Peasant Sheikh, school children summer holidays, river house lebanon

Lebanon Art, virtual art gallery

Sami, the Peasant Sheikh

This is one place on the planet where one can live the four seasons to the full, following the divisions of the year according to each solstice and equinox. The climate, the atmosphere and all the activity of nature are in full harmony with this division. Flowering followed by gathering, harvesting, fruit-picking, lighting the fires in the hearths, all these follow the four seasons, spring, summer, autumn and winter. What is more they go with the seasons of the soul with its personal orbit, endless or ephemeral, according as one feels. Each feels at home according to the varying states of mind.

As school children we waited for the long summer holidays, three full months from the equinox of June and the feast of the Baptist to the autumn solstice and the return to classes! In some years we spent the summer in Jounieh itself, by the sea, playing on the beach, swimming, fishing or rambling in the wild. In other years we turned toward the heights, to the nearby mountains, nearly five thousand feet up, where three villages overlooking Kesserwan would welcome us, Meyrouba of the Mountain Waters, Hrajel and Faraya, a few minutes’ walk apart. There we had to rent a small house, a room just big enough to hold us, or to share a house with the owners, all living together. Here also we would meet new friends coming from all sides, or we could follow another direction, that of Feytroun and Kfar Zebian! It was a joy to go to new places, to discover new regions and to know other people, making new friends.

All the summer resorts and tourist spots were surrounded by countless springs of water, brooks and riverlets, and by trees of both woodland coppices and orchards. Nature was still unspoiled, as in the first days of creation; the bridges across the streams being put together with tree-trunks covered with compacted earth. A car could cross them only with extreme care and often the bridge collapsed. Then we children would gather round to offer our help, driven by curiosity to see how the work went ahead. This was done as a kindness, with neighborly help from the locals and those of good will. We would wait to see how the bus could negotiate those few perilous yards.

In April or May my mother would go round the chosen village and see the mayor, who would have a list of the houses available. She would advance a down-payment and fix the end of June for our occupation, just after the school year ended. Everybody in the family had something to do on this great day, getting ready beds, mattresses and provisions for our meals as well as books and whatever else we needed for our holiday schoolwork. As for the chickens, they went along with us. We had to get ready one or two cardboard boxes into which we put them after they had been tied up. Cats and dogs were the last to be invited.

A small truck was loaded with all this material meant for a prolonged picnic and then it took us up to the village. There we unloaded, moved in, cleaned up and set all in order, before a having our first meal there and going to bed, wearied by all our hard work.

The next day each one of us had his work cut out. The family program was faithfully observed by all. This meant each taking turns at sweeping up, bringing water from the fountain, buying bread, doing the washing-up, grazing the ewe or the little nanny goat bought in the early summer, and getting in firewood for the cooking, as in those days there was no methane gas or electricity, only a variety of spirit lamps.

One summer, providentially as it turned out, my mother failed to find any nook to rent but chanced to meet a very rich lady who suggested to her, “Come and take our annex, it is roomy and empty now; my children will enjoy your company.” She had two daughters and a boy, all quite young, between eight and twelve years old, whom we already chanced to know. Their fine home stood on a hillside, with a river passing lower down in the valley, the whole region being interspersed with poplar and other trees.

A few dozen yards away there was the annex, with one storey over a ground floor used to store agricultural equipment and to provide the watchman-gardener with a place to sleep. We occupied the upper storey, the best place where we ever spent a summer. I remember that one summer we rented an unfinished house without the doors and windows that the owner had promised to fit, in fact doing nothing about them for the whole season.

As for security, we had nothing to fear, especially as we had nothing with us of value and the people were so kind, friendly and devoted. There was one big family there, the whole village being concerned in everything that happened. That year we had Faraya with its streams running across the village and springs gushing up on all sides, while cafés and little restaurants were to be found in all the picturesque spots.
In one place there was for example a ping-pong table installed, a basket for basketball, and chess and backgammon sets. There the children, both boys and girls, would gather together to amuse themselves, chat, simply pass the time or sip a fizzy lemonade, the present-day brand names still not competing locally, or perhaps to order a sandwich with labneh or goat’s cheese. The youngsters came from all sides, from different schools and from different surroundings, something which provided enriching experience. Giant poplar trees with their smooth bark were used for engraving our names or hearts or different symbols, which could be seen from one year to another if time had done nothing to rub them out.

