*  Center is Shahadi Moujais to his left is Jabber Sawaya( he is now Dr. Sawaya) next to him Hiam Naser. to his right, in the front is now Dr Fouad Harik (in Vienna Austria I have visited with him there). On his left in the front is Noha Naser Married ti Fedlalla Naser. Behind her is Miss Sawaya's brother I can not remember his name. I do remember miss Sawaya very well do you all?

***********************************

SSS 1955 Commencement Day Courtesy of Nabil Matar

High and Elementary School graduate

 Elementary student from left to right (front row: Piere Touma Sawaya, Anwar Khoury Sawaya, Emile Bou Risk Sawaya , Ibramin Saway , Teacher . Second row: Adel Mirhej, Shafic Bou Khayer , I don’t know,  Da’ad Sawaya  and the cute girl  at the end Hayat Yared. 

I recognize some of the High school student.  from right to left: Sadek Kurban, and the two men in the back Najib Matar and Ni’amat Sobbagh   

***********************************

from left to right front: Emil Shalhoub, Najib Matar, Na’eem Khoury Sawaya , a board student

Behind from left to right: ghussan I forgot , Adel Khniser ( suheil uncle), Antoine Halabi, Sami Hawi, the guy with the horn and the two behind I could not recognize and the one to the right is Emil Touma Sawaya ( the brother of Rosali from Brazil

***********************************

from left to right: 
Najib Matar, Samir Kiame, Shikrallah Hawi, dawood Baroodi , George Kiami and Na’em khoury Sawaya ,. 

Second Row , far left Emil Eid , , the school principle Daghilian, I don’t know his name behind them Shahadi Moujaes and way in the back  Al Suhr Salim Moujaes

***********************************

Remebering Al Sitt Linda

-----Original Message----- 
From: Halabisanda@cs.com [mailto:Halabisanda@cs.com] 
Sent: Friday, February 23, 2001 11:01 PM  
To: Nabil.Matar@premcorinc.com  
Subject: Track/What a picture ! Where from? 

Dear Nabil, Abu Ziad, thank you again my friend for these precious memories.  As you put it Mr. Track still does a daily dosage of few miles along the pine hills of Monterey and every time I am up there I walk the road of our beloved Shweir and trace every incident along those roads. You cannot do without Shweir in your system. Our natural realm is in every make up and you dig up those pictures from your lore of treasures ! How do you do that?

My friend I came across what you wrote about Sit Linda, and other teachers and I believe Sit Linda in core was an anchor to everyone of us who luckily had come in her path, I remember she was my Godmother and that meant extra dues and responsibilities I had to carry to qualify to the high standards she set for us.God rest her soul in peace now she ripples a smile from afar as we express our thanks to all what she did for us and for our SSS.My friend greetings for you and for Wadad and yours may the Lord bless you and keep you in good spirits. Extend my best for all the Matars .

P.S. I heard from Salim Bu Shibl thanks to you my friend. I am installing a new Arabic program for my computer but we are facing some technical difficulties.. soon I hope we will be able to send you some of our work in Arabic Till then.

******************************************

Copy of an email sent by Nabil Matar on March 8, 2001

Dear Antoine,

You can't imagine how glad I am to connect with you after all these years and to read your massages with envy. My friend your stile of writing was and still always fascinate me. What you said about Sit Linda is the feeling of every student who pass through our SSS during its golden era. So I would like to ask you for a favor. In this massage I am sending you a picture of Sit Linda and Istaz Yousef surrounded by students. On behalf of all us the shweir.com family would appreciated very much if you could attached to this picture an article in the memory of these two great Shweirieh that have a major impact of the success of many Shweirieh who as you phrase it: "were anchors to everyone of us who luckily had come in their path"

Washukran Salafun Ya uhsan Saheb.  

