Return to the Motherland

I have spent the past couple of weeks back at home with my family in Lebanon. It was a perfect ending to very productive and fruitful nine months of travel. After living and working in New Zealand, to vigorously traveling Thailand and Cambodia, then volunteering and experiencing South Africa and finally seeing a very beautiful and picturesque area of England, I decided to end my trip back here, in Lebanon. And I am still here. My brother brought two friends with him whose extent of arabic language was "yes", "where is the bathroom?" and "the food tastes good". Surprisingly, my family and the two guys took to each other very well and were miraculously able to understand each other either through english-arabic, body language, facial expression or just blind faith that what the other was saying was understood. The two weeks we spent as a family eating (which is a very huge part of Lebanese culture), laughing, arguing/listening to politics and experiencing our fabulously rich culture were blissful. It wasn't until the end of our trip that we realized that the "labor strike" wasn't simply that, but a way for the different political and religious divisions within this country to have themselves heard, and this time it wasn't a peaceful revolution. Riots and violence in the streets of West Beirut made their way around. The "fighters", some being only zealous young boys with weapons, lit tires and cars on fires, closed off streets, shot at their opposition while hiding in buildings and some in the middle of the streets. As the army began maintaining the peace the fighting spread to other parts of Lebanon. That made travel in this country a bit more difficult. Conflicts would just break out and many people didn't know which routes to take in order to avoid it altogether. Fortunately for my brother and his friends their is a road to Syria (then to Jordan for them) that is supposedly clear and safe. Today they began their journey (and let's hope for their sake a very unexciting one)so that they can make their flight on time from Amman, Jordan to Chicago, Illinois. As for me, I was already supposed to leave but as we well know, the airport is still closed. I have the option of going to Damascus and flying from there, but unfortunately hundreds of other Lebanese and tourists had that same idea and all the seats are full. Right now I'm on a waiting list for a seat. We will see when I hopefully do get back home. How ironic that now, at the point that I'm willing if not almost looking forward to starting a "life" back home, I am unable to get there. Is this divine intervention? A sign that perhaps I'm not to go home right now? A sign that I'm supposed to keep on traveling and seeing the world through the inquisitive eyes I've been given? Only kidding, Dad, don't worry, I'm doing what I can to come back home. As for me? Do I kind of wish I did not come to Lebanon this time? There is no way. This country with its traditions, customs and political instability are all a part of me and my life. And every time I come back here I'm already wondering and hoping when the next time will be.