A Tour of the Old People's Home in Beirut

The old people's home is a social institution of very great importance in the Lebanese Republic. Before we move on to this home, which stands in the Furn al-Shubbak district of Beirut, and before we walk through its corridors and its rooms and become acquainted with its conditions, we present to you a brief glimpse of this home's history.

In Beirut in the year 1900 there was a person called Count Frazi. One day he went to Cairo and visited the old people's home there and admired it, and he decided that a home for the aged should be established in Beirut as well; so he sent a proposal to that effect to the society that oversees such work in France — the Confraternity of Our Lady of Sorrows.

The society studied this proposal in 1904, but did not set about carrying it out until 1913, when the society's superior, Mother Saint Justine, arrived in Beirut. Four sisters followed her, and they founded a home for the aged in the old Italian Consulate building in Beirut.

A year after the home's founding, the number of its aged residents had reached 400. When war was declared in 1914, the Turkish authorities demanded that the sisters leave the country at once, so they left the home in the care of a number of Syrian sisters.

As the home's superior was about to leave the port, she said to the Vali of Beirut: Your Excellency the Vali — we are leaving Lebanon, leaving the aged in your care. The Vali answered her: You may, Sister, leave them in my own care. When the war ended, only two of the residents of this old people's home remained alive; the rest had gone to meet their Lord through hunger.

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And now, here is the old people's home in our own day: the car carried us to Furn al-Shubbak and stopped with us on a side road before a huge iron gate. The doorman received us — a man who has lost his sight, but whose insight is strong. He greeted us with the question: What do you want? We answered: We wish to visit the home.

We passed through the gate and found ourselves before a stately, oblong mansion of three stories, surrounded by pine trees over an area of hundreds of square meters. The doorman walked ahead of us, calling: Mother... Mother... And the home's superior, Mother Cléante, came out to us, followed by the convent's engineer, Mr. Bakhos. The superior welcomed us with her cheerful face and charged Mr. Bakhos with easing our task: to acquaint us with this humane institution which serves needy Lebanese who are advanced in years.

We walked with Mr. Bakhos and Mother Cléante along the garden paths, and this conversation passed between us:

Q: Who drew up the design of this splendid home?
A: I did.

Q: And when was it built?
A: Between 1932 and 1933.

Q: How did the society obtain this beautifully situated land — did it purchase it, or was it a gift?
A: This land belonged to a Frenchman called Monsieur Morel, one of the Frenchmen who settled in Beirut before the war of 1914, and whose mansion was a lodging for many foreign visitors. One day Monsieur Morel decided to give this land to the old people's home, so that a modern, all-embracing house might be raised upon it; and I had the honor of drawing up the plans of this house.

Q: And who undertook to pay the costs of building this great house?
A: The central society paid an enormous sum; the Mandatory power of that day also gave important financial aid; and to that is added what was given by people of goodness and charity.

Q: And how many residents does this home have these days?
A: One hundred and thirty persons: seventy-six women and fifty-four men.

Q: And how is the home's budget secured — who pays for its upkeep?
A: The government pays the home one thousand five hundred lira a year; the confraternity pays a like sum; and benefactors cover the rest of the expenses.

Q: And what is the nationality of the home's residents?
A: They are Lebanese of all communities — Christians, Muslims, and others. There are also a number of Palestinian refugees among them.

Q: And what conditions does the home set for accepting an aged person?
A: The aged person must be sixty years of age, must be poor in circumstances with no provider whatsoever, and unable to support himself.

Q: Do you accept people who pay the cost of their lodging and care?
A: No.

Q: If an aged person of sixty came to you carrying some money, would you accept him?
A: We would accept him.

Q: Do the aged do any manual or intellectual work in the home?

A: No; they have not the strength to do any work, because of their great age. But some of the men work in the garden by way of amusement, and some of the women help with the kitchen work. This work is not required; it depends on the residents' own wish and on their capacity for work.

Q: Is there a library in the home?
A: There is nothing in the library but religious books.

Q: Is there a radio in the home, from which the aged may listen to music, the news, and the like?
A: An atmosphere of asceticism and worship prevails in the home, and so there is no radio set in it.

Q: How do the aged spend their time?
A: They pray at six in the morning, take breakfast at seven, pray again at nine, lunch at eleven, pray at half past three, and take supper at seven in the evening. After supper they pray and go to sleep.

Q: Do quarrels break out among the aged?
A: No; the aged live in complete harmony and concord, and a spirit of brotherhood prevails among them all.

Q: Do they go on any excursions?
A: No, they take no excursions; some of them have not the strength to move about. But some go to visit their families on certain occasions.

Q: Are there employees in the home who draw monthly salaries?
A: No; there are eight nuns in the convent besides the superior, and they carry the burdens of the home — except for a cook, who is paid a wage.

Q: Do you accept new members into the family of the aged?
A: We accept them in extreme cases only, since the home's budget does not permit increasing the number of the aged.

Q: Do you suffer from a financial crisis?
A: We are always in need of money. We have no savings whatever; what we receive, we spend.

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And we went strolling through the home. Here is the church, built in the splendid Roman style. Here is the room of the bedridden among the aged, whom the nuns take pains to feed. Here are the sleeping rooms — spacious, clean, comfortable. Here is the great kitchen, which runs on Butagaz. And here is a little room in which a bed has been placed, and on it sat an old woman 110 years of age — a collection of bones and protruding veins, and wrinkled, discolored skin.

I asked her: How old are you?
She stretched out her arm to show me the date of her birth pricked in with a needle — but I could make out nothing, for the wrinkles hid the truth.

I said to her in a loud voice: When were you born?
She said: The year forty!
I said: You mean you were born in 1840?
— She nodded her head in assent.

I said: Whom do you remember of the people of that age?

After some hesitation and wandering of mind she said: The Emir Bashir was a good man.
I left her, wishing her long life.

It seems that old women never lose their sense of humor, however the years pile up upon them; for as I was about to enter the old women's dining room, one of them, standing at the threshold of the door, said to me:
Come in and have a look at these young girls!

And so the tour of the old people's home came to its end. I bade farewell to its superior, Mother Cléante, and its engineer, Mr. Bakhos, and thanked her for her kind hospitality, wishing the home every progress and success, and hoping that it may find from the state and from the people's organizations the support and backing it deserves.