Zain called the number listed in the ad. Then she went to the bank to apply for a loan to cover the three-month advance she’d have to pay in order to move into the apartment. When she told the bank teller her name, he jumped up excitedly, saying, “How are you, Zain? I’m Abu Jurais’s son—Widad and Sara’s brother. Your dad used to rent a summer house from us in Bloudan! I’ll give you the apartment for a month, and you can see if you like it. If you do, we’ll talk about the rest of the details then.”
Then he gave her the key and the address, and called the building’s concierge so that he could be expecting her.
As I left the bank, I wondered: How did so many Syrians end up here in Beirut? I seem to run into a Syrian everywhere I go. Then the bank teller turns out to be from Bab Tuma, of all
