11 minute read
The Lebanese Food Bank: Give and You Will be Given
Aspiraling financial crisis against the backdrop of a politically troubled Lebanon has hit the country’s weakest: the poor.
“Not even the poor,” said Kamal Sinno ‘57, the tycoon behind Toy Market in Lebanon, “the desperate.”
Sinno paused, gathering emotions threatening to erupt.
“There are Lebanese who are hungry,” he said quietly. “And there is nothing more painful than hunger and nothing that makes a human more desperate than hunger.”
According to the World Bank, more than 200,000 Lebanese have fallen into abject poverty since 2011 and has warned that the poverty rate is threatening to increase from a third to half of the population.
As the founder and head of the Lebanese Food Bank (LFB), the 82-year old Sinno is progressively feeling the weight of the increasing spread of poverty in the country.
“It used to be that weddings and events were plentiful,” he said, “and restaurants were full.”
Since 2011, LFB has been sending refrigerated vans at midnight to various venues to gather and package the food surplus (after being tested by LFB experts for freshness because the “the poor also have the right to good food”) and distribute them to about 80 NGOs - feeding 3,000 people every day.
It wasn’t long before Sinno realized that the needs of the impoverished, most of whom are elderly, disabled, chronically ill, single mothers, and orphans extend much more than a daily cooked meal. And so LFB also began distributing dry food parcels throughout the country.
It all started when Sinno inquired about the destiny of unconsumed food in restaurants. The answer: the food was buried behind venue lots or tossed in big garbage dumpsters.
This is absurd, thought Sinno. So many Lebanese are hungry.
A successful businessman, Sinno had many contacts. And he used them. Before long, he had established an NGO headed by well-known peers committed to fighting hunger and food waste in Lebanon. The LFB developed as part of the Food Banking Regional Network in Dubai, which in turn, is part of the Global Banking Network.
Back then, Sinno’s goal was straightforward: Eradicate hunger in Lebanon by 2020.
But with the ongoing economic crisis
and political turmoil in full swing, that goal doesn’t seem likely. Unfazed, LFB doubled its efforts. His phone at his Toy Market office – usually ringing off the hook – is silent. Business has more or less come to a stop. After an hour or so dutifully sitting at his desk, Sinno moves to an upper floor – the hub of LFB and the heart of the NGO, where he would spend the rest of the day.
It is hard to believe that once Sinno was a young rebel of sorts in his youth. A youngster who loathed learning maths and sciences. His brain was in continuous motion developing various business projects. He happily joined in various classroom frolics creating havoc for some of the teachers, mostly the unsuspecting foreign ones. Outside class, the young heavyweight bodybuilder was easily riled up and would, at times, get into fights. But the young rebel also had a big heart – one which would ultimately lead him even to befriend his fighting rivals.
His main preoccupation, however, was money-making ventures – even to the extent of charging his parents for the privilege of seeing photographs of his brother, who was studying abroad at the time. (Sinno had convinced his brother to mail personal pictures to him only). During the summer days, he would charge local children to ride his sister’s brand new bicycle.
At 15, he learned his first lesson in humility. The son of a tobacco company owner, Sinno enjoyed a comfortable life. But he was aching to work in a business
environment and convinced his parents to forgo a summer holiday and allow him to volunteer his time in a trade shop in Weygand street in the souks. Sinno was in his element pricing commodities and selling them. Until the day when the supervisor asked him to clean the shelves. Sinno balked. What! Clean? Never. Was an IC boy too proud to clean then? retorted the supervisor. Suddenly, the wealthy owner of the shop walked in, grabbed a rag, and wordlessly began cleaning the shelves. A red-faced Sinno learned the lesson that would serve him well in the years to come: no shame in any work.
In 1956, disaster struck the family. Sinno was at his father’s tobacco factory as he watched Senegalese soldiers barge in the factory, confiscate the equipment and shut down the company. They handed Sinno’s father an official notification: all local tobacco companies – as dictated under the French mandate -were to be shut down immediately to make way for the Regie Libanaise de Tabacs et Tombacs.
And just like that, the family became destitute. Unable to pay the last year of IC’s tuition, Sinno had to drop out. (His father never got over the shock of losing his company and died a few years later).
Sinno’s business brain worked overtime. The teenager, the youngest of four children, created a product named “Chocottro” (made with chocolate, butter, and sugar) and stored them in his neighbors’ freezers. Every day, he would pack them in two suitcases and walk along the train rail from Furn el Chebbak to
AUB. The sweet attracted many clients, but after a year and a half, Sinno was exhausted and closed his little business.
It was around then that he got an opportunity to sail to London to take a business class. The condition was, however, that he would travel the whole way on the deck of the ship for a significant discount. Was he willing to do so? Sinno jumped at the chance, but halfway through the London business school class, he ran out of money. Undaunted, he approached the school’s administration and made them an offer: he was willing to teach Arabic at the school in exchange for a tuition-free course.
The faculty accepted, and Sinno finished his studies.
Back in Beirut, Sinno went to work for a pasta and confectionery supplier. From the start, Sinno refused to do any factory work and insisted on making sales. For free, he added. The surprised owner accepted as Sinno accompanied a salesman on his rounds. Ten days later, Sinno appeared in front of the owner. “You are running a deficit,” Sinno announced. “You need to sell your spaghetti in boxes and not per kg.”
