I recently received a direct message on Instagram from Mohamad Ali Kaissi, urging me to visit and photograph a hidden gem in Beirut. Intrigued by the recommendation, I set out on a Sunday to find the house at the location he shared.
As I arrived, I found the house nestled among massive, ancient trees, just across from the Beirut horse track. The main gate was closed, and there was no bell to ring for entry. Nearby, a towering structure was under construction, with a metal door and a bell. I knocked, and to my surprise, they let me in. When I asked how I could access the house to take pictures, they led me to a side entrance, informing me that people still lived there.
I approached the side door, which had a bell, and was greeted by a woman who opened the heavy metal door. Introducing myself, I asked for permission to enter and take photographs. The Lebanese woman introduced herself as the house’s concierge. She explained that the house belongs to an elderly couple—the wife, too ill to visit anymore, and the husband, who occasionally stops by. She politely refused my request to take photos, explaining that the owners would not allow it.
I shared my passion for documenting Lebanon’s diverse stories, trying to convey my intent to showcase the different faces of the country. Though initially hesitant, she eventually softened, saying, “I liked you and believe what you’re doing is nice.”
During our conversation, I asked her if the house was at risk of being demolished to make way for another towering building. She initially dismissed the rumors, but after a brief pause, she admitted that if a buyer were found, the house would indeed be gone. Her face grew somber as she acknowledged this possibility.
The house, set on a large plot of land, has a backyard filled with orange trees. The concierge lovingly tends to the trees and flowers, all of which are thriving. She and her family live in two rooms of the house, with the remaining rooms closed off. She also cares for six cats living in the house and several stray cats that jump over the walls.
The house itself bears the scars of Lebanon’s turbulent past, with its walls still marked by the ravages of war. It hasn’t been renovated since, standing as a poignant reminder of a time gone by.
This visit left me with a deep sense of melancholy, knowing that this beautiful piece of Beirut’s heritage may soon disappear. The house, with its lush surroundings and rich history, is a quiet testament to the city’s past—a past that may soon be lost to modern developments.