The ground was just right for playing hide-and-seek, with rocks, bushes, trees and streams to hide in, run about, jump here and there, and let oneself go. Apple, pear, cherry plum were the fruit trees most commonly planted. We could pick the fruit and eat it, for the peasant owners were kindhearted and generous. Nature gave of her gifts in abundance. There is a saying in Lebanon that if your neighbor is well off, happy and satisfied, then you are as well.

I often spent whole days in the wilderness without any worry, often taking my dog with me, for as a child in Jounieh I was mad about this friend of man. There was only one race available for us, the canan or geari, the barking tyke, excellent sheep dog, very gentle, and very strong. But in the houses of the rich one might see lapdogs or German shepherds imported from Europe.

Sometimes we took along our sheep or our kid goat for exercise and let it graze. One spot we liked in particular, a waterfall with a sixty-foot drop where vegetation grew in abundance and a high cliff marked off the area.

Sometimes we went to the south of the village where the Marist Brothers had their summer residence for holiday camps and groups of young people. There we had the opportunity to meet our teachers and friends, and it was there that my friendship with Sami grew stronger.

Who was Sami? I had known him for four summers past., in a superficial and light-hearted way, during chance encounters, walks and games near the hotel or at the riverside. We had fixed up a swing on a tall poplar and each one of us took turns to have a go. Sami was the son of the sheikh who had offered us the little house for that summer. Sami had two sisters with whom we felt quite at home. Sami was a very gentle child, open, generous, dreamy and bold, with much admiration for his father the sheikh. He knew how to make use of his time, finding things to do to fill it. He was spoiled and loved by all the family, by the neighbors and by those who knew him. This particular summer we were very close to one another. Apart from the games available near the house, there was a ping-pong table and a stage used for acting. In the kitchen inside the house Sami prepared, I remember still, dough for biscuits which he baked in the oven. I would help him and he distributed the result of his cookery among the children, and any that remained at the end of the day he would give to the pigeons and poultry.

Sami loved to draw and was very observant, and I would help him spread out his water colors. We worked together, making geometric designs that he filled with paint, making something of a colored scribble, strikingly individual however.

I remember how one day when Sami was alone in the house a visitor arrived. Sami told him that his parents were out and that he was sorry to be unable to receive him until they came back. When his parents came home he told them about the visitor, saying that he had forgotten the man’s name but adding that he remembered his features and was able to draw him, which he did, and the man was immediately recognized. The sheikhs are said to be either mentally deficient and idiots or exceptionally intelligent, as was the case of Sami, the result of the sheikhs frequently marrying within the family, for example with cousins.

The mother of Sami was from ordinary folk, and no relative of his father. Their three children were highly gifted, especially Hoda, the eldest. We had plenty to do so we never got bored. We rose early to go to the village church to serve Holy Mass for the old parish priest, Father Yusuf, who was very proud to see us there, one holding the thurible and the other the incense. The church was usually empty. The patron saint was a certain Saint Shallita, the protector of domestic animals, so if a chicken looked ill, if a cow was off-color and her milk drying up, if a sheep was not putting on weight, the owner would make a vow to Saint Challita, who in the eyes of the faithful would always answer. One day, just after Mass, I wanted to leave the church with Sami, but the priest called me and asked me to stay behind to be witness and godfather to a little girl whom her mother had brought to be baptized and named after Theresa. Summer was already drawing to a close and it was the custom for children to be baptized a week or so after their birth.

We did our summer holiday homework and then went climbing to pick wild thyme, with his mother telling me to take care of Sami and to keep him out of danger. She was happy to have me accompany her son. Sami told me what he hoped to do once he left high school. I was in a French school while Sami was in an English one, though his French was excellent. He told me he was not interested in law or medicine but dreamed of a career in architecture, decoration, design, creative work and poetry. Drawing was his favorite pastime, and sewing as well, and I even sometimes found him knitting. Handwork in general amused him, as did baking things in the kitchen and trying out new recipes. He loved mimicking, exaggerating his imitations. He acted scenes where he represented the devil, putting on make-up and dressing to look like a demon, in order to scare his little friends. Everything he did was accepted in view of his kindness, good heart and gentleness.

On the river just by his family’s house there was a water mill turning nearly all day and all night, where a crowd of customers came to grind their wheat, their borghol (wheat boiled and cracked), or their kishk (finely ground borghol fermented with milk). People came to this mill and chatted with the miller, watching as the grains of wheat were reduced to flour.

