I have spent a month now in Beirut. When I lived in Damascus, Beirut was the place to spend some decadent five days or so when the need for some western action got too much of a stronghold over me. Five days of decadence then back to Damascus and to law and order (at least on the surface). But now I live here and it opens up a whole different city. I find myself in between the intersectarian/”we don’t give a shit about what your belief is” in Hamra, central Beirut, to Dahya (the southern suburb of Beirut) with Hizbollah martyrs on the wall
I got my ticket to Dahya, or Dahi as people say here, through a one night stand with a man that I met in the city a while ago. A widower that lived in Dahi with his two sons, I didn’t found out the latter part until the morning after when I was acting like a good old friend for breakfast.
But I keep coming back to Dahi, not so much because of the sex but the stories I get told. Stories about gay life “on the side”, the 2006 July war and yeas, Hezbollah get its fair share on the balcony. I try to map what I hear with a little help from the book “History of Modern Palestine” by Fawwas Traboulsi. It’s not fucking easy but I like non easy things.
More stories to come
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