Tracing Roots: The Journeys of Brazilians Finding Home in Lebanon

Beirut, Lebanon – The techno beat fades for a moment as the DJ prepares the next track. Its opening chords pulse through the speakers, and the room erupts. Amid the crowded club, people cheer and climb onto wooden tables and chairs for a glimpse of the woman stepping onto the dance floor. As her white silk skirt flows around her, Naima Yazbek, 55, twirls to the classical Arabic song Alf Leila wa Leila (One Thousand and One Nights), letting the music guide her movements. At Madame Om, a bearded man with broad shoulders snaps a paper fan to the beat, his clapping inspiring others around him. For the duration of the song, no one seems concerned with whether the dancer speaks Arabic, which passport she holds, or where she was born; the crowd simply wants to watch her perform.

Outside this venue, those distinctions have followed Naima for years. Days prior to the performance, sitting beneath towering pine trees outside Cafe Younes in Beirut's Hamra neighbourhood, she crosses her tanned legs and lights a cigarette. Large black fans circulate the warm city air. Through puffs of smoke, she explains that dance was tied to another primary motivation for moving to Lebanon: connecting with the culture she grew up knowing through her family. “As a belly dancer and singer, I wanted to be here, [to] learn the language, the culture, [and] to understand my family roots,” she says.

Born in Sao Paulo into a family of Lebanese descent, Naima notes that her relationship with Lebanon began long before her first visit in the summer of 2009. Like millions of Brazilians whose ancestry traces back to Lebanon, she inherited a connection to a place known initially through the memories of others. Eventually, she chose to make that place her home.

Naima's Christian ancestors were among those who migrated from Ottoman-ruled Greater Syria to Brazil in the late 19th century. Economic hardships, including the decline of Mount Lebanon's silk economy, spurred migration to the Americas. This movement eventually established one of the largest Lebanese diasporas worldwide, with Brazil's foreign ministry estimating that up to 10 million people of Lebanese descent now live in the country.

For generations, Naima's family built their lives in Brazil, often marrying within the diaspora. However, the connection to Lebanon persisted. In 1928, her great-grandfather persuaded his wife, Odete, to try living in Lebanon, though the experiment lasted only a few months before he returned to Brazil, feeling the country had changed. More than eight decades later, their great-daughter made the same journey with a different outcome.

Sitting in Beirut, Naima shares the results of a 23andMe ancestry test that estimated her heritage to be 70.9 percent Lebanese. Yet, ancestry is distinct from citizenship. Because Lebanese nationality law generally permits fathers, but not mothers, to transmit citizenship equally, and Naima's heritage runs through women on both sides of her family, she holds no Lebanese passport and initially required a residency permit via a sponsor.

Despite being legally regarded as a foreigner, her internal experience differed. After an initial two-month exploratory trip, she returned to Brazil unable to settle, eventually selling her car, leaving possessions with her mother in Sao Paulo, and moving to Lebanon with her dance gear.

Diogo Bercito, a Brazilian historian and author of Brimos, notes the paradox of “return” for descendants who experience a homecoming upon arriving in a land they have only known through family stories and mediated memories.

A similar background is shared by Natalie Nassif. At the Olive Tree Cafe in Ashrafieh, the 40-year-old reflects on a Lebanon brought into her life by her mother and grandmother. Her mother left southern Lebanon's Kawkaba in 1979 during the civil war, eventually meeting Natalie's father in Rio de Janeiro. Though her father returned to Lebanon shortly after Natalie's birth, Natalie was raised in Rio immersed in Arabic music, language, and food.

In 2005, Natalie visited Lebanon for the first time at her father's invitation, confronting both her heritage and a reunion with her father and extended family. By 2013, after leaving a career in cinema production, she accepted a position teaching Portuguese at the Guimaraes Rosa Institute in Beirut, eventually building a career, making friends, and marrying a Lebanese musician.

Moving to an ancestral homeland highlights the fluidity of identity. In Brazil, their ancestry marks them as Lebanese, while in Lebanon, accents or imperfect Arabic can highlight their status as outsiders. Nevertheless, both women navigate and embrace their dual identities.

The resilience of these expatriates was severely tested by successive crises in Lebanon, culminating in the devastating Beirut port explosion on August 4, 2020. Both Natalie and Naima suffered injuries and trauma from the blast, prompting temporary flights back to safety in Brazil and Portugal. Yet, despite the ongoing challenges and conflicts, both ultimately returned to rebuild their lives in Beirut, maintaining deep emotional and professional ties to both their adopted homeland and their roots.