دخيلك يا عدرا
My Beirut, they’ve pained you to no end. When you hurt, I hurt.
Every day after August 4th seems like a blur. I don’t even remember half of that month. Half of my city destroyed within a matter of seconds; no one held accountable. We have not moved on. We are still hurting.
August 5th, one day after the explosion that shook Beirut, a couple of women from my community and I went down to the streets to be of service to our people.
These images were taken while visiting the house of Tony, a 70-year-old retired accountant who lives alone. His home was destroyed. The explosion brought people into his home after years of loneliness. The light in his eyes after feeling cared for was indescribable. We rebuilt his glass window panels, repainted his walls, and bought him his first cell phone so that we could check in with him weekly and let him hear a familiar voice.
A week after the explosion, a news outlet wanted to interview me because the story about the explosion only had two to three more days left for airtime. I hadn’t realized that our stories have deadlines, that our tragedies have deadlines.
I was someone before August and I’m someone after August. I’ve experienced first-hand the generosity of people all over the world, and I’ve seen how quickly suffering dissolves into thin air. Beirut’s air isn’t what it used to be, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.
In some weird, mystifying way, I have affirmed my “Lebanese-ness” to myself in the midst of all of this. You see, I’m the typical diaspora kid. Hated America and always wished and imagined what life would be like if I was born in Lebanon. Wondered how different I would have been had I been born in Lebanon. I was definitely not U.S. American enough for the States (and never truly wanted to be), and my Arabic told Lebanon the same.
This feels like the standard thing we all say. I have no identity crisis. But in the midst of all of this, I have kissed Beirut with my lips. And for the first time, she has kissed me back.
What does Beirut sound like? Glass. What does Beirut smell like? Our sweat. What does Beirut look like? Better.
Jude Chehab is a Lebanese-American filmmaker based between New York and Beirut.
Her cinematic interests have drawn her to the exploration of the esoteric, the spiritual, and the unspoken. She has a richly layered visual and intimate personal shooting style, developed under the mentorship of Abbas Kiarostami’s final student group. Chehab has been credited in collaborations with the BBC, Refinery29, Oxfam GB, and Doctors Without Borders. She has worked as a DP for films in Somalia, Sudan and Pakistan, and was most recently an AP for Sesame Street’s newest show for Syrian refugees. Her work has been awarded fellowships through CAAM, NeXtDoc, Points North Institute, Firelight Media, and Close-Up. Chehab’s first feature documentary, which is currently in production, was based in Lebanon and has been supported by IDA, ITVS, TFI, and Sundance. It was recently awarded First Prize in the Docs in Progress program at the Thessaloniki Documentary Film Festival.
Instagram: @judechehab