Wajih Zahlan

My name is Wajih. At the age of 38, I was married with four children, living in Aley and working as a foreman. The war had been going on for years, but I had intended to live my life regardless. I was not affiliated to any party or prone to any activism. What mattered to me the most were my work and my family. I was a strong man, and I liked to work with my hands. My son Ayman, who was very young at the time, would say that I was strong enough to break a stone with my hands.

I liked to spend the evenings with my friends and family. We used to gather at my place for musical sessions. I loved to sing. Life was good, really. Until one day, life changed forever. Not just mine, but that of my loved ones too.

On August 12th 1982, I was on my way to the Bekaa, for a repair job. I left home at 5 in the morning, while everyone was still asleep. I was supposed to call my wife when I reached the Bekaa but I never did. My car was later found not too far from our home, near Bhamdoun.

My children’s ongoing search for me led my son to an abandoned detention center. There, he found a pile of passports belonging to many of those who were taken there, including mine. This is the only information my family was ever able to gather. They are still waiting to know what happened to me till this day.

My name is Wajih Zahlan. Do not let my story end here.