Nabil

Front Row L > R:  Azizi Jrdak, Sit Linda, Monira Halabi, Nohad Yared 
Second Row left to right Ramzi Jirmanous, Najib Matar, Nawal Touma  
In the back  I think he is a guy from Za'aro’on  and Istaz Yousef  Sawaya

******************************************

REMEMBERING SIT LINDA AND ISTAZ YOUSIF SAWAYA

BY ANTOINE HALABI

"I am a very proud man to attempt a task of such veneration to the two great educators who played a remarkable role in my education at Shweir Secondary School, SSS. How do I remember them?"  By Antoine Halabi

A Tribute to Sit Linda

Sit Linda and the poet of the green heights Mr. Yousef Sawaya. A picture at a computer screen brought it all back with a fresh perspective at the luck we had back then. Sit Linda was my godmother, teacher, embodiment of school rules and regulations and the orderly manner of what is in decorum everywhere in mobile form. It even felt like principal ship abounds in her present. For a growing up this is awesome thing to experience, but she never failed to dress that with a smile that rippled on her face to her eyes. Sit Linda was larger than herself and for sure you were made to feel it. She was the eye of your family and the conscience of your society; she was determined to lead us to live to higher standards of performance as students, and better citizens of our village.    Years passed and I came back to visit my beloved Shweir, and there she was the same, as I knew her.  But I have changed.  I yelled her name out.  Antoine!  She exclaimed but fast I took her hand, kissed it and said thanks.  A tear rolled, a smile wiped out with a hand, time stood, as she did like our cedar tree and Mount Sannine for you and for me.  You were a large provision for me and many who came your way left laden with your experiences made simple in comments made your way.  Sit Linda justice cannot be done your name to me says: Life Inspires New Dawn Ahead.  You gave it all with no dread.  We will never forget every one of us who came in your path.

 A Tribute to Istaz Yousef Sawaya

My great Arabic teacher, Al-Mu3allim Yousef Sawaya “Abu Shawqi” Sha3ir Al Qumam Al Khadraa.  “I have to admit I stand in awe in front of such a poetic gift and a charming personality of our teacher Mr. Yousef Sawaya.  We are all robbed of that great literary heritage which if my memory serves me right accidentally all his literary notebooks of poems and articles and literary criticism got burnt.. Now I know I should have kept my notebooks of high school, in which we were dictated many of his work…my vivid memories of Mr. Yousef is his delivery on the platform.  One incident for so many may have been forgotten.  We had a big Celebration of Almughtarebeen in Shweir’s famous square and dignitaries and officials of the government and ministers were there, and a very curious young man like me hangs close to the platform. There goes Mr. Yousef, stealing the hearts of those on stage and filled square. Waves of applause after waves with every verse and then suddenly it falls in silence awaiting for the following verse. I don’t remember the name of the high official who was fascinated by Abu-Shawki’s poetic skills.. He stood up and said: “ I congratulate the eloquence of the poet, and I do not think you need much help from the ministry of tourism.. You have the best voice. And the best call. ..”

I was a few feet away from all of this and still gives me the feeling of elevation now more than half a century ago. And who can say we were not provided with the best, we the fortunate ones. I thank you all and close by saying with the voice of eloquence from our poetic heights life inspires new dawn ahead, new platform from every morning torn, they both live with glowing memory in all. The Title of the poem was “ The Flag Of The Country.” 

By Antoine Halabi, 
Monterey, California  
March 16, 2001

Remembering Anis Tannous Touma  Sawaya, 

Hi, allow me to call you by your first name Hilda, and allow me to share these points with you; when I was growing up, many many years ago, my uncle Nasib Halabi suggested a remedy to my problems with math and it was tutoring sessions with your dad rest  his soul in peace. That was it.. I , Antoine Rachid Halabi , never forgot that. It was in a tree house which he built then for his studying where I was allowed to share his clear cut ways of explaining math and in a child's mind the lions den is always something to remember and a power of anchoring value in his character.  His alerting remark always was Antoine , look at it this way and he explained and I understood. simply that easy. 

I have a great respect to your efforts of writing and involvement with the issues facing our Shweir and your special delivery of stories from our past from around the hearth. I visited ABC and uncle Edmond Halabi your grandfather for it was the  place for everyone to engage in an intelligent sober discussion on many issues.  I remembered that from what you said you were little girl who heard a lot there and I add my little piece to yours.

