As soon as the sun has risen, Zahraa confidently harvests the delicate damask roses from the heights of his village in eastern Lebanon, from which rose water, which is very popular for cosmetics and pastries, is made.
Zahraa Sayed Ahmed carries a large white bag tied around her waist and picks the flowers, which fragrant down to the valley. “There is nothing more beautiful than roses,” says the 37-year-old, whose first name means “flower” in Arabic, with a smile.
“Rose season is the most beautiful time of the year here,” she adds, leaning over the rose bushes. Her white clothes stand out against the green and pink tones.
The season lasts only a few weeks in Qsarnaba, a village in the eastern Bekaa plain where the tradition has been passed down for generations.
It is mostly women who harvest the precious flowers using gloves with holes in the thorns.
The Damask rose, which bears the name of the Syrian capital across the mountains, is the flower most commonly used to make the essential oil found in perfumes and cosmetics. Experts swear by its anti-infective and relaxing therapeutic effects.
Rose water is also used in pastries or as a soft drink in the Middle East.
This intoxicatingly scented rose was mainly exported to Europe during the Crusades and has since been cultivated in Syria, France, Morocco, Iran and Turkey.
Leila al-Dirani, the owner of the field, is also at work with her husband and son. This year, “we can no longer afford to hire workers,” says the 64-year-old gardener.
“The (selling) prices are not good at all,” she complains.
Since the end of 2019, Lebanon has been plagued by an economic crisis that has devalued the currency and plunged large parts of the country into poverty.
According to Vom al-Dirani, a local official, all crops “have lost almost 80% of their value due to the crisis (…)”.
“Roses give hope”
However, Leila al-Dirani continues to smile: “Roses give hope, they calm and give you the strength to go on.”
In a shed covered with a carpet of roses, the harvest is weighed, workers are paid according to the amount collected, and the precious harvest is divided into sacks.
Then Zahraa distills the harvest in her garden to make rosewater.
She manually bottles and labels her small production to sell across the country.
“Making rosewater is part of our heritage,” says Zahraa, filling a copper still that belonged to her grandfather with flowers.
“We grew up making rosewater,” she points out. “There is a still in every house in Qsarnaba, even a small one.”
With one kilo of flowers, the 30-year-old produces up to half a liter of rose water. She also makes jams and syrups, fills bags with dried flowers and prepares herbal teas.
The village “produces 60% of the roses and rose water in all of Lebanon,” Zahraa proudly affirms. A production for which, in her opinion, Qsarnaba deserves the title “Village of Roses”.
