All the sounds of Beirut come together like instruments in a symphony
in a cacophony, a chorus of chaos.
The endless honks of cars, too impatient to endure a split second of traffic merge
with the bulldozer negotiating it's heavy body down the wrong way of a one-way street,
to auditively assault my quiet thoughts.
The kaak seller's timidly tooting horn marries with the call of a Syrian worker looking to buy/sell old batteries and the inviting call of a vegetable seller pushing his wooden stall through dusty alleys awakens my appetite.
My head spins with the hum of scooters and revving engines, the screams of children at play, the meows and yelps of Beirut's four-pawed residents, the purr of generators,
and the sound of three languages melted into one Frablish blur.
With each breath I draw in ringing nokia phones, chirping birds, ringing church bells and the singing and swearing of teenagers loitering on pavements. The whirr of planes flying low overhead fill me with images of a future catastrophe.
The Sukleen garbage trucks emptying trash five times a day, mimicking the calls to prayer, are my alarm clock.
The constant pleas for money by gypsy women holding scruffy babies, deformed lottery men and boys with sad eyes tickle my ears long after they disappear from my sight, and music thumping out of cars and bars vibrates through my body like heartbeats. Arab pop, US pop, rap and crap invades and clutters my memory with repetitive lyrics.
The chants of political parties, religious song, bottles rolling and axes thumping join forces to create the soundtrack to a city that never sleeps, a city working around the clock to make up 15 years of lost fun, tearing down its heritage and smoothing out its scars to rebuild itself, like the noses of so many University of Beirut kids, into its idea of what beauty should be.
The sounds of Beirut all come together like a patchwork quilt, with
every
piece
unremarkable,
even
ugly
alone,
but when fitted together create something unique and treasured.
in a cacophony, a chorus of chaos.
The endless honks of cars, too impatient to endure a split second of traffic merge
with the bulldozer negotiating it's heavy body down the wrong way of a one-way street,
to auditively assault my quiet thoughts.
The kaak seller's timidly tooting horn marries with the call of a Syrian worker looking to buy/sell old batteries and the inviting call of a vegetable seller pushing his wooden stall through dusty alleys awakens my appetite.
My head spins with the hum of scooters and revving engines, the screams of children at play, the meows and yelps of Beirut's four-pawed residents, the purr of generators,
and the sound of three languages melted into one Frablish blur.
With each breath I draw in ringing nokia phones, chirping birds, ringing church bells and the singing and swearing of teenagers loitering on pavements. The whirr of planes flying low overhead fill me with images of a future catastrophe.
The Sukleen garbage trucks emptying trash five times a day, mimicking the calls to prayer, are my alarm clock.
The constant pleas for money by gypsy women holding scruffy babies, deformed lottery men and boys with sad eyes tickle my ears long after they disappear from my sight, and music thumping out of cars and bars vibrates through my body like heartbeats. Arab pop, US pop, rap and crap invades and clutters my memory with repetitive lyrics.
The chants of political parties, religious song, bottles rolling and axes thumping join forces to create the soundtrack to a city that never sleeps, a city working around the clock to make up 15 years of lost fun, tearing down its heritage and smoothing out its scars to rebuild itself, like the noses of so many University of Beirut kids, into its idea of what beauty should be.
The sounds of Beirut all come together like a patchwork quilt, with
every
piece
unremarkable,
even
ugly
alone,
but when fitted together create something unique and treasured.
(P.S. I stole the above picture from habeeb.com. It is not mine nor am i in it.)
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