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October 1978, Lebanon
Saturday, September 30th, 1978 - 3h30 P.M.: Radio Monte Carlo (broadcasting from France) and the B.B.C. (British Broadcasting Corporation) announced to over a million Lebanese civilians who had been trapped in the bomb shelters in East-Beirut (Christian side) for 100 days, that the Syrians had agreed to a cease-fire to take effect one hour later. For a hundred days, the whole city of Achrafieh had been under siege by the Syrian invaders. Non-stop artillery pounding had forced us to spend most of our days and nights in the shelters, without any running water or electricity... no phones... cut off the outside world... days of hell, let me tell you. The last days before the announced
cease-fire, our food supplies had
That Saturday night, we slept in
our beds, at home... what a blessing...
But at 3h30 a.m., Sunday morning,
I woke up as a warm pinky-red light
"Get down... NOW!!" I remember screaming hysterically... I grabbed my late father (God bless his soul... he was diabetic and suffering from the lack of insulin shots, which had to be kept in the fridge... but no electricity, so... He could barely walk) and carried him down to the first floor of the building. My mother barely had the time to put on her night gown when all hell broke loose. Until 11h00 a.m., we were stuck in our neighbors' apartment on the first floor, as we had no bomb shelter in our building, and the shelling intensity was such that we couldn't even cross the 100 ft separating us from the nearest one. During the next hours, as I was holding my weak father in my arms, I made a vow to give up smoking, should we all make it through... As the bombing pace started slowing
down, we were able to move to the shelter, where we stayed eight
days and nights, 150 people, one garage bathroom... no water, no food,
no nothing. My parents' bedroom was demolished as it took a direct
hit from a Katioucha rocket... These last 8 days were the worst.
What we weren't told though, was that we couldn't get back in! We tried every checkpoint, and they all turned us back. The last one even convinced us to stop arguing, by firing his AK-47 at the car in front of us which tried to drive through anyway, and killing its passengers. Now, where to go? Luckily, my friend had the key to his cousin's chalet in a luxurious beach resort, 10 miles north of Beirut. The chalet was really a big cabin... barely enough place to sleep... But it was heavenly: HOT water!!! SHOOOOWER! The smell of soap and shampoo was like a revelation. Coca Cola... Chocolate bars... I felt so guilty enjoying all of this, when I knew my family was stuck there and probably very worried about us. So, I managed to notify my arms companions by radio, who in turn went to see my parents and told them we were safe. Luckily, the cease-fire was
respected this time. So I was comforted
knowing they were back to our devastated home, and that they
managed to get food supplies through the Red Cross. One thing though: for
the next 18 days, no one could get in or out of the city... So my neighbor
and I were both stuck outside.
That first night at the "Solemar" (the name of the resort we were in) I saw some sport-fishermen reeling in some really big fish in the bay! By big I mean 1 to 3 lb each. These were porgies (exactly similar to the ones we fish in Cape Cod between mid April and June). Fresh fish in Lebanon is a delicacy
and a luxury. Even today, to give you an idea, the minimum salary
is 150 U$ a month, and an engineer would earn 500$ a month,
and one kilogram of fresh grouper (2.2 lb) is never less than U$ 35 !!! The sand grouper
(dusky grouper) is sold between 45 to 65 U$ a Kg., depending on
the season)
My 5 LL.. grew to 45 LL.. before 2 a.m. Very early next morning, I was at Olympic Sports, a diving store in downtown Jounieh, the closest city to Kaslik, where Solemar is located. I bought a snorkel, a mask and a "cheap and weak" 25 in. spear gun with a triangular trident tip. The fins had to wait for tonight's Bee Do game. Before noon, I was in the water.
In no time, I had located the porgies hide-outs caverns. Luckily they were in shallow water; you see, spear fishing without fins doesn't allow you to go very deep. One of the owners of the resort came to see me as I came up from the water, with the hanger loaded with fish. (yes, I used a hanger from the chalet's closet for stringing the fish) "How much do you want for these?" That night, I didn't play the Bee Do... too cheap. I joined the more fortunate poker tables. Next day, I got the fins and some new clothes, as the set I came with the first day wasn't exactly helping me improve my social life... The following days, I cleaned up the whole caverns in the area from the octopus, porgies, groupers and other marine life... After a week, the anglers weren't catching a single decent fish all night, and the gamblers offered me a guitar to entertain the ladies while they played cards, so that, as one said to me, there's no hope for me showing up with a new boat next morning. I was back home when the roads were re-opened, almost 3 weeks later. Our city was half destroyed, our two cars looked like swiss cheese, and my father was "hospitalized" in our living room, from diabetes and heart complications. Three days later, I had to sneak out to the airport in West-Beirut, in order to fly to Saudi Arabia. The only way for a Christian militia fighter or a Lebanese soldier to cross that border without having his throat slashed by the Syrian soldiers and other local and imported terrorists, was to be in disguise and most importantly: to be escorted and protected by some of these terrorists themselves, for a certain fee, of course. (Thank God for gambling and spear fishing) But that's another story... Roger Yazbeck
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