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Something about my grand parents’ origins

Antoun

  Antoun (Antony) is the name of dad’s father.  I have the impression that I saw him briefly once in a sitting position on a tiny balcony; he looked rotund with a jovial face. I never saw a photograph or a picture of Antoun.  By the way, my Christian name or patron saint name is Antoine since my first name is derived from an Antique pagan God Adonis. I lately discovered that my name in my birth certificate is typed Adouis, most probably because the typist in Bamako confused the hand written n with u and nobody deigned to double check for correction.  Antoun died in 1958 while on a brief visit to Lebanon for the surgical removal of his gall bladder; this minor surgery has harvested many victims even in the best hospitals at the time. Abou George, as Antoun should have been nicknamed, was born in Beit-Chabab and immigrated with a bunch of other young people to Africa as it was the custom in our locality.  

There is a custom to nickname the father after his eldest son by affixing Bou or Abou to the first name of the eldest son.  Abou George started work in Guinee and then moved to Segou (Mali) where he ended up working in commerce and barely visited Lebanon. 

Saesta or Sabat (Elizabeth) on the birth certificate

Saesta is the name of dad’s mother; she is short with a jovial face that dad inherited.  She is acerbic; a story goes around during Lebanon’s civil war that the representative of the Phalange “kataeb” militia in town came over to collect the monthly kickback on ground that this militia is a State within the State in the Metn district. Saesta told the representative that she has no money, which was the case from her rundown home that dad had restored 10 years ago after vacating long standing tenants at the expense of a protracted legal battle that stretched for years.  The representative of the “kataeb” asked Saesta not to mention that she would be absolved from any kickback and  she replied that she would not “moush rah eskout”; he then begged her not to propagate the story and she again refused saying that she will talk “baddi ehki”.  

In 1939, Saesta traveled to Segou to stay with her husband and took her eldest daughter Millia with her; Saesta had the Lebanese passport although Lebanon was under French protectorate.  Dad was left to live at his grand parents’, from his mother side and the house was rented out to the Jeara family.  

It was a period when Maronite families married close cousins and conceived many children and most of them died still born or shortly after and families ended up with over six living offspring.

Toufic

The father of Saesta, Toufic Bouhatab, lived in the USA in his youth and was considered “zeer nissa2″ for chasing after girls; he was rich at one time and had several shops on the main street of Beit-Chabab and was a member of the municipal council for ever; he ploughed and worked the vast garden till an old age; he had an acute pneumonia and I said farewell to him while in bed before I left for the USA for graduate studies; Toufic died within a month. Dad used to aid in his grand father’s Toufic shop when a youth; the shop sold almost everything.

Tanios

The father of my mother, Tanios Gebrael, died in Lebanon at the age of 48 of a heart stoke, as his unique son Michel did at the same age.  I think he died before I was born.  Tanios also worked in Segou and he made well but was robbed by his brother when he died in his home; Tanios had a fortune in cash and had plans; his wife, six daughters and son never saw a nickel of cash inheritance.  Mother used to say that her father was irascible, strict, and conservative.  In his youth, Tanios used to chase away with stones any male contender to Eugenia, his potential sweet heart and later his wife. No boy or adult would dare talk or approach Eugenia. His only son Michel was bright in school but was diagnosed as mentally or emotionally “not normal” and spent his short life on medications.  Michel used to hand write abundantly and somehow the extended family has decided to make his scattered booklets disappear; I never can forgive them for that act of insensitivity that prove their ignorance and small mindedness.  I am not sure if Therese read any of his writing because he lived with her; I once asked Therese of what happened to Michel’s writing and she refused to answer me.

Why this wave of immigration to Africa?  There are evidences that most of the immigrants at the turn of the century paid dear money to go to “America” (read the USA).  Many scoundrels of ship Captains tried to increase their turnover rates of customers; thus, they dropped many travelers in Africa and told them “Here is America”.  These Captains did the same things and many Lebanese, Syrians, and Palestinians ended in Cuba, Mexico, Brazil and elsewhere.  Then those established immigrants sent for their relatives.