Signed, Sealed, Delivered: A Love Letter To Beirut by Razane Jammal
The Lebanese actress pens a letter to her hometown
From Beirut to Jeddah, four powerhouse women pen love letters to the most fundamental cornerstone there is – the city that made them. Read Razane Jammal’s here.
Dearest B,
It’s been a while! Remember me? I heard you were going through tough times… and I just wanted to remind you that I’m here for you.
Maybe I don’t say it as often as I should, but you are my waking up and seeing my mother’s face. You’re my riding behind my father on his motorbike to school. The sunsets at Sporting. Sitto’s mloukhieh. Mum teaching me how to belly dance: “Put out the cigarette with one foot and change the lightbulb with your hand!” You’re my sister jumping on our bunk bed. My Manousheh jebneh and zaatar. The late-night Kazdoura. Jiyyeh beach on a Sunday. The strawberry and vanilla ice cream on Bliss Street. Climbing trees in Broummana. Fishing at the Riviera Club. Henry J. Beans after school. Hardee’s on a Friday. Birthdays at the Hard Rock Café. Learning how to drive in the ABC parking lot. The “Hi, kifak, ca va?” cliché. The skiing and swimming in the sea on the same day. The waves hitting Sakhret el Rawsheh. Dancing the nights away and falling asleep on the beach the next day. The stray cats meowing. The sound of the shawarma wrap. The Bonjus being crushed on the concrete floor. The traffic jams. The taxi drivers honking: “Where to, pretty?” The grocer’s “Marhaba!” The stranger’s “Ahla wo sahla”. The smell of fresh knafeh. The evening breeze on Sitto’s balcony. The endless mezza. The inappropriate conversations at the family table. The doorbell when there’s a delivery. The taste of everything familiar. Peanuts or carrots? Grilled chestnuts or grilled corn? Watermelon and halloumi. Or is it Bulgari? The smell of my grandmother’s chest: lavender. The sound of church bells. The mosque’s call to prayer. The Easter, summer and Christmas holidays. My mother’s “Yalla!” My father whistling from afar to signal that he’s “watching me”. My name being pronounced right! My girlfriends singing in the car. All that, and so much more.
B, you are a more than my community. You are the Mecca of my memories. The faces of the people that shaped me. The joy of reunion and the pain of separation. Weddings and funerals. Births, deaths and everything in between. A place where you meet people everywhere and all the time. Where you can have 20 people over in less than an hour. Where random strangers are there for you. Where you can always buy something and come back to pay the next day. Where people are genuine. Where generosity knows no bounds. Where kindness prevails and foreigners are welcome. Where I feel I have 500 mothers looking out for me and another 500 feeding me. Beirut, you are your people. And we are you. You will forever be our heartbeat.
– Razane
PS: I love you
Illustration by Nour Flayhan
Razane’s letter was originally published in Harper’s Bazaar Arabia’s November 2020 issue.