Keep the great work lady and we thank you for your great work and wish you the best for you and yours. Say hi to mom and the Halabis you come across.  This streak of gold, this site hopefully remains the platform of great exchange.

Recording Shweir's History and preserving its Heritage

Dear Mr. Matar--

My husband, Iliya Harik, and I are delighted with your success in reaching Shweiris around the world and encouraging a sense of community centered on the common interest and affection for Shweir.  I'd like to make a strong suggestion, which would take some organization and effort but could produce something of lasting value to many people.  I urge that members of the Shweiri group pool their memories and personal records to make a history of Shweir. It would be based on oral history elicited from older family members, plus letters, essays about the past, possibly some genealogical records, and whatever written history exists. The settlement at Shweir, I'm told, goes back to around the 9th or 10th century. Doubtless there aren't any records for the medieval period, but any evidence of its long life surely justifies the effort of compiling and writing a history about as much of its life as possible.

Personally, not being a Shweiri or even Lebanese myself, I don't feel that I can or should organize and carry out such an effort. But being a writer and a believer in the value of preserving social history, I would be glad to help. For instance, I have written a questionnaire  designed to help people get talking about their pasts and their memories, and would be happy to share this.  The final result, as I envisage it, would be a modestly produced book ("self-publishing" is not terribly expensive) combining history, memories, folklore and customs, family odysseys, etc. etc.

I think it could be fascinating and valuable to anyone connected with Shweir--and could set an example of local histories to be compiled by other communities in Lebanon and their sons/daughters abroad.  It could also have value for scholarly research. As we all know, Lebanon is changing all too rapidly.  With the dying out of the generation born in the first decades of the 20th century--along with the lamentable over-development of the land, which is destroying the physical traces of the past--time is of the essence.

What do you think?

Sincerely,

Elsa Harik

PS Iliya left yesterday for Beirut. He'll be there till early July; I'll join him in Lebanon for a couple of weeks in late June, and then we'll go to Italy for three weeks or so before returning home. You can reach him at the Shwayr@cyberia address, and me at the harik@indiana.edu address.

Response by George Matar on March 6, 2001

Hello Elsa

Thank you very much for your valuable input, you are exactly on target and your points are well taken. I love to hear that people are really into what we are doing and are willing to help.

We are in a way doing what you are suggesting via the town's web page, just in case Iliya did not share with you please check it at www.shweir.com <http://www.shweir.com> . It is semi organized and getting better. We have and still collecting any articles, stories, pictures, etc.. on the history of the town. We have located a book written in 1922 about the town, we also received articles from Australia (Dr. Klee) about an article written around the mid 19th century by Colonel Churchill about the town, and Many others all located in the "Did you know?" section. Another book, in Arabic, Titled Saif oo Terse that discuss the art of knighthood in the town with some information dated to the 7th century. 

I got to admit, your idea of publishing all that we have sounds very attractive.  With all the information that we have, which we are quite proud of, but we are also very biased on the coordination and quality of it. I would love for you to check it out and give us some direction on the best way we can either display it or publish it.  Please take a little of your time, view it, and give us your honest opinion, it would be very much appreciated.  I possibly will be going to Lebanon around August, so our trips will cross, I am looking forward to meet with you and Iliya one day, he has been an excellent supporter.  Have a nice trip, and trust me, I will remind you of this after you come back

George Matar

Anwar, attached please find two old photos:

Gerios Shehadeh Moujaes 1- The first is for my late grandfather, Gerios Shehadeh Moujaes (on the violin), and another man called Khalil Rachid ( I guess from Touma Sawaya family) on the "oud"

2- The second picture is for my great grandfather, Shehadeh Moujaes ( Abou Gerios) 1861-1931, and my grandfather (1896-1972) when he was a kid; taken sometime before 1905. It shows the Lebanese lebbadeh ( hat) and traditional long "sherwal".

Some stories about Shehadeh:  He was very tall and strong. That's why he was the first Shweiry to hold Shweir flag "albayra'". His brother, Semaan ( known as Semaan Yazbeck), was the first mayor of Shweir, and he was the one who built "Ain al Abo" as it stands now with Youssef Ghosn. 

