I believe that it’s us who needs to do something. And anything I can do, I will do. Because this might be our last chance.
Kayla Shaiban; Lebanese expat residing in Florence, Italy
August 4, at 6:08 pm. I was at the grocery store, when I suddenly felt
my phone buzzing over and over again. I looked down at my screen, and saw an abundance of
calls and text messages flooding in. I was lost. I looked up at the TV that was in the
supermarket, and the first thing I saw was the explosion go off, in what felt like a never-ending
loop. I felt the tears stream down my cheeks, with nothing but fear filling my whole body. My
heart broke. I called my friends and family back home, and all I heard was how close they were
to death. Only sadness and nostalgia haunted my heart and chilled me to the bone.
Then, all I could feel was rage - rage at how I couldn’t see my family. Rage at how helpless I felt.
Rage at our failed system they call “government”.
All I could do was pray for a miracle, a miracle to save my Lebanon.
Living 2225 km away from home was and still is the worst feeling.
It breaks my heart that other countries rushed to our rescue while our own government slept
soundly through the horrors their people endured.
Thalia Assaad; Lebanese expat residing in Melbourne, Australia
At 18:08 Beirut time, as the 3 Kilotons of Ammonium Nitrate reduced my city to ashes, I was peacefully asleep.
I randomly woke up to check the time, but instead found over 150 What’s App messages and additional notifications from every other social media, including the news, that read: ‘Breaking news, Beirut Bomb’. I jumped out of bed as my heart stopped. ‘Surely it’s fake’ I thought, ‘No way this happened’. So I opened What’s App and the first thing I saw was a message from my mom briefly explaining what’s happened, preparing/warning me of videos/pictures I’m going to encounter, and reassuring me that my loved ones are all okay, despite the home and car damages. I rushed to open my other social media and found that video, the video of the bomb. As I watched the red smoke, my throat tightened with a gasp. I froze, and watched as the port burned. I thought this was it, and I was already crying and panicking, thinking of the damages this has caused. But then the bomb actually exploded.
I fell to the floor in a disheveled heap as my grief poured out in a flood of uncontrollable tears. I screamed and covered my face with shaking hands. To this day, I can’t express what I felt, but my heart shattered with the rest of Beirut. I immediately started sobbing and screaming for help. My eyes spent the whole day bleeding with tears of pain, heart-ache, anguish, shock, rage and numbness. I spent all day in bed, unable to do anything, eat anything, focus on anything, say anything. I couldn’t move. I thought about putting my phone aside because I couldn’t handle all of it, but every time I did so, I found myself either picking it up again or just staring at a wall, paralyzed. I had wiped my eyes so much that they were red and swollen until the next morning. That day, I reached out to every Lebanese person I could think of, inside and outside of Lebanon, including people I haven’t seen/spoken to in years. I couldn’t believe I was checking on my loved ones’ lives. I’ve never felt like this before. I was traumatized. I am traumatized.
I felt guilty for having myself and my loved ones unharmed. I felt guilty for being halfway across the world, safe, while people lost their homes and loved ones. I’ve never lived in Lebanon, but my heart was always Lebanon, and that day a part of me went up in flames with my city and will never return. This second-hand trauma is something I’m still experiencing, and that will stay with me forever. I can’t begin to comprehend what the Lebanese in Lebanon are going through. And not a day goes by that I don’t wish I was there, helping my people and rebuilding our country. I am enraged yet broken. But if you think this is the end of Lebanon you’re damn wrong, because Lebanon isn’t our government, nor our land. It’s our people. And I am damn proud to call myself Lebanese. And we will rise again.
Jio El-Wadi; Lebanese expat residing in Barcelona, Spain
I received videos the second the explosion happened. I was so shocked, I thought it was a prank honestly. Then people started saying it was from Lebanon, talking about fireworks being involved among other things, it was quite literally a story that just unfolded in front of me. Then family members began calling and texting, and everything was okay at first. Then we started hearing about distant family members who were extremely injured after the blast, cars broken, apartments destroyed. It’s pretty shocking. And being a Lebanese expat living abroad, it takes a huge toll on you, it really does. You’re seeing everyone helping out on the streets, but unfortunately because of the pandemic, most of us can’t be there. You feel helpless. It’s us seeing our country die slowly, we can’t help it, we don’t even know if the donations we're giving are being received and distributed to the right people. It gives you this negative energy because you always have this hope for your country, but unfortunately even with the october revolution, at this point we look at Lebanon and see; a broken economy, money in the bank that no one can use. We have so many people below the poverty line, even more than before. We have political parties just oppressing the people. We even have the coronavirus that’s not being handled in a proper manner. All of these things are just part of the corruption that’s been present for over 30 years, and now this? The third most powerful explosion in the world? The country is being suffocated by every side, every second could mean life or death.