The journey follows a young Lebanese men called Nasej. He’s been having a hard time finding a corporate job that pays well yet does not want to leave his home country like his other friends... He took the bus from his home town and went to Beirut hoping to find a decent job opportunity. He gets off at Martyr’s Square and hops on an unfamiliar purple bus with storage space in the back without thinking twice. The bus driver, aware of the young man’s confusion, smiles at him and says: “Welcome to Naseej! Your first stop isn’t too far. I hope your ready to be immersed in this weaving loop that forms our Lebanese Ecosystem of Production!” Nasej, confused by the old man’s words, tries to say something but is rushed to get down at the first station and misses the chance to say anything. Nasej proceeds to follow the purple signs and begins his journey in this unfamiliar version of Downtown Beirut. From reading the map hung in the bus station, Nasej was able to understand a bit what to expect from this journey...but still felt the need to ask someone a few questions. He headed towards the first shop in view. This shop was hidden under a wooden canopy like many others in this part of the souks. Upon seeing him, the old lady sorting small white spherical shapes brightened up and invited him inside. Upon his asking, she started explaining to him about this marvelous little white sphere: “This is our trade’s gold! A magical little wonder that turns into threads so soft, people paid actual gold for in the old times. If you don’t know what this is, I suggest you continue along the path... you’ll find your answer towards the end of it.” Nasej continues to walk. He sees strings being pulled out of the little white spheres, wheels being turned and bundles being made. He stops at the sight of a machine...weird yet familiar. Its sound was mesmerizing as the artisan was swiftly maneuvering it. The machine consumed thread and produced fabric. After a few minutes of il l hi h l ki f h He reaches shops bustling with little purple carts. While some came pushing their products in quantities, some were packaging them, and others were hurriedly loading the freshly taped boxes into the carts. Nasej tried to ask a woman for their destination, but she gestured for him to follow her and said nothing. He arrived at another bus station and only then did he notice carts parked behind the board on which he read the map. He didn’t wait long for the bus to appear again, and in the midst of the loading chaos, he managed to find a seat. He was dropped off at a similar loading station and was told to walk a bit more. He, of course not knowing what else to do, followed along the canopy until he found shops bustling with people of all ages. Workshops were buzzing with WHERE PRODUCTION BECOMES THREAD: Weaving Memory Back Into Beirut Souks Group 09 At first, he didn’t recognize the street. He sensed something was different. As he was approaching to cross the street, he realized what had changed the scenery he was familiar with. Mulberry trees guarded bus stations, leading walkers towards them. After crossing the street, his senses told him to not wait for the us and keep walking. He had noticed children, running excitedly across the corner. As he followed them, he watched them run towards the trees and picking up leaves, once they had their hands full, they ran towards an opening paying attention not to let the leaves fall. He entered and discovered nets hanging on top of ruins. He stood there astonished as he watched the kids feed the worms laying in the nets. It took him a second to realize what he was just witnessing, and another minute to understand how these little green insects are soon going to turn into the same little white spheres the old lady was sorting. Lost in thought, he walked until a purple bus stopped in front of him again. “Ready for the next stop?”, said the driver. Nasej nodded and hopped in. movement everywhere you looked. Drawings, colors, threads, fabrics, and clothes hanged everywhere. Learners and masters were equally busy, but he was still handed a flier which sparked the first light of hope in his heart: “Find your new home in one of our studios” the flyer said. Nasej held to his spark and continued walking upwards. Where he arrived next had to be the most crowded of the places he visited. Shoppers and sellers were all bargaining, each trying to tip the profit in their favor. He squeezed in between the loads of people checking out the merchandise. He had to take a look here and there after being called out for by the sellers, but managed to make it out onto Allenby Street. silently watching, he moves on looking for the next bus station. A majestic structure embellished with silk stood in front of him, he had reached the Silk Pavilion as the driver told him. During the next hours, he walked between the drapes learning of the thriving past of his country, which he mostly ignored before this trip. The past felt big and heavy. Expectations of success sat on his shoulder as he read about all the accomplishments of his predecessors. He decided to go home with a heavy heart and a foggy brain. The purple bus was going up, but didn’t continue towards Martyr’s square as he supposed. Instead, he found himself at a gate. The man said his goodbyes and left. Although Nasej didn’t get to ask any more questions, he, for once, knew where to go. Down he went, but not towards Martyr’s square, but towards the very point he began his journey. No idea had yet materialized in his head about what he is to do with his future, but he knew where to start. He also knew that this loop, this cycle, this full circle he had walked, would be there to guide him when he is lost. To be continued... The gate stood big, yet no one was crossing it and moving towards Nejme Square. He felt confused, until a passing man started conversing with him. “See this street son? Here stood Souk el Bazerkhan. Although now silk is produced down there, here was the home of silk in the old times. Now? Security reasons they say. Time changed our city, and our public stopped being ours all.” “Can nothing be done? It is shameful, space waiting for its people to come, yet none is authorized”, replied Nasej. The man looked at him for a second then answered. “There is a way. Work like those people are working. Create like these people are creating. And inspire like these people are inspiring.” “But I don’t know where to start...” “You can start where other lives end. Bins spread across the city collect abandoned fabrics which outlived their usefulness. Walk down and you can reach thousands of fabrics awaiting to be given new life. And if you don’t find your own usefulness there, continue down and check the many resources across our beloved country. Silk indeed was and is now again the pulse of these revived souks, but no one promises eternity to the trade. You, young ones, are to carry on towards the future. And we leave you the entirety of our precious land as your most precious resource. Don’t lose faith, young man, you are not alone and I think the people down there proved that to you.”