The alleyways are too narrow for more than one body to
pass through at a time. In Shatila, the Palestinian refugee camp set up in the
aftermath of the 1948 Arab-Israeli War, my guide more than once looked back at me to make sure I was still
there. "Does your embassy know
you're here?" she asked and laughed nervously. It was a joke, sort of.
Most people in the camp are good people, she
assured me, but a few really don't like Americans. They're crazy, she said, as if to suggest that this was a wild proposition. I
nodded, wary of being put in a position where I would either have to defend my
homeland or lamely attempt a Canadian accent.
The camp played a significant role in both
Israel's 1982 invasion of Lebanon and the 15-year Lebanese civil war. In this case, "significant role"
means bombardment and siege and no shortage of bullet holes in the walls. Consequently, it's a little difficult
sometimes to know what was caused by large-scale calamity and what's just garden-variety
decay brought on by years of economic deprivation. It reminds me a little of
New Orleans in that way.