“Boya! Boya! Boya!... Want to polish your shoe sir?”
“How much is it?”
“As much as you’d give me!”
“Stop this game. How much? Two? Three thousands?”
“Three thousands”
“Acually you’d have taken two if I didn’t mention the number three myself.
Still, go ahead do polish it!”
“Please put your foot on the box.”
“So, where do you come from?”
“North. The Nahr el Bared (The cold river) camp”
“Hmmm… And you stay in Beirut all by yourself?”
“I share a room with four of my cousins in a motel near the port.”
“And what do they do?”
“They’re shoe polishers too…. But we split ourselves to avoid the competi-
tion. Otherwise, someone gets a good beating!”
“How often do you go up home?”
“Once a month, for a full week. You know, for my wife.”
“Your wife? Aren’t you a little young to be married?”
“I am seventeen now… I’ve been married for six months… A big huge wed-
ding with dancing and all… How about you sir, are you married.”
“No.”
“But, aren’t you too old not to be married?”
“I am 32.”
“Well, I am sure there’s a bride waiting for you somewhere! Now we’re try-
ing to have a baby!”
“Already? Can you afford that with what you earn? If I were you, I’d use
some form of protection!”
“Why would I wear a condom? Ever heard or anyone eating a candy with its
wrapper? There sir! Finished!... Ariss!”
“Ariss! A groom! If a woman is to marry me because my shoes are shiny,
then I really have a problem… Here, have 5,000 you’ve done a good job.”
As the fighting intensified between the Lebanese army and the extremists of
the Nahr El Bared camp, a truce was called enabling a UN convoy to evacu-
ate 15 injured and three pregnant women. There was no mention if one of
them has a husband who worked as a shoe polisher in Beirut.