Late Hanna Saba Halaby told my father a story of a fierce fist fight between Shehadeh and his brothers (8 in total) from one side, and another party ( not known) where they emerged victorious with many casualties on the other side. 

Shehadeh immigrated to the USA in the 1800s via Ellis Island. He visited his brothers in Santa Fe, NM. However, he was not able to stay because he refused not to wear the "sherwal". So, he went back to Shweir and got married in early 1890s. Gerios, my grandfather was born in 1896.

Waleed Moujaes

Thank you Waleed for your great photos, and sharing some valuable information and history of Shweir... Keep it up. Anwar

Magnificent 7

Attached please find a  photo taken in the early sixties in front of the Saidy church during Palm Sunday.  They are the magnificent seven and I think at least more than dozen friends will recognize them, let see if any can.  Regards, Mounir Moujais.  

   
Have you recognized any of us?  I am carrying Elie Aoun, Ferris Kenicer behind me & Walid Khyralla Showing off.

Topic:   Shweir, Snow & SSS by Walid Samaha
George Matar Administrator	posted 02-21-2001 01:06 PM           I posted this message on my Corner but wanted to posted here too. This is a must read, an excellent descriptive mail of the old SSS days triggered by Habib's photo of the Saha in the snow. If the names do not sound familiar, just assign your own it will still fit. Submitted by Walid Samaha, he was boarding at the Arzi building....you'll get the message... And a Thousand thanks to Walid Dear George, I have just arrived from Switzerland two days ago, Tem. -5 C... snow everywhere... The snow in the Saha was not what stirred my fancy... I had snow coming out of from my .....ears..!! I remember when at SSS, (a long long time ago...!!), round about Jan or Feb.. I used to wake up in Arzeh.. look towards the tennis court and see that it had snowed heavily the night before....amassing a 15-25 cm thick very welcomed white powder..! The road would be completely covered.... Carslow Hall would be dressed in forbidding white... I say "forbidding" and "welcomed".. to prove a point... I would then turn around to Henry Sawaya and Ziad Hatoum ( we were sharing a room with Shakeeb Shaaya)..and with a big smirk on my face... I would shout ecstatically... "Well.. it's full of snow lads... let's do some Arithmetic..!!" You see, at moments like this, our mathematical prowess knew no bounds..... So... immediately we would commence an elimination procedure that was only known to us.. .. with hope in our souls... The tally generally went something like this..... No Physics today....... Torossian.. won't be able to make it from Beirut.... ( Small car... Bald tyres ) No Math today............ Imad Naser... won't make it from Koura... ( Regretfully.. will get stuck above Bikfaya ) No Chemistry today......Zablit... won't make it from Zgharta.......(------ Ditto Above------) No English today..........George Maalouf... won't come from 3abadieh, Aley,...( He likes his comfort,... won't risk it.. ) If is was a Monday........No Arabic....... Omar Yamak... won't make it from Tripoli... ( Hopefully... won't find a lift..) We hoped against hope that it snowed so much up in Dhour, that Timothy won't be able to make it either... Badi3 Nader.. Bless him .... always there... to give the same consistent paternal advice..."Go do some work..". Sit Linda.... Bless her soul.... she was always wonderful.. with her snow boots.. edging slowly towards Carlow... So... Great joy..........all is well... no work today...? Until..... one of the guys, probably Henry, he was always the smart one, would remind us to pray that the snow is not too deep in Shweir... .....Ergo : Sit Zalfa won't be able to make it...and.. we will all end up without lunch....!!! So you see George.... Photographs are like smells.... they remind different people of different things.... To me.." Dhour @ 8.00 this morning".... means... NO LUNCH....and Dinner... if snow gets too heavy.. So please don't go romantic on me..... It won't work...I like to go into memory lane, like the next man..... but on a full stomach...! Be well, W.B.Samaha IP: Logged
