The night was young, the crowds carefree and the stage ripe, but there I was getting behind Mahmoud on his scooter on what I can estimate was a 2 km journey to the ticketing stand to get my guest list entrance pass after I was told at the gates of the Jim Beam Rocks festival that I would be refused entry otherwise.
With the wind blowing through my hair, I shook the frustration as I held tight to this young Tripolitan security guard who offered to help after learning that I would have had to walk a fair distance in the stifling seaside heat in order to finally enter the concert venue.
You know how the old saying goes, atheist until the airplane starts falling? Well, yes, there I was summoning the Virgin Mary and all the saints on a motor scooter probably traveling at 20 km per hour.
With Mahmoud laughing at my cowardice, I whimsically introduce myself as "Nadine of Broummana;" a journalist who’s worked in conflict zones but who’s never been on a mini motorcycle.
Tickets finally in hand, Mahmoud drops me off right at the entrance and I descend from the mighty scooter in full glory wishing that young man with a beautiful smile a good evening.
Bright faces, beautiful gazes; people who comprise our country’s music enthusiasts and hopefuls gathered to listen to a line-up of nine Lebanese bands who include one of my all-time favorites: Sandmoon.
After a quick scan, a few cigarettes and couple of chats with random friends, Sandmoon takes to the stage.
With passion beyond comparison, vocalist and pianist Sandra Arslanian alongside Maen Rajab on guitar, Gerard Rechdan on drums, Ribal
Kallab on cello and Roy Khazen on bass, rocked the tune to my favorite track off their new album “Home”.
Camera in hand, I watched what I can fairly dub as Lebanon’s very own Tori Amos, singing her heart out at the Marina Dbayeh seaside stage.
From heartbreak, to loss, grief and childhood abuse, subjects that don’t usually come under an easy-sale label, Sandmoon did it, bringing calm to the many souls who need this sort of acknowledgment to the ailments that lurk beneath the surface.
Rocking the stage on the one hand, but maintaining an emotional exuberance on the other led me to further appreciate the artists, because this wasn’t simply about performing, but about connecting.
Music is a realm on to itself when it comes to collectively entrancing people, but what if the music was much more than rowdy lyrics to a beat? Therein lays the beauty that keeps us constantly addicted and aching for more.
And then the weariness of age set in, and I realized that I can no longer keep up with all the youngsters at the venue. Calling it a night, I headed back to my vehicle parked almost 20 minutes away by foot. Seeing now that half the streetlamps of the inner blocks of the Marina had been turned off, I shook off the anxiety and decided to pick up the pace.
Two minutes later I was stopped by two Internal Security Forces soldiers, one of whom was an officer. Stunned, I explain where I was heading.
To my surprise, one offered to walk the remaining distance to my car down the pitch black street where he said random men were gathering and attempting to break, enter and steal vehicles.
“I’ll walk you to your car, and should anyone attack I’ll make sure nothing happens to you,” officer Dany of south Lebanon said.
The walk was still petrifying nonetheless and I couldn’t wait to arrive to my vehicle. After all, my experiences in Lebanon have taught me all too well to always remain vigilant, always careful when it comes to uneasy situations.
Finally arriving, I bade the officer farewell and headed home and that’s when all the thoughts began to surface. The uneasiness around a man from south Lebanon who wanted nothing more than to offer me safety, the cheekiness of a young security guard on a scooter who shook me to surprise just by mentioning that he was from Tripoli and a woman of Armenian descent who would not trade Lebanon for the world.
To all three above, I apologize for not being nearly as Lebanese as you. For allowing my fear to take over when I should have just thanked you for your efforts in trying to make this place a little softer, a little less cruel and indifferent.
All three of you represent the real face of Lebanon; the true face of Tripoli and the north, of south Lebanon and the Internal Security Forces and of the Armenian population in the country.
Meanwhile and just across the other side of the bay, fireworks filled the sky on the onset of the Jounieh festival. A reminder of how inefficient and blatantly wasteful we are, burning money to light up the darkness of the night sky lest that light refract the darkness of our souls.
If officials could just see the beautiful talent that I see in the country, the random acts of kindness I receive from strangers and all during the most difficult of times, they would all beg for our forgiveness. Beg for allowing their indifference and cruelty to smother our tireless attempts at making this place the country we all dream of. Beg for making it their mission to instill fear into our hearts.
In my opinion, it's about time they got down on their knees, because as Sandmoon sings, "home, no one place can feel like home," and this is our home.
*Listen to Sandmoon's "Home" by clicking on the VIDEO above.
Nadine Mazloum is currently the editor for LBCI Online English News. She received her Honors in Communication Arts (Media Production) from The University of Western Sydney in 2008.