Those cheery faces…

 

 

One sunny Beirut afternoon a few years ago, I was playing hoops with students on AUB’s outdoor court along the Mediterranean Sea.  We were a mixed bunch—Christians, Muslims, Jews, et al.  Arabic was a steady chatter of ‘Yalla! Yalla! Yalla!' and ‘Ana! Ana! Ana!’—'Hurry! Hurry! Hurry!’ and ’Me! Me! Me!’… The concept of teamwork was difficult to convey.  Dribbling, incessant dribbling, seemed a clear affront to ‘passing’.  Coaching basketball in Beirut was indeed a challenge.  But Lebanon has really good ball handlers—you might imagine. Friends back in Raleigh might say that is the way I played—I guess I wasn’t much of a passer either, or a good role model for that matter.  :-)

Beautiful American University of Beirut (AUB)

After the game, one of the players (a Palestinian) asked me if I would go with him the next day to see an anti-aircraft gun which was set up in the southern part of the city.  Being curious, I agreed, so the following morning he picked me up in an old Mercedes sedan along the corniche beside the university.  We drove for almost an hour through snarling traffic until the neighborhoods started looking seedier with bombed-out buildings and cluttered streets. Civilians in street clothes and militias and Lebanese soldiers wearing army fatigues and different colored berets made their way on foot through broken bricks and glass.  Around a bend in the road we turned into a gravelly entryway, and there it was—a twin-barreled anti-aircraft gun set on the back of a beat-up old truck parked near an apartment building and an open area where children could be seen at play.

We parked the car and got out to look. There was a group (a team) of young Palestinian men manning the gun.  I looked out across an open span of red clay that stretched for about fifty yards to a playground where children were looking back at us through a chain-linked fence, their cheery faces pressed up against it, and behind them was a wrought iron jungle gym and a set of swings and a seesaw.  The children waved, happily beckoning us to come over to them which we did.

I high-fived them all and spoke with their teacher (a Shia Muslim woman wearing a hijab), a delightful lady with a warm smile and a perky, dry sense of humor.

But she was worried, too, and kept eying the gun instillation. ‘They keep moving those weapons to avoid the bombing, she said. I hope they move it (the gun) away from here, soon.’

We returned to the gun emplacement where my friend was the ranking officer. He was a Palestinian soldier between school days, and even though one of his basketball teammates was Israeli and Jewish, he was at war with Israel.  I don’t think he passed the ball to his teammate much, though, but they seemed to be friends—odd, isn’t it? 

I asked him about the close proximity of the anti-aircraft gun to the children on the jungle gym. ‘You know that those F-16’s will come roaring in and blow that weapon to pieces, don’t you? And the explosion will likely kill the children over there?’ I said, pointing to the playground. There was a pause, then he managed a sheepish grin, saying, ‘We know.’

The Palestinians know…the Israelis know…but, the children do not know....

As we swim through troubled political waters in America, I think back to this little Lebanese boy I played basketball with out on a playground near his school on the outskirts of Beirut back in 1980.  He wore a Magic Johnson tee and his face was all smiles.  His name was Jamal, and his cheerfulness on a concrete playing surface with a background of bombed-out buildings and lost loved ones was captivating.  He was such a delight, and his mother, a Shia Muslim wearing a hijab, watched us (from a park bench) with great pride in her eyes for that son of hers.

When we finished playing after an hour or so, I took them both over to a street vendor for falafels and mint tea.  A good afternoon and friends for life.

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Although I am a bit loose with the metaphor, I try not to offer political viewpoints—not good at that anyway and have friends of many persuasions. We are a mixed bunch.  How ‘bout passing the ball around and high fiving those cheery kids along that chain-linked fence.  And please move that truck. :-)

Be careful out there.

Peace, Shalom, Salam  :-)