And while you are at it, added Sinno, move the halawa (a confectionary) from metal to plastic containers as people will tend to buy the sweet for the plastic container (a relatively new commodity).
A few days later, Sinno sold 2,200 boxes of spaghetti in one day, and as for the halawa, it sold out in two weeks. The owner was dumbfounded. Stay and work for me, he said.
No, replied Sinno. I want to be my own
boss, not an employee.
Without a lira to his name, Sinno wandered the souks and found himself entering the Chamber of Commerce. After a few inquiries, he discovered that there was no business directory in existence.
That’s it! He thought. I will create a directory and sell it. Thrilled with his idea, he forgot two essential points: he had no office and no money to hire a typist.
A few days later, he bumped into an old IC friend, who quickly came to the rescue. Would Sinno like to set up an office in the tiny janitor quarters on the roof of a building owned by the family?
Sinno quickly agreed. Now, to find a typist. Unfortunately, as soon as they heard that payday was a year away (after he sold his book), potential secretaries turned down the job. Finally, one Armenian woman agreed, seemingly intrigued by Sinno’s idea.
And so Sinno set to work, walking from company to company gathering the needed information. But the door was often slammed in Sinno’s face when he occasionally showed up disheveled after walking countless kilometers – at times in the rain.
And so he found a car dealer who sold him a Buick – to be paid off in a year. As he predicted, company doors opened readily to the suited young man arriving in a Buick.
A year later, the Lebanese Industrial Directory “Made In Lebanon” appeared detailing the contacts of around 1500 Lebanese industries and factories. Not only
was the book a resounding success, but it was translated into different languages.
Once his debts were paid off, Sinno was ready for a new venture.
After a series of small and prosperous endeavors, Sinno had accumulated enough capital to start his own trade in ‘something.’ But what?
One day, he spotted a Cadillac – owned by a prominent toy trader - parked in the souks. Sinno paused.
Well, he thought, I like children, and they love toys. How about a toy business?
After somehow convincing a bank manager to give him a loan to buy an office, Sinno was ready to launch his business. Sinno set up an office in Souk al Azaz – an area that in the 1960s was dominated by the Jewish community – the kings of the toy market.
Competition was fierce. As an outsider to the Jewish merchant community, Sinno was shunned. Determined to make a go of it, Sinno outwitted them. He rented a van and made his way across the country. At every stop, people flocked to his van to buy his toys. One van eventually turned into five. Each corner of the country was covered. But by 1969, Sinno noticed a strange occurrence in the Souk al Azaz. Despite their high rate of sales, his Jewish merchant rivals were shutting down their toy shops one after the other and leaving the country. Puzzled and yet somehow pleased, Sinno quickly stepped in to take over the role of king of the toy market. Business travels took him all over the world in search of the perfect toys. The civil war years brought their many trials, but Sinno’s Toy Market made it and thrived.
It was during one of those years that one day two nuns entered his showroom. They were here to buy Christmas toys for the orphans, they explained, as they set out carefully selecting the products. Sinno found himself giving discounts. Then, offering the toys at cost price. Finally, he looked at the nuns. “I can’t take your money,” he said. “Please just take the toys for the children.” “But we collected the money,” replied the nuns.
“Then use it to buy chocolates,” he said. “I just cannot write up an invoice.” A month later, as Sinno picked up his mail from the post office, he found an envelope postmarked India. Sinno was surprised. He had worked on commission for an Indian toy company a few months ago. But the company had gone bankrupt before Sinno received his commission. Sinno had written it off as an awry deal. But as he now opened the envelope, a check slipped out. The amount was for 3,600 UK Pounds Sterling – a whopping amount back then. An accompanying letter explained that a company bought the factory and by law, the new owners had to close off all past debts
Sinno stared at the check. He felt a distinct link. You gave, so you have been given, whispered an inner voice.
It was at that moment that Sinno began to mix business with philanthropy. The businessman can cite many incidents throughout his career of giving and receiving. His most significant philanthropic chance came in 2011 when Food Bank regional office arrived in Lebanon, and he decided to take the helm of the Lebanese Food Bank. When word reached the LFB that hunger was spreading in the country, the organization posted an appeal on Facebook. Over 360 money transfers came in - totaling $300,000.
When restaurant and hotel food began to dwindle, the LFB put out a video appeal. We need volunteers to cook meals. One hundred and twenty women quickly set to work, producing hundreds of homecooked meals.
Plans are currently underway to create kitchens capable of feeding 500 to 1000 people per day in impoverished villages.
“Good people are all around us and eager to help,” said Sinno. “I have seen the Lebanese rise up to the occasion. Hundreds of people are giving us food and donations. I am proud to see that the Lebanese love the Lebanese.”
Sinno paused. “You see,” he said softly. “Give, and you will be given.”
COVID-19 UPDATE
With 50% of the Lebanese population living under the poverty line and 300,000 Lebanese who lost their jobs due to the economic crisis in COVID19, the Lebanese Food Bank doubled its efforts and is working with 85 NGOs to create a database of families in distress. Their target is to send food packages to all 26 districts in the country. LFB is asking for donations. 35$ per box feeds a family of 4 for a month.
