“It’s a curse, my poor country my love”

STORY Just a month ago, the city was hit to the heart by a double explosion in its port, which left nearly 190 dead and 6,500 injured. The Lebanese artist experienced this disaster from Paris, in constant contact with his relatives there. She made a diary of the disaster for “M”, which speaks both of her emotion and her anger.

A message is displayed on my phone screen. “It’s a curse, your poor country. “ Friend’s who sent it to me surely speaks of the terrible economic crisis that precipitates recent months Lebanon into the abyss and the epidemic due to the coronavirus that grows there for a few days. As I am about to put my phone down, I realize that I also have 70 new messages on our family WhatsApp group, although lately quite inactive. I get goosebumps all of a sudden. What’s going on ?

The first of the messages, “All safe? », Is sent by my cousin. My heart is sinking. Something bad happened. With my stomach in a knot, I skim over the following messages. The first two – “yes”; “I do” -, sent a minute later by my brother and sister, confirm the urgency of the situation. The third, a photo of a sofa disappearing under the debris of a shattered bay window, with the caption “I was sitting there a minute before,” is sent by my cousin, while another writes : ” I no longer have an apartment. “ A selfie of my sister, blood on his face, all the windows of his office and furniture broken in pieces, and my heart pounding.

I immediately think of an Israeli bombardment, we have been living with this threat for more than fifteen years, night and day. I open, trembling, the L’Orient-Le Jour site, but it no longer works. Then my brother transfers to the group a little video that was sent to him. The first images of the blast shatter me into a thousand pieces.

Terror, terror, anguish, despair, shipwreck, distress. The vision of the port is apocalyptic. We believe we are at the gates of hell, fear can no longer be measured.