Why Beirut?

Why not France, Australia, or South America?
Back in November, well before the February Job Fair, I remember discussing international teaching openings with a friend.  "I WON'T look for a job in the Middle East.  There are so many other places to teach!"  We agreed that this was a wise plan.  Well...  once I arrived at the Job Fair in San Francisco, the director spoke to us, 250 candidates, and advised us to be open minded and enter the job search with open minds. Okay.  I would go to the presentation by the American Community School in Lebanon, just to say I did.  I knew Beirut had to be an interesting city, historically, but all I could recall was the bombing of the American embassy, and recently, a war with Israel.  I couldn't remember details, but did know it had been a hotbed.  As I watched the presentation by Dr. George Damon, school headmaster, I found myself fascinated, scribbling notes all over my journal.  At the top of his power point, he listed service projects in the community:  recycling, aid to the Palestinian refuge camps, their ecological projects...Wonderful, I was thinking. Next, He discussed the arts and commented, "We are openly biased toward the arts; Drama, Theatre, Choir, Band..."  Oh my gosh!  From there it was about the "Gorgeous countryside, snowy mountains dropping down to the Mediterranean Sea."  Suddenly, in the middle of his talk, he got a cell call from his wife in Lebanon.  He explained to us that his daughter, Arwa, a correspondent for CNN, was in Syria and was trying to get out.  He was waiting for news that she was safely out of Syria.   Wow.  That was strange news. But I have to admit that it further intrigued me. Yes, I was bitten, Badly.  My notes took up several pages. This alone convinced me that Beirut was where I wanted to be.  But would they want me?  30-year teacher, 59 years old, gray haired, and untraveled?

The next step in the process could best be described as Speed Dating (and no, I've never tried it!). All prospective schools lined the walls of a huge hotel ballroom with their job openings posted on the wall behind them. We simply walked from table to table to set up interviews, but the catch?  We had about 1 minute to convince the school rep to put us on their weekend interview schedule.  This was a critical step, and would determine how we spent our weekend  in San Francisco.

 When I entered the ballroom, I was distressed to note that the Lebanon table had the longest line in the room.  It was the school I wanted most of all, but nerves were too tight to stand around, so I went to other schools, gave my one-minute speech (Please interview me!), and set up interviews in Mexico, Ecuador, Qatar, and China.  I returned to the Lebanon table, discouraged that the line still stretched across the room, so went off to sign up for schools in South Korea and Kuwait.  Finally, back to the Lebanon table, still a line, but this time I waited.  Finally, my turn.  I walked up to Dr. Damon seated behind his paperwork, fearing he'd be out of interview slots, but said to him, stomach lurching with hope:  "Hello Dr. Damon. all I can say is that you grabbed my heart with your presentation when I had no intention of going anywhere near the Middle East!  I was swept away by your discussion of the arts, your community projects, and all I can say is, Your school is my first choice!  Will you please give me an interview?"  He did, 11:00 the next morning.

At the interview, I could tell that he remembered me, the one with her heart on her sleeve. "I have to know, Is Beirut a safe place for a single woman?"  He answered, "Women walk, jog and run on their own all the time.  It's as safe or safer than American cities. You'll feel comfortable and safe outside."  I asked him if his school had a collaborative teaching climate; that this was important to me.  He assured me that there would be teachers very interested in teaming with me, that I would work closely with my grade level colleagues. At that point I begged him, "Please ask me some questions!  I need to know if I'm a good fit for your school!"  He smiled and asked me what I wanted him to ask.  My behavior management plan?  My teaching style?  He asked me to tell him whatever I wanted him to know.  So I did. He told me he had to leave early the next morning for Washington DC, but would send me an email.

The next morning, at 8 a.m., I found a job offer, and 48 hours to reply.
Without asking about housing, language, or anything practical, but knowing that the salary was half of what I currently earned, I paused, then talked about the offer with my darling roommate, Jill, from Wyoming.  It became clear that Beirut was still where I wanted to live and work. This was the adventure I was looking for, with whatever came with it.  I turned to the computer and typed an enthusiastic acceptance.  Dr. Damon typed back, "This news makes my trip all the more worthwhile.  Welcome to the American Community School!"
That's how it all began.