Living hell of Narh el-Bared
Alfredo Lo Cicero
It is noticeable already on the way that the refugee camp of Nahr el-Bared camp, about 80 km north of Beirut along the road along the sea, you will not like the others eleven fields, which have been built since 1948 in Lebanon for Palestinian refugees who fled from their homeland. The road gradually sad, adds gray to green fields that until a few kilometers before they accompanied. At the peak of a hill, you see it is, in all its violence. A majestic pile of rubble, one upon the other, between pillars I confirm that once, before the Lebanese army in pursuit of a hundred men from the Fatah al Islam militia, life reigned supreme. At the entrance of the camp I find yet another new, never seen in any other field. A wall about three meters high, which defines and encircles the oldest part of the field. A wall erected in the aftermath of the cease-fire by the Lebanese authorities themselves, to prohibit access to the ruins of the old residents, looking for belongings survived the devastating fury of five months of bombs, grenades, tanks. All worked with surgical precision. After passport control, and upon presentation of a special permit issued by UNRWA - the permanent mission of the United Nations, created in the aftermath of the exodus of the Palestinian people - I log in, glad to be able to pass my digital camera, which is prohibited for use in any field. I venture to the center, surrounded by rubble, the remains of cars crumpled. Try to guess the make, type, perhaps the form. None. Too much twisted metal. The houses still standing are an open book to what it was. Large holes up to two feet adorn the sides, revealing the life that flows inside. All shops and local sites have completely gutted the ground floor, as if they entered into force with an armored vehicle. It is also much more I understand that the worst is yet to come. Now the houses, palaces once high five, six floors, it shows in their new reality: a pile of rubble imploded on themselves. For close-ups can still see traces of old life, yet sparsely furnished with a wall, an empty frame still affixed to the wall, a colored door, a sign that this was a little girl's room. And then rubble. Debris on macerie.Arrivo front of the new asylum. This was required to operate a local club, Children and Youth Center, which already operates in the Shatila camp in Beirut. I see in them a fervent agitation. They move too aimlessly, looking around in search of yet another thing to do. The nest was rebuilt with funds from the CISS, an NGO in Palermo very active in the Middle East, is able to allocate the remaining ROSS Emergency Program of Italian Cooperation in Lebanon. One small sum compared to the real needs, but in great expenditure has enabled the creation of four classrooms, where about one hundred children attend some living normal, surrounded by the loving attention of educators, go on site to help rebuild. I'm a little stunned. I still recall the conditions of the field. I still can not recover the serenity needed help to do my job. Within a class, and I am overwhelmed by the shouting and the enthusiasm of the children who live there. They will be more than twenty, all of about three years. Wear with a hint of pride, their new green and white uniform with the logo of asylum. I see games all over the floor, and chairs to fit their tiny little bodies that appear more fragile than normal. Among them a girl, light brown hair. It looks very similar to my daughter, Elena. Her face angry and at the same time focused. Try to get a shoe that is too narrow. He fails. I bend down, I try to help her. I can not. The foot is too big for that size. Also, to be honest, the shoe is worn out and consumed. I call the teacher and she explains that she lives with her grandfather and grandmother. His parents, both very young, died in the fire of their house, centered in the middle of the night by a missile fired from a helicopter. She was saved because he slept with his grandparents, internal side. I do not know what to say. I do not know what to think. I bow my head and look sad at the floor. It all seems so absurd, so far-fetched. All so sad and dramatic irrecoverable. Then I realize that is her, the little Palestinian girl. She looks at me from below, gives me a smile. He sees the camera and tells me that wants to be immortalized. It does so with a smile. The smile of someone who seems to have no hatred for anyone. His is the smile of hope to all those people. The hope of a return to a normal life.
Alfredo Lo Cicero
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This article must reflect all.
(Photo 1 - Lebanon, Beirut before)(Photo 2 - Beirut during the bombing of 1982)
Hopes and dreams of children, Narh el -Bared - Lebanon
What are their living conditions?
What is not found to meet the challenges of life?
What are their hopes and dreams for the future?
Nothing human wickedness not guarantee anything!
The constant wars of religion have clouded the minds of these peoples, subject to the continuous brainwashing by false and wicked people, people without religion that makes this the weapon to subjugate the minds.
Using religious ideology and pass off as absolute truth but it is false consciousness and nurturing the idea as dominant.
"Religion is the opium of peoples "(Karl Marx) and I am more convinced than ever!
Fortunately, there are still men who by their sacrifice, their voluntary resignation to their desires for the good of others , help those who are not granted him a normal life like everyone else.
Their spirit of sacrifice and unconditional dedication, gives even a small glimmer of hope to these children.
These people, tortured by the cynicism and faux respectability human to survive repeated attacks in the hope of living a better world.
wake up people we are basking too much on our money and religion, the truth lies in the feeling of love, that's true, what makes you feel bad when someone suffers.
This is what I think and do not claim to be the only solution to the ills of mankind. But what does it take to open our hearts and love everyone without some rewards?
Love without borders, without distinction of religious skinned and no differences.
Gaetano Similar MacColl
