The flow of the river following the winter rains is higher than it’s been in months. The soft sound of gurgling water fills the air, echoing the calm energy of the city. It matches the slow pace of Tripoli’s inhabitants on this quiet, prayerful Friday morning — peaceful, but with enough pulse to capture the city’s vibrancy. As one leaves the old souks, the Abu Ali River marks the boundary between the old town and the poorer eastern part of Tripoli. This river, once a vital resource for the city, has become neglected, a symbol of multiple fractures — environmental, social and economic.
A bridge spans the river, linking the two sides of the city and connecting Tripoli’s east and west. A large flight of stairs leads up to Bab-al-Tabbaneh, an area notorious for long-standing sectarian violence between Sunni Muslims from Bab-al-Tabbaneh and Alawite residents of the neighboring Jabal Mohsen. These clashes, which started during Lebanon’s civil war, lingered into 2015. The violence left its scars on the city and its people.
Inside a small apartment near the stairs, a man sips his coffee, the space cold and damp. “Tafaddal,” he gestures in Arabic, inviting us in. When asked for an interview about the river, however, he waves his hand dismissively. “Why talk about the river? Right now, we’re just worried about food, about surviving. That’s all we care about,” he says, before wishing us a good day.
The journey continues upward toward a more affluent part of the city, where cars line the streets and the buildings offer expansive views of Tripoli’s historic center and the harbor. Nazeer Traboulsi, a 54-year-old man, is tending to plants outside his renovated house. After offering us coffee, he shares his thoughts on the river: “It could be a beacon of pride, but instead the leaders, the people and the society treat it like a garbage dump. For instance, waste from the vegetable market and sewage all flow into the Abu Ali River. It needs urgent rehabilitation. And frankly, the area lacks proper infrastructure,” he says, his voice tinged with frustration. Nazeer, who swam in the river as a child, is keenly aware of how much has changed over the years.
Descending from Nazeer’s street to the other side of the neighborhood, many of the buildings are scarred by bullets from the city’s past conflicts. On the ground floor of one of these buildings, Khoder Mansour is sorting through old machine parts in his small shop. The 55-year-old shares Nazeer’s concerns about the state of the river: “The least they could do is create seating areas and coffee shops along the riverbank. They could even build a dam and have fish live in it. There are millions of projects they could do, but they’re just not meant for us,” he says bitterly, hinting at how local communities have contributed to the river’s demise by neglecting its care.
According to the people we meet, a combination of poor governance and the locals’ apathy has led to the river’s current state of ruin — a “beacon” turned into a forgotten and neglected landmark.
By noon, the old souk is alive with activity. Families, young people and couples come and go, buying clothes, food and other goods. Fatima, a 51-year-old woman from Jabal Mohsen, stands outside the old souks selling clothes with her husband. Although she works and lives close to the river, she admits that she has never visited it. For Fatima, the river has become a symbol of the city’s deep-seated corruption: “When the country is clean, people will come to take pictures of it, but not now. We don’t even visit the river, and when we pass by, we don’t even look at it,” she says. For her, trips to enjoy the sun are only made down by the sea, in the old town’s Mina district.
Dima, a 36-year-old woman also from Jabal Mohsen, works in a small shop in the old souk. She shares Fatima’s sentiments, disgusted by the river’s current state. “We have a beautiful river in Tripoli, but you can’t even take a decent picture of it anymore,” she says, shaking her head.
Crossing back to the other side of the old town, the smell of the river hits you once again. On this sunny day, the river could be an ideal spot to escape the city’s hustle and enjoy a moment of tranquility in the warmth of the winter sun. But as Fatima, Nazeer and others explain, this has become an impossibility over the years. Instead of being a serene public space, the river has turned into a trash-filled, stinking waste dump, with heaps of garbage piled along the banks and in the water itself. A mix of rotten vegetables, fruit and other waste blocks the view of the water, while two large, unsightly concrete walls — yellow and grayish — obscure what remains of the river’s natural beauty.
The river’s history is marked by disaster. On Dec. 17, 1955, a torrential storm caused the river to flood, claiming 160 lives and leaving 2,000 people homeless. The flood devastated the historic center and the souks, destroying a medieval bridge, along with hundreds of homes and businesses.
Following the flood, the city embarked on a large-scale renovation of the riverbed to prevent further disasters. Towering concrete walls were built to contain the river’s flow. The project not only widened the riverbed but also straightened its once-winding path. In the 1960s, the desire for modernization and wider roads altered the river’s natural course. “The 1960s were a time of innovation, and there was this drive toward modernity and urban planning that favored large roads for cars. The river was diverted to make it straight,” explains Maha Kayal, an anthropologist at the Lebanese University. This redevelopment project destroyed many old homes and businesses to construct flood barriers and canals.
These changes had a lasting impact on both the river and the city, as documented by artist George Salameh, who blogs about the transformation, presenting old photographs to illustrate how the city and river have been altered forever.
