Trying to make sense of the war

By Nayla Razzouk
Sat Aug 5, 2006

BEIRUT: "Is there still war outside?" wondered a six-year-old boy with dark shadows under his eyes, one of 1,700 people hiding from Israeli bombardments on the asphyxiating third, fourth and even fifth underground floors of a parking lot in Beirut's southern suburbs.

In a neighbourhood long deserted by its residents, nothing leads one to think that there is an underground shelter, much less that 1,700 people were hiding inside — except for the fleet of scooters parked outside.

After an obscure passage through cement stairs leading five floors below, the air becomes thicker and a surreal scene of underground life emerges as if from the movies to show a sea of families, gathered across the giant open space of the parking lot.

Each family crams a single car parking space, delineated by red parallel lines painted on the shining grey floor. Despite the air-conditioning system, most are soaking wet from the humidity.

"My house is in B3, come and visit us," a smiling seven-year-old Samah told journalists. [B3?!! Her home is a parking spot!!! No walls, no doors, no toys, no food, no clean clothes -- just a cold hard floor and two red lines. And she's still smiling!! I'm crying, and she's smiling! Jesus Christ help them!]

A teenager is skidding across a long alley, pushing a cart where two boys and a girl are giggling from the thrill of the only available amusement activity.

An elderly woman moans from the pain to her bones, as she lies on a thin rug on the ground.

"We have been living five floors below, we are sleeping on the floor of a public parking, what do you want? Her bones ache from the humidity," said her grandson, Ali.

"We cannot even go back home to shower during the day because of renewed bombardments. We can hardly clean the children with wet cloths. Can you imagine all these people taking turns in the few toilets of a public parking lot?"

Under a `No Entry' sign usually designed for cars, children scream happily as they run in all directions across the grey floor.

Despite the gloomy, near-dark underground second floor, they are gleefully playing hide-and-seek.

"We are like Nasrallah, the Israelis will never catch us," said a seven-year-old Ali.

A little girl with a ponytail is jumping on one leg along the bright-red lines delineating single parking spaces.

Instead of children's rhymes, cheerful little girls and boys chant slogans as they giggle on a children's roundabout. A boy sitting on the central wheel flashes a victory sign.

A group of children are sitting in a circle on the ground. They are not playing truth-or-dare. They may be boys and girls, but they are old souls. They have seen a lot and endured even more. They are engaged in a serious debate that would outwit any grownup.

"Who is the president of Israel? Why does he want to kill us?" asked Ali Baddah, 10.

"The president is Sharon, the criminal, who wants our land," answered promptly his sister Hawra, in reference to former prime minister Ariel Sharon who has been in a coma for months.

"Not even, it is (US President George) Bush, the killer," said their eldest brother Hassan.

"In any case, the resistance is the bravest," stated 11-year-old Musa Nureddin whose family fled under a rain of bombs to Beirut's suburbs all the way from Markaba, a village dangerously close to the borders with Israel.

"But the Israelis have warplanes and helicopters. They have tanks, and America," said six-year-old Mohammed Khansa.

"No, listen. The resistance fighters are forcing the Israelis to engage in close combat because it is the only way they can win without warplanes," explained patiently his older brother Nureddin, as the rest of the children nodded affirmatively, as if they suddenly understood the situation.

"In any case, God is with them," said eight-year-old Roula Hilal.—AFP