Nabil E. Matar Member	posted 02-21-2001 03:38 PM           Walid, I wish I knew you were hungry I could have brought you from home 3AROOS DIBS KHURROOB BIKHIBZ MURCOOK .You will be holding it like a saxophone, and dropping Dibs all over the place. Ya Abou Ziad Jr. in my respond to Habib I was trying to remember the good things. If I wanted to be pessimistic I could remember that rubber boot SHIGHL BIRJ HUMMOOD which has no FRAMAT, every morning I slip hundred times before I get to school. I wish you could have seen the sucks inside. They were soaked with snow and KIL FRDEH SHIKL. My friend I have been all over the continent and I a have to tell you one thing. I WOULD NEVER TRADE THE OLD HAPPY SHWEIR SECONDARY SCHOOL DAYS AND MY WONDERFUL CLASSMATES WITH NOTHING. Abou Ziad Sr. IP: Logged
Klee Member	posted 02-21-2001 05:55 PM           This is a great memory! I can imagine how funny and clever the boys must have been. I thought it was so good that I read it to my husband so he could enjoy it too. Thanks for sharing it. IP: Logged
Mona Member	posted 02-27-2001 06:57 PM           Arzi (w Sanneen). That reminds me of the Field Day at the end of each school year where the entire Dayaah attended the festivities. I remember the marathon run where all the athletes were split into two teams the Arzi Team and the Saneen team. Started the run in Dhour and ended up in SSS panting for breath and some almost fainting. I remember all the preparations, Rafic used to be a big part of it athletically, and we the ladies, then in our pre-teen years, were the folk dancing group. Miss Rayyah will teach us Dabkeh, and our mothers made our pink tafetah costumes. The one thing that bugged me most is that we had to stay inside Sanneen building and I could not see all what was going on, but when it was our time to perform, it was worth it. I also remember the races they used to have for the elementery kids (myself included) the sac race, and the batatah race where you had to bite onto a spoon and place an egg on it, and run to the finish line without dropping it. I wonder if this tradition is gone? Anyway, The memory came to my mind when I read Waleed's description of the snow and the Arz Building. I loved the snow because it meant no school, it also meant my mother was going to cook us "HarrouK Isbaaouh" which is a combination of toasted Markook bread, crumbiled in a pan with Samneh Hamawey, and Dibs, heated, then given to us to eat hot and burn our fingers. It also meant Dips Btalj. Well Waleed, I am sorry you had to stay hungery all day while we were having a feast. IP: Logged
GhassanZghaib Member	posted 02-28-2001 12:12 PM           I don't have memories of SSS but I sure have some of winter in Shweir: 1. Kooh harf-Mrad: Every night I would pray so the kooh freezes and the bus doesn't make it to Dhour. Soeur Yvonne would have to call a day off. Unfortunatly, sometimes a few of us, who live next to the school would end up in the classroom PRAYING for the whole day. You can imagine the smile on the faces of those who lived in Dhour. 2. The first day of snow was the day when my friends and I would feel BRAVE: Walk on the snow to dhour and prepare 'manakish' at Rachid's bakery. I have a confession to do here: I used to put olive oil in the phone handset and laugh to death every time the phone rang. You should have seen the look on 'Amm Rachid's face. Forgive me Amm Rachid wherever you are. 3. Winter snow was the occasion for us to dig traps to our 'ennemies'. Unfortunatly most of the times our parents would end up in the traps. WE SHOULD HAVE BEEN DIGGING THE TRAPS NEXT TO OUR 'ENNEMIES' HOME. One thing I know now is how HOT winter in Shweir was compared to winter here in Montreal. I mean, in Shweir, in winter, you can still take the bus and sit down. We don't have this luxury here in Montreal, THE DAMN PANTS WON'T BEND. In Shweir, the first snow would give birth to the first Snowman. He would live for a couple of days and then fade away. IN MONTREAL, YOU'LL HAVE TO LIVE WITH THE CREEPY CREATURE FOR THE WHOLE WINTER SEASON (4 to 5 months). YOU'LL NEED A BULLDOZER TO DRESTROY IT. IP: Logged
Klee Member	posted 02-28-2001 04:17 PM           What great fun! What great memories of childhood in Shweir you have! Thanks for sharing them.

Shweir Secondary School, SSS 1955 Graduating Class

Nabil could only name the girls from left to right (Monira Halabi, Nawal Touma, Azizy Jirdak, Nohad Yared and behind Nohad, Leila Saway .  Courtesy of Nabil Matar.  Can someone identify the male side of the picture? 

