• 'It was the way for me to connect with my roots and to nurture a community of friends around me — not just Lebanese, but from all over,' says Hariri
• 'What really hurts me is that my nephews and nieces are going through what I went through. I thought we were done with that,' she adds

LONDON 

Ghena Hariri, niece of Lebanon’s assassinated Prime Minister Rafiq al-Hariri, has found a unique way to keep the spirit of her homeland alive.

Now an expatriate living in London, she runs a supper club offering traditional Lebanese cuisine designed to recreate the warmth and hospitality of family gatherings that are central to Lebanese culture.

Her initiative is not just about food — it is a personal mission tied to her emotional connection to Lebanon and a tribute to the resilience of her people.

She spoke candidly about the heartbreak of seeing her nephews and nieces endure the same hardships she faced as a child, highlighting the resilience of her family in the face of ongoing conflict.

Through her food, she offers Londoners not just a taste of Lebanon but a glimpse into the soul of a nation caught in a cycle of conflict and hope.

'The way for me to connect with my roots'

"I come from a house where the women are great cooks — my grandmothers, my mother, my aunt from my dad's side. They're amazing," Ghena recalled.

"We're a big family, and we always had people over. Family lunches were more than 30 people."

Moving away from Lebanon, she found herself isolated in London, with no one to share the traditional dishes that embodied so much of her upbringing.

"Lebanese food, you can't cook for one person. Dolma (stuffed grape leaves), for example, needs to be made for many," she said.

What began as meals with friends turned into her supper club, where she practices and shares her love of Lebanese cuisine.

"It was the way for me to connect with my roots," she explained, "and to nurture a community of friends around me — not just Lebanese, but from all over. London’s diversity brings us together, and food is at the heart of that."

For the past two years in London, she has been running a supper club featuring Lebanese cuisine.

"Typical Lebanese meals, as if you're going to your grandmother's house for Sunday lunch. Because although we have great Lebanese restaurants in London, the food they serve is not what we eat at home. What we eat at home is more homey, more comforting, more slow cooking," she said.

But Ghena's journey is about more than just food. It is an emotional mission tied to Lebanon’s ongoing struggles, including the hardships faced by her family.

"It took me a lot of time to accept this interview because of the situation in Lebanon. I don't have the mental space to be talking about my work," she admitted, her voice weighed down by the current state of her country.

First memory was of Israeli tanks

"My first memory as a human being, the first thing I remember in my life — I don’t remember anything before it — is the Israeli tanks coming into our home in Saida in Lebanon. You can imagine how triggering the situation today (is) for me, as it is for many Lebanese."

For Ghena, the pain of seeing her family endure the same horrors she faced as a child is almost unbearable.

"The invasion was not the Israeli war that I have suffered, but the first one that is happening when I am in London and away from Lebanon this war, it's the first war that I suffer and I live when I'm not with my family, and when I'm not in Lebanon, so I feel. I feel lost," she said.

"I feel guilty. I'm here, safe, in a safe environment, in a safe country where my family is not, and when people ask: ‘How are you?’ I'm like, I'm not okay. No one is okay. It is too much for us to process, and to be honest, this is the most violent and evil war we've been subjugated to. And we don't see light at the end of the tunnel. And this is the scary part you get to. You need to move on with your work, but also you need to connect with your family," she said.

'My nephews, nieces going through what I went through'

"What really hurts me is that my nephews and nieces are going through what I went through. I thought we were done with that," Ghena said, adding: "I thought children would live in a safe and secure environment. But they're not. They're not."

Reflecting on Lebanon's past, she mourns the absence of her uncle, Rafiq al-Hariri, who served as Lebanon's prime minister five times after the country’s 1975-1990 civil war.

His final term ended in 2004, after which he joined the opposition in parliament and backed calls for the withdrawal of Syrian forces, who supported Hezbollah, from Lebanon.

On Feb. 14, 2005, as Hariri's motorcade passed the St. George Hotel in downtown Beirut, a bomb concealed in a van exploded, killing him and 21 others.

'Wish Rafiq al-Hariri was here; things would have been different'

"When we had war during the 90s, we had my uncle, and he did everything in his power to stop the war and rebuild. He's no longer here, and now we're already in our third week of war, and no one's willing to cease fire to help the civilians," Ghena said.

She noted that while individual and social initiatives within Lebanon continue, the global outlook offers little hope.

"Around the world, we don’t see a way out. We've seen what happened in Gaza, and I don't think we have a lot of hope in Lebanon. I hope I’m wrong, that maybe we’ll wake up tomorrow and the war will be over, but I’m not sure."

For many Lebanese including Ghena, the legacy of Rafiq al-Hariri lives on in every corner of the country.

"Every corner of Lebanon, you see his touch, his legacy in rebuilding the country, in getting us out of the war. But for me, what’s closest to my heart is all the people he helped educate," Ghena said.

"He started the Hariri Foundation during the war, and he gave thousands of Lebanese youth scholarships to study all over the world. This gave them tools for a better future."

Ghena cherishes the moments when strangers approach her, saying: "'By the way, I’m a Hariri student.' That, for me, is the biggest legacy anyone can have."

Today, in the midst of another war, that legacy feels more important than ever.

"People often say, 'We wish he was here. Things would have been different.'"