By Amari Leiva-Urzua
“Your house shall not be an anchor, but a mast.”
This quote comes from Lebanese-American writer Kahlil Gibran’s book The Prophet, a copy of which was given to me by Julie Cook after an evening in her living room travelling through the life and story of her Lebanese-Australian immigrant parents, Souhaila (Susan) and Albert Saba.
For many immigrants, Gibran’s words ring true and deep as they know what it means to have to leave their home and, many times family, searching for a better life in Australia.
For Souhaila (79) and Albert Saba (84), it meant leaving their homeland of Lebanon 70 years ago and only returning for the first time in March 2023.
Dedicating their lives to building a home for their four children and many grandchildren in Sydney, many had asked them why they had never returned to Lebanon.
For many years the answer had been because of money, or because there was no need since all their family was here. But, deep down it came to the fact that Souhaila Saba refused to go back to Lebanon without her husband who she knew would have to come face to face with untold childhood memories of trauma, grief, and hardship.
It was only last year, when renowned Lebanese TV producer Samir Youssef came to their doorstep searching for a story of Australian-Lebanese migrants, that they found themselves talked into doing something they had only dreamed of as a miracle.
Going back to Lebanon
Tracing their steps from when they came to Australia back to their childhood in Lebanon, Youssef turned their story into a documentary called The Last Letter. It has been released worldwide through MTV Lebanon but remains completely in Arabic and is in the process of being translated to English.
Alongside their physical journey, it follows the Sabas’ emotional journey as they open up about their complex and turbulent past, and the hardships they have had to overcome to be where they are today.
It all began in 1954 when the families of Souhaila and Albert Saba boarded a ship bound for either America or Australia, alongside many post-war migrants. Where they would end up they didn’t know, but after a month’s journey Souhaila arrived in Sydney in October followed by Albert in December of that same year. She was 10, he was 14.
With no knowledge of each other’s families, they settled into an Australian society that was just coming out of the White Australian Policy. Sohaila’s father Chebel El-Daher was a pillar of the early Lebanese community, helping many migrants find homes and employment to sustain their families.
Albert began working straight away while Souhaila managed to go to school until she turned 14 and her mother fell sick, leaving her to care for her eight siblings.
Around a year later, Souhaila’s older brother Fadi El-Daher would meet Albert and become best friends. By 1961, Albert and Souhaila would decide to elope, after their parents disapproved of the relationship.
Unbeknownst to Souhaila’s family, who believed she was on a holiday, the couple lived under the roof of Albert’s mother. Souhaila would not see her family for eight years.
By the age of 20, Mrs Saba would have three children in that household. By 24 she had bought the house she lives in to this day, where she would have her fourth child at 32 years old.
Her brother would live in Adelaide, constantly visiting Sydney until his mother’s funeral in 2008 when he decided to move back to Lebanon. He has never been back.
When documentary producer Youssef approached them in 2023 with a lifetime opportunity to reconcile with their home after 70 years, the couple were sceptical. Especially Albert who, when asked by Youssef why he hadn’t been back to Lebanon, responded: “Ask me any question but don’t ask me anything about Lebanon, it’s too painful.”
His daughter Julie Cook explained: “They had many times where they had enough money to go, but Dad would refuse, it was too painful for him, and he was fearful of the pain. He didn’t go because of his trauma, but his life was to support us, to get us through schooling, and give us a roof over our heads.”
It was Souhaila who would finally convince her husband, saying: “In 63 years I have never asked anything of you, and I’m asking this of you now, don’t deprive me of seeing my brother.”
A few months later they, along with Albert’s cousin Judy Saba, were boarding a plane to Lebanon’s capital Beirut.
At the airport, they were welcomed by Youssef, with Souhaila in tears saying: “In my heart, if I died today, I would be happy.”
The welcoming festivities continued at the hotel where they were greeted by a traditional band of Lebanese drummers.
After touring the capital, the plan was to head north to their home villages. But Albert refused to go anywhere until he visited his childhood church, Saint Anthony of Padua, in the Lebanese village of Kfar Zeina.
Albert shared a deep emotional connection with the church as a child. As a 10-year-old boy, he would have to take lunch for his father and uncle, walking through bush and valley. Usually, he would just pass the church until one night he heard that a wolf had caught a gypsy in the same area. The following day, fearing something might happen to him, he carved a small hole in the church’s sandstone wall as a little shrine for himself.