Shweir Secondary School, (SSS) 1954 track & field day
 (The guy to the right with long sleeve sweet shirt, none other than Mr. Track and field Antoine Halabi) 
Al Mukhtaar asks: Is that Najib standing next to Antoine

Thank you Nabil Matar for sending this photo

Milia

Najib Matar's book "Milia" .  

Chapter One:  December.  

It has to be the coldest month of the year, especially in the mountains of Lebanon.  So for a child of seven that lives in the mountains of Lebanon the only happy expectation is looking forward to Christmas.  But for me there was to be so much more.

 I was seven years old when my mother asked me to live with my grandmother Milia.  At first I did not like the idea because I did not want to be away from home, but somehow I sensed my grandmother was to be much more entertaining than my mother, so I went.

 My grandmother lived in a large one-room house.  Attached to the house was a small Kitchen through which the door was found to the outside bathroom and toilet.

 The house itself was constructed with hand-cut limestone walls and reinforced concrete roof.  Dhour Shweir, the town I was born and raised at, one can immediately notice that most houses were built with limestone rocks, mainly due to the fact that limestone is a natural resource in the area, and mining the stone is a primary source of revenue.  The Shweirians are widely known in the area of building these beautiful houses which are made to endure for centuries.

 Dhour Shweir is located in the heart of Lebanon at an altitude of 1250 meters above sea-level.  The old town is found in a central valley surrounded by horse-shoe like hills on the East, South and West.  These hills are densely covered with pines, oaks, and where water can be found, willows, cypress and poplar trees.  These hills always look lush and green, summer and winter.  In total contrast are the mountains of Lebanon, where the heavy cultivation of the forests led to extensive soil erosion.  Eventually a large portion of the mountains were left sadly barren, leaving behind only those layers of limestone rock.  As  a result the late 1800’s found the Shweirians turning to the arts of masonry.

 Dhour Shweir is located about 27 km East of Beirut, the capital of Lebanon.  In that relatively short distance, you emerge from tropical surrounding at the shores of the Mediterranean into a sub-tropical climate in the mountains, where in the winter one can expect as much as a meter of snow to cover the entire area.

 It was this bitter winter climate that caused my mother’s concern for her own mother, and one of the reasons she had for asking me to stay with my grandmother.

 In my grandmother’s house the furnishings were sparse.  They consisted of two beds, a central fireplace, one wooden table with few chairs for eating and a smaller table with a lone kerosene lamp.  The concrete floor was covered only between the beds with a thick woolen carpet.

 There were three other additions to this house.  First of all, on the stove, there was at all time, a full pot of water for my grandmother’s tea.  The Second Essential thing was a bottle of Cognac kept near her bed.  According to her the most effective remedy for her arthritis pain was two teaspoons of cognac in a cup of tea.  The third and most important item was “The Book”.  Grandmother knew it by heart and each night she would recite part of the Old and New Testament.  As far as my memory allows, she fasted lent, forty days before Easter every year.  That book was her refuge, her best friend, and indeed, for her at least, held all the answers.

 As I said before, there were two beds in the room, but one was neatly kept in the event my uncle would drop by.  I never used it because I always shared grandmother’s bed.  This is not difficult to understand if you could even begin to realize how cold the weather in winter could get.  During World War II, the Nazis used Slavs and Jews in experiments to discover ways to protect their pilots the freezing cold.  The result from these experiments were conclusive.  The most effective means of warming those near death from sever cold was the warmth of another human body.

 At that young age, when I used to crawl into bed with my grandmother, I did it out of love, to warm her.  She always kept her cold feet away from me, but I would catch them and warm them on my behind, and my body warmth would slowly spread through her.  What a feeling of love.

 I can still recall those cold nights in winter, when darkness descend early.  My studies were ended, a thunderstorm was raging, grandmother lit the lamp as usual and we sat on cushions near the cast iron stove.  That stove was very nice for our faces and hands, but no good at all for the rest of our bodies.  At any rate……..

