Days of Thawra

Like all the people affected by what has been happening in Lebanon since October 17, I've been watching the news for 8 days, picking up videos and anecdotes in my Facebook and Instagram feeds. The first few days were remarkable, with their share of burnt tires and masked demonstrators . Beirut has been in turmoil for 8 days. It is the thawra , the revolution. Thursday 24, the day before this Day # 9, I finally take a ticket for Beirut. I arrive Friday afternoon on this side of the Mediterranean. The weather is good in Beirut, the air is a little thick, enveloping me as I expected. It's still a bit of summer here. I go downtown. It's party.
Place des Martyrs, a large stage sees the tribunes of an evening parade. In the crowd, groups chant their own songs, with "Hela hela ho, Gebran Bassil, kess emmo", "Thawra! Thawra! Thawra!", "Kellon ya3ne kellon" ... Higher in the parking lot in front of DHL , universities, NGOs and members of civil society have taken power, citizen discussions are taking place under tents as fragile as necessary. Like this revolution.

The Lebanese people have seized power in the city center. In Furn el-Chebbak, I take a favor. I ask "Thawra": the word which designates the revolution quickly became a geographical place for the drivers. Drivers who - all without exception during my 8 days in Beirut - say they are against this revolution, "filled with drug addicts and prostitutes". The classic discourse of Amal's supporters
The Lebanese came from all over the country to demonstrate in Beirut. In Tripoli in the north and in Nabatiyeh in the south, similar scenes. In Beirut, the city center quickly turned into a fair: street vendors, screen printing t-shirt printers. the time is still for a certain recklessness ...

The meeting had been circulating for several days for this Sunday: general call to form a human chain, from Tire to Tripoli. I choose Aïn el-Mreisseh as a starting point. I follow the chain to the military bath, after the new lighthouse. It's messy, happy, everyone is happy to be there. I chat with older ladies who ask me where I'm from. "Ah, you French people, it's all your fault! Why did you brood Khomeini in the 1970s? You could have kept him! It all started from there!"
At the end of the afternoon, I return to the city center. Always a lot of people. The demonstrators visit all the places, with a predilection for the famous Egg, the dome of the City center symbol of Beirut, and the Great theater which threatens to collapse. It is always time to celebrate. Late in the evening, an old Dodge coach tries to make its way out of Place des Martyrs, it honks, it sings ...

I land on the Borj el-Ghazal side, just at the right time, neither too early nor too late. My lucky star is there. I see a small crowd forming. An elderly lady, dressed in a pink Vichy nightgown and a Lebanese flag as a cape, calls out to the young demonstrators. I approach. I recognize her, it's the painter Laure Ghorayeb. The scene is just extraordinary. The connection is instantaneous between the old lady and the young Gavroche, the amorous looks envelop her, they chant "Téta!" probably without knowing who it is.
I then go up to the Banque du Liban in Hamra, there is hardly anyone there. I have fun with the Israeli flag tagged on the ground. I leave on foot, going down the Ring against the tide of usually deafening traffic. Funny feeling of freedom. A little further down, at Riad el-Solh, demonstrators set up a summer lounge on the asphalt, with deckchairs and umbrellas. The scene is even more beautiful with a ray of sunshine against the light. My favorite image
After a detour through Jal ed-Dib under a downpour, I end the day at the Ring. The roads are still wet, the city lights play with the puddles. The demonstrators are having fun. It plays hopscotch, football, tawlé , it discusses everywhere. The young people of this evening have the feeling of having done their duty. The crossroads are theirs