Hussein Fneish

My name is Hussein. I was seventeen years old and was studying at the Khodr Secondary School (in Beirut). I was an ambitious and studious boy with the dream of one day becoming a dentist. I used to promise my sister Fatima that she will be my first patient.

But the war put an end to all my dreams.

One day in 1976, a fire broke out in our neighborhood. We had to evacuate our house leaving behind everything we had owned. I got in the car with my mother Zahieh and headed towards Achrafieh. Only minutes after our departure, we were stopped at a checkpoint. Armed men forced us to step out of the car and separated us. Fortunately, my mother was released, but I was not as lucky.

It has been 40 years since my family have last heard of me.

About ten years ago, my sister Fatima was in a taxi when she thought she spotted me walking down the street. Her heart raced with excitement, and with the hope that she might see me again, she instructed the driver to go back before she loses sight of me. But sadly, it was a man who looked like me and had the same hair color and style as I did.

After so many years, my sister believes that I am most probably dead. But the lack of information regarding my fate keeps them with uncertainty. This uncertainty makes it difficult for their wounds to heal. Whatever the truth is, she is ready to accept it as she needs to know.

My name is Hussein... My story does not end here.