 “Sitto (grandma) Melia, how come you can read and write so well when my mom can’t”, I asked.

 “I was much more fortunate than your mother.  Her father died in the war when she was three and she missed the advantage of formal education because of the war, because we were poor.  Then after the war, she had to work in a tobacco factory, wrapping cigarettes.  Oh if only she could have the childhood I did”.

 Sitto Milia was not a portrait of beauty, yet she was beautiful to me.  She was so painfully thin, I can still see the blue veins on her hands.  She had long gray hair which she always wrapped in a roll at the back of her head.  Her face and hands were wrinkled and her chin protruded a trifle too much.  She had though one inescapable feature: with her piercing black eyes, she could look directly into your soul.  I was never able to get even the most insignificant lie past those eyes.  She expected certain things from me; to be extremely good in school, to attend church every Sunday and to pray each night.  Above all, she wanted me to write as she did, with my right hand.  I wish she did not do the latter because I was naturally left-handed.  She wanted my handwriting to match hers. And so I tried because her script was beautiful indeed.  The result had the opposite effect.  I still write with my right hand, and it always looks pathetic.

 To this day I don’t know why I always tried so hard to please my grandmother.  I always knew I loved my mother, but my feelings to my grandmother was on a different plain---  It came close to adoration.  Sitto Milia was among the few literate women in the village.  She wrote both classical and colloquial poetry.  It should be noted that the Arabic classical is almost completely different from the spoken language.  She was a superb seamstress, so proficient that her guesses were the only measurements necessary.

 Each day no matter how long or difficult her day may have been, she prayed sweetly and softly.  Always thank god even for the pain and misery, the bad days as well the good, and the stormy weather along with the sunshine.  In the year 1958 when a devastating earthquake hit Lebanon, she even thanked God for that.  She never questioned his judgment, and thus she never panicked, always relying on her immense faith.  She filled all who knew her with a sense of strength and perseverance.  Sitto Milia was a SURVIVOR!

 Just as I tried to imitate my grandmother, I desired also to be like her son, my uncle.  As I reflect upon it, I think she installed this attitude in me.  My uncle was a most talented artist and she tried earnestly to influence me in that direction.  I was different, though, and I knew it.  In school I was good in math and sciences, and yet was very poor in the arts and languages, especially the French. Oh, how I hated to memorize my lessons.

 At that time there were few radios, and none at all in Dhour Shweir.  As a result the only entertainment the people of the village had was to play cards or “go visiting”.  I never wanted to do anything like that, but I was mostly interested in the stories and tales historical and otherwise that Milia furnished.  It seems like I had a craving to know all about the village; primarily the history connected to the Great War.  

—4—

Chapter two

 Milia Jibrael Moujaes was born in 1886 in a small village in Lebanon named Dhour Shweir. Her father Fans Jibrael, was one of the most successful masons in the area. He, along with his brother Salim, formed a type of company for mining lime stones for the use of constructing houses. They must have constructed so many beautifully well built houses in the area that they became famous in that field. Amir Basheer, the ruler of Lebanon then, when he wanted to built himself a palace and a seat for his government in Beit—el— Deen he could not find better than Fans and Salim to mine and cut the limestone's for that purpose. This palace is now the summer residence of the President of Lebanon, as well as a favorite attraction for tourists. The Amir ~as so pleased with their work that he rewarded with money and many valuable gifts, of these , the latter, I remember seeing an old rusty gold watch, an Ivory pipe, and worry beads strand made of genuine stones. Amir Basheer is known in history with the peace treaty he signed with Napoleon Bonaparte, when the French troops were surrounding Acre ( a harbor town north of Palestine).

Most men in Dhour Shweir traveled out of town seeking their masonry profession, they work in most parts of Lebanon, some even ventured as far as Syria. It wasn’t unusual, then, for them to be absent from home for as long as nine months running. The rest of their time was spent tending to their families problems. There’s a saying they had to come home occasionally to insure that they would have children.  Milia’s father Fares had six boys and three girls. His wife, Sabardej, was wed to him at the age of eleven, yet remained with her parents until she was able to bear him children. She was the daughter of the village herb doctor and Jeweler. Sabardej grew up to be a very quiet woman, yet her beauty and intelligence were ever obvious.  She both loved and respected her husband, something rare in an arranged marriage.