One day Sami showed me the portrait of a sheikh that he had painted in oils at his father’s request. At that time it was up to me to do all that my mother asked of me, lighting the fire with wood or charcoal, cleaning up, kneading the dough for the bread, and helping her with endless odd jobs. Sami would be with me and would lend me a hand so we could finish quickly and go off to play.

With the end of summer, all in one week Faraya would become an empty village. It was the time to return home and to start a new school year. We exchanged letters every couple of months and at Christmas Sami came to Jounieh to visit his uncles and aunts, passing by me at home for a short visit during which to see each other in the coming summer. So we grew up, becoming more serious, passing through junior and senior high school, after which we had the University to consider and were destined to go our own ways.

For myself, I did not go much to Beirut itself, but from there it was easy to take the tramway to Furn esh-Shebbak. There I would meet and greet all Sami’s family, especially his sisters, the elder of whom touched something in me, for she was intelligent, open and transparent. Frankly, Sami was a childhood friend of mine, but in his sister I found a fellow soul, an ideal, an innocent love and a feeling that was sublime. So another kind of friendship came to me, more serious and responsible. Sami’s sister also found in me a friend to whom she could communicate her thoughts, her difficulties, and her ambitions, especially as her father was an unlucky candidate at the elections, lacking charisma but full of kindness. On Sunday, election day, she came to have my company while she made the round of the polling stations in Jounieh, which was my own electoral district.

Same had just gone to stay in Paris, where he studied art, interior design and decoration, achieving great success. He was charged with major projects all around the world. He set up his office in Beirut and there I visited him two or three times. It was then that his sister died while still young as the result of a car accident and I accompanied him to the family vault, so burying a nostalgic past. I saw Sami less and less but we always kept in touch. I too went on my travels to study in Europe, particularly Madrid and Paris. On my return, at the request of the dean of the School of Fine Arts where I taught, I went to Sami’s office, where he welcomed me warmly, and asked him if he would agree to teach at the Fine Arts or at least give some courses or talks; in short, I was to procure this great artist for the School. But he refused, saying he had no time to waste and teaching would take up too much of his time. Then he showed me some plans for projects that he was occupied with.

One day one of my students informed me that he was in charge of the office of Sami, who sent me his greetings. Then this close childhood friendship slowly faded.

I was to learn from my pupil that Sami was ill and that he was going from bad to worse. In due course I learnt that he was in hospital and there was no hope for him, for at that time there was no known treatment for his trouble. However, I often asked about him to know if he was getting any better.

One day I was told of his passing away, something which made me very sad. Our friendship had been deep and pure. Same had been neither a classmate nor even a neighbor in our district. He was somebody I had discovered among dozens of others whom I met during the summer holidays, when I was entirely taken up with him. I had him in mind morning and evening as another self even though far away. This feeling was mutual. I felt it through the letters and meetings that however were becoming more and more rare until they broke off almost entirely. This friendship still has a hold on my heart even though sixty years have since passed. I see this unforgettable person Sami as if he were before me now.

His sister whom I adored left this world, as did Sami and his father. As for his mother, I have met her several times since, a fine-looking woman of the world, friendly, understanding, kind, intelligent, devoted, all that one could wish. She was well aware of this pure and innocent friendship that filled the hearts of us two children, Sami and myself. Whenever I met her she was smiling and welcoming, and invited me to drop in on her, sensing in me the nostalgia for her children Sami and Hoda. As for the younger sister, I met her from time to time.

I have little idea of what happened to their house and their extensive property in their village, but when I do happen to pass through Faraya in summer I feel that all that lay in the past has been destroyed. There is a lack of town planning, so haphazard building has scarred the countryside, there is no more beauty of nature, the horizon contracts, and, despite all that the authorities can do, pollution desecrates the borders of the rivers and of the roads.

These little corners that once were so full of gaiety are now in their death throes. As for the summer resort of the Brothers, I no longer know where it stood. The highroad crossing the area has cut it up into zones, alleyways and building sites, leaving me lost. Does one have to return to one’s childhood in order to find again the purity of the child Jesus in his cradle or beside St. John? There you have two children, one a prophet and the other God, children whose hearts know neither hatred, nor evil, nor sin. Children’s hearts are hearts of love, so should the countries at war go back to childhood in order to find peace, happiness and prosperity? Should we go back to childhood to learn to pardon?