birsifuni | بيرسيفوني

14|08 • Valerie

My mind keeps replaying the words that have been used to describe what I am doing right now—a third generation seeking family ancestry. But, a third generation what? I am not an immigrant. Nor was my father. I am not even sure I am allowed to call myself a part of the diaspora. Yet I am compelled to find traces of my grandfather who must have left Tripoli in the late 1950s/early 1960s. A grandfather I know almost nothing about because nobody will or is able to tell me.

Do I have a right to do this?

When planning our journey, of course we didn’t know that, by the time we get to August, coasts would be burning in Turkey and Lebanon would have plunged even deeper into darkness.

Louisa talked to a Lebanese friend on the phone yesterday. «We are being fired from our own country». Earlier today: a text message, «are you guys sure you want to come?» So, what is it to do this? To do it at all, and specifically to do it right now?

Some of what I’ve been told: Crazy. Absurd. Inspirational. Orientalist. Be sensitive. Amazing. Good luck. It’s almost comical. I am proud of you. Don’t worry. You’re going to have fun. Did you think that through?

Further words didn’t fit this list and others, I suppose, were thought but not said.

Some more that have been said: «There is very little bandwidth for such projects, particularly originated by people who haven't lived in Lebanon.»

Do I have a right to do this?

I didn’t grow up speaking Arabic. I didn’t spend childhood summers in Lebanon.

I did answer hundreds of inquiries about my last name. Because of this name I was interrogated for two hours at Ben Gurion airport before granted entry to Israel to attend a wedding. I always smile politely when people, surprised, ask me if I am «really entirely German?». The list goes on.

We are flying to Beirut tonight.

Do I have a right to «return»?

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@valmarouche • photo by @azzyarmagan