I want to tell you a story at the school by the kids.

One day they had fight, I think, with the kids, and they told one of my daughter,

your mother is Filipina, the word cadema.

How do you say it in...

Khademi, it means maid.

And then they didn't tell me nothing.

They come home.

And then I think I shout at Amanda because she did something wrong. And then she said, you are a Filipina, you are a, into Philippinea, anti-Filippinea, anti-Qademi my public. I said, it's the first time, you know, first time I heard from her. I said, why are you telling me like that, Amanda?

Yes, because they told me in the school yesterday you are a Filipinoia or you caddeme,

and I'm a little coming, you're a Filipino, and I'm up Habbik.

Lynn's daughter's telling her you're a kaddeme, you're a maid, and I'm up Hibbik, I don't love you.

Today, we're bringing you a story from Lebanon.

It's a story about the challenges of a particular kind of love, an uncommon kind and to some unwelcome kind of love.

Because Lynn, whom you just heard, is from the Philippines, and Botros, her husband, is from Lebanon.

And today, their love story.

I'm Hibba Fisher, and you're listening to Kearning cultures, stories from the Middle East and the spaces in between.

And one story that always kind of captures my imagination.

The street's lost culture.

And you're listening to Kearning cultures.

Today's story comes to us from producer Dana Balut.

We met Lynn and her husband, Botros, in their home in the Qadisha Valley, in northern Lebanon.

It's about a two-hour drive out of Beirut, way up in the mountains.

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