Fans, unlike Sabardej, was anything but quiet. Beside being a successful mason, he was anything but quiet. He seemed to be involved in everything. He was heading up town meetings, and he was appointed by the villagers to solve disputes concerning property and family affairs. His opinion was respected and his fairness was cherished by all concerned.  Dhour Shweir was then and now dominated by two main families, the Moujaes (Greek Orthodox) and the Sawayas (Greek Catholic). There has always been a struggle between these two factions as to who would rule the affairs of the village. These matters and others were more often than not settled in Fans living room. These meetings could had  been held outside in the open or under a tree for shade. In Lebanon, and generally East of the Mediterranean sea the climate is always predictable. The rainy and cold season begins late September and continues through April. Summers rains are rare, that invites festivities to be held outdoors.

As a little girl, Milia would sneak away from the women’s quarters and squeeze in beside her daddy, when these meetings were held, and she would listen to these endless discussions, women were never allowed in these meetings, their main contribution was to serve coffee cookies. This separation quarters for men and women was not only dedicated to the houses, but it extended to the churches, where there were a fenced section for the women.

Milia was more fortunate than most. Her father not only loved her, he recognized her intelligence as well. Most women at that time were not educated, only a selected few were that lucky. Fans would not allow Milia to attend school, but at the insistence of his wife, he engaged a private tutor for her. Thanks to him, she learned reading, writing and the basics of mathematics. This was so out of the ordinary because a woman’s function at that time was to bear children, perform the heavy duty of housekeeper and occasionally memorize part of the Bible.

There is a great deal of irony in this attitude towards women if you bore into history. A Phoenician princess, few thousands years ago, named Alissar was forced by her brother Bigmalion, to leave the city of the kingdom of Tyre in the south of Lebanon. She with her followers and few ships sailed and settled in Carthage . This Phoenician colony became so powerful that at one time her grandson, Hannibal, almost conquered Rome in one of the most famous battle of ancient history.

Milia kept trying to persuade her father that a tutor was not enough, that she would like to compete with the boys in public school for a public education. Fans remained adamant and that subject was secisively closed.

Doing well in his trade, Fans was able to afford his family more luxuries than some of his peers. He also had more imagination and foresight, Due to this, he thought that with better insulation he might build a home on the hillside above the village. The village was situated in the valley for the reason that it is warmer down there and less windy. Though the winters were much more bitter, something about the beauty of facing the gorgeous mount Sunneen to the East, and the sea to the south drew him. It was the first house built then. Now most of the Shweirrieh followed suit, and most of them built houses at that vicinity. The house was designed and build different that all the houses built then, The exterior of the house was formed with formed with hand cut stones from the outside, and insulated from the inside with a special clay, which made its walls insulated against the cold and the heat. The roof was made with heavy oak wood and covered from the outside with red bricks giving it the shape of rectangular red pyramid. There was one large area (Dar) encircled by six bed rooms, a large kitchen, and one toilet with a cesspool. The entrance had a large door and a covered patio with three artches two rounded column, all beautifully hand cut. The only problem I sow with the design of the house was the fact that the ceiling, five meters in height, made the home difficult to heat.

Milia found her home lonely at times, especially in winter. She rarely ventured into the vast forest that surrounded the house as it was teeming with wolves and hyenas. The winters were long, and when the men traveled for work, they were frightening as well. Food was never scarce, for the food was prepared and preserved in advance. Water was not that easily had. Bathing and cleaning water was collected as the rains drained from the roof to an underground well. Drinking water was obtained from a spring located about two kilometers from Milia’s house. It was usually the women job to fetch the water. The waters were carried in large clay jars on the backs of donkeys. Many a times fights would erupt among the women over who was first at the fountain.

Milia was third child in her family. Khalil, her brother was the eldest by ten years. Rejina, her sister, was six years older, Milia was next followed by Ibrahini, then Nazha, her younger sister. Next in line came two more brothers, Habeeb, and the youngest child, Aziz.