“I was always scared but as soon as I got there, my heart settled,” he said. “I’d kneel, pray and I wasn’t scared anymore. I had a little photo of Saint Anthony stuck in the hole so that he could watch me, that’s the memory I have. I have never asked anything of him, and never has he let me down.”
After 70 years, Saba said that when he touched the hole and image, his hand went numb. It hadn’t rained in the village for a long time and that day it rained.
After all these years and a complete renovation of the church, his fingers traced the small hole that was still intact. Once more, as he did all those years ago, he kneeled to pray before continuing the long and emotional journey that lay ahead for him and his wife.
Now it was back to the schedule. Rather than exploring Kfar Zeina further the Sabas’ next stop was Kfar Houra, the village where Souhaila was to reunite with her brother after 15 years. It was a custom that she would call her brother from Australia, especially around Mother’s Day, to give her wishes to her sister-in-law.
Not knowing that his sister was in Lebanon, Fadi El-Daher picked up the phone. After Souhaila wished for him to come back to Australia he responded that it was unlikely.
“So when will I be able to see you?” she asked, on the phone just a couple of streets away.
“In heaven more than likely,” he responded.
So when El-Daher opened the door to see his sister he was overwhelmed.
“ I can’t believe this is happening, I never thought they’d come, I don’t want to wake up. It was a dream, I never thought it would be real, their body and soul are here, it’s always been here,” he said through tears of joy, arms wrapped firmly around Souhaila, even singing the song My Heart is Singing.
Not only did Fadi reunite with his sister, but he also saw her in a gorgeous wedding dress as Youssef had organised a wedding for Albert and Souhaila, since they were never able to have a proper one due to their elopement.
Souhaila and her brother then set off to visit their childhood home in the same village, with Fadi guiding her through the rooms of the humble brick house.
“The house that we were born in was full of love, we used to play on the floor, the six of us, sing and talk,” he said. “Your mother Souhaila, used to cook right here.”
Then it was time to return to Kfar Zeina for Albert’s reunion with family.
Albert’s cousin was the one who raised him and he loved her more than his mother with whom he shared a complex, traumatic, and troublesome relationship. After a lifetime, his cousin did not fail to recognise him as he stepped through the door, both overwhelmed with joy.
“Look at his eyes, his eyes!” she said.
Saba was then taken to his childhood home which sits at the top of an extensive green, lush valley in Blouza.
Unknown to Albert, his home had been ransacked and chained off by his cousins with a complete disregard for the emotional significance of the humble home.
Walking up to it, he was enraged at the state of his home and unable to even gain access. Eventually, the mayor of the village was able to open the door.
Looking inside, Albert’s eyes welled up with tears.
“Dad forgive me because it took so long to come back and see you, your hard work brought us up here, I want for my kids for this memory to keep going. Till the day I die, I will never forget that this is my home,” he repeated to himself over and over again.
Souhaila comforted him, reminding Albert: “You have your home, I am your home, your children are your home, your family is your home.”
With many more visits to old friends and other villages, the couple slowly began to heal and reconcile with their fear and yearning, reconnecting with their home country.
On their final day documentary producer Youssef had organised for them to be given one of the nation’s highest honours.
A Cedar of Lebanon.
The cedar tree is the national emblem of Lebanon, representing resilience, strength, and eternal life. By tradition only dignitaries, royalty, and governors are presented with their own tree in the Kadisha Valley (Holy Valley) of Bsharre.
But for Albert and Sohaila, as well as Judy Saba, an exception was made to honour their family name, story, memories, struggles, grief, joy, and contribution to their community both in Lebanon and in Australia.
Since their travels and the publication of the documentary, their story has travelled around the world with famous Lebanese singer Naji Osta even composing a song about the Sabas called Love for My Country.
Many Lebanese migrants have been inspired to visit their homes once more. And, for the broader migrant community, the Sabas have become a beacon of hope to those whose hearts will forever be nestled in their home country.
Now, back in Sydney, Albert and Sohaila plan to take their children and grandchildren to Lebanon. In doing so, they can now begin to share with them the stories they had always kept hidden and close to their hearts.
As Gibran’s Home finishes.
“Your house shall not be a glistening film that covers a wound, but an eyelid that guards the eye. You shall not fold your wings so that you may pass through doors nor fear to breathe lest the walls should crack and fall down.”
Featured image: Albert and Souhaila Saba celebrating their 60th wedding anniversary in 2021. Photo: Julie Cook