Mohamad, a secondhand goods dealer, stands next to the riverbank. He knows the river’s history well. “People used to be very connected to the river. They washed their clothes there, bathed in it and used it for everything. Life around the river was much better then. Now, it’s just full of trash. People throw garbage everywhere,” he says, shaking his head.
Kayal, through her anthropological studies, has spoken to many Tripolitans about the river and its cultural significance. “Before 1955, the city looked like Venice, with several streams running through it. The river was central to the community, and people worked around it,” she says.
For Mohamad, the connection between Tripolitans and the Abu Ali River began to disintegrate after the 1955 flood. “It used to be so much more beautiful. There were old houses, historic landmarks, and everything was close together. Now, everything is spread out, and people have become disconnected,” he reflects.
In 2003, a project aimed at addressing some of the river’s issues was launched by the French Development Agency (AFD). The project, which sought to “revitalize urban spaces around cultural sites,” targeted several cities in Lebanon, with Tripoli as one of the focal points. According to urbanist Mousbah Rajab, the focus was on improving the old town, including the river.
Rajab acknowledges that it is impossible to undo the changes made in the 1960s but insists that a better integration of the river into the urban fabric could have been possible: “In urban planning, no project is perfect, but it should be feasible. Did we integrate the river well into the city? No. Could we have done better? Of course.”
Rajab explains how they were called upon to address the issues present at the time. First, the river had become a garbage dump, contributing to the pollution problem. “However, we didn’t address the water issues due to the diversion of the river upstream,” Rajab says. On the hills of Tripoli, the Abu Ali River was rerouted, and a politician used it to create a lake. Then, they also aimed to regulate car traffic and manage the market stalls along the riverbanks. “We also wanted to create a bridge and a platform so the local community could benefit from a public space. The idea was to invite local NGOs to offer activities and ongoing support,” he adds.
Yet more than a decade later, the river has continued to worsen, buried under layers of trash, while market stalls have taken over the banks, selling clothes, furniture and household goods. “We did manage to create some public space, and it has been useful for the population,” Rajab reflects. “But the other projects suffered from a lack of follow-up. The public space was never fully utilized by NGOs because there was no coordination, and the municipality failed to provide the necessary resources.”
The river’s sad state reflects how development projects are often managed in Lebanon. “There are tons of examples like this, especially before the elections. Political figures make grand gestures to restore landmarks. But they focus on superficial changes, like painting facades, while leaving the structural issues unaddressed,” says Rajab.
Through her ethnographic study, anthropologist Marie Kortam identifies corruption, clientelism and a lack of political will as significant barriers to implementing meaningful public policies in Tripoli. “There is a reluctance to engage with residents, and public policies often fail to reflect the needs of the people,” Kortam explains.
Along the banks of the river’s east side sits Takiya al-Mawlawiyah, an old Sufi convent surrounded by a picturesque open space with benches and small cafes. Despite the pleasant weather, the area is deserted. Ahmad Naboulsi, a local visual artist, approaches us with a warm smile. A native of Tripoli, he spent his childhood near the river. “As a kid, I loved hanging out by the river. It was my escape, my public space,” he reminisces.
Six years ago, Naboulsi began working on a project inspired by the river. He created a tale called “As You Are, You Shall Be Ruled,” which explores the story of a character named Abu Ali, who drowned in the river during the 1955 flood. The legend surrounding Abu Ali — who allegedly lived by the river for decades, feeding on rotting vegetables and drinking sewage — reflects the river’s deep connection to the city’s corruption. “The most skeptical say that this is just an urban legend, reflecting the fear and guilt of the people of Tripoli. Others argue that Abu Ali never existed and that his story is simply a metaphor for the corruption that has infected the city: The rotten vegetables he eats symbolize the corruption of our rulers,” explains Naboulsi while sitting on a bench near the river, close to the Sufi convent.
Artists like Naboulsi, along with urban planners like Rajab, envision a future where the river can be reclaimed. However, the path to rehabilitation will take time, understanding and careful management of resources. “To revive the river and make it part of the city’s life again, we must first understand how the needs of the population have changed,” Rajab notes. He believes that for any project to succeed, local actors must be engaged and held responsible, with the necessary resources allocated for long-term success.
Due to the lack of such initiatives and amid a historic economic crisis worsened by the war with Israel, artists are attempting to reclaim the river, their public spaces and their land. In his story, Naboulsi also aimed to highlight the loss of connection to the river and the ensuing ecological disaster.
Instead of reducing it to a symbol of corruption, explains Manal Ginzali, an anthropologist specializing in the urban history of Tripoli, “We need to take a deeper look at how people value this river and start from there to co-create a roadmap for future interventions from the grassroots.”
Due to a lack of funding to support his project, Naboulsi turned his tale into a show, which was performed in Tripoli in September 2024. The visual artist wanted to encourage people to reflect deeply on the Abu Ali River: “For me, it’s really because the river goes directly to the sea, and the sea will evaporate and turn into rain, which will fall on us again. So, we are fragments from the valley, and we are all a kind of Abu Ali in the end.”Tripoli’s Troubled Waters
Additional reporting by Elie Ashram
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