Far from home: inside Lebanon’s displacement crisis

Farida was one of the first to leave her home in Houla. This small village in southern Lebanon sits right on the border with Israel.

“We thought it would only be for a few weeks,” says Farida, reflecting on the moment she and her four children fled. “We didn’t take much. Just a few clothes, some rice, and a little water.”

It was all they thought they would need. They were leaving in a hurry. And the war, they hoped, would be over soon, and they would return to their normal lives.

Her family’s home, like many others, has been there for generations. The very idea of leaving it behind for long was difficult to grasp.

But after the first few weeks, it became clear that the situation wasn’t going to improve. The situation escalated, and towns near the border were hit hard. Houla was no exception.

Farida moved her family to a small town further south, away from the danger zone. But as the weeks turned into months, the violence spread. Soon, even that town was no longer safe. They were forced to move again.

Each time, Farida grabbed whatever she could: just enough to survive another day, another week.

The constant movement, the fear of not knowing where they will end up next, has become a part of daily life.

“We have moved four times. We always thought we could find somewhere safer, but each time, the bombs followed us,” says Farida. “The hardest part is not knowing if we’ll ever get to go back to our village, to our house. We have lived in other people’s homes, and now in this shelter, but nothing feels like home.”

***

A farmer without his land

For decades, Ali, 81, has worked his land on Lebanon’s southern border, cultivating grasslands and managing a small farm. His life was built around his business and his connection to the land. But when the war came, Ali’s entire world changed in an instant.

“I had everything: my land, my business, my savings,” says Ali. “But now, I have nothing. My land is too dangerous to go back to. My money is stuck in the banks. I’m living off aid now, something I never thought I’d have to do.”

Ali’s land, once the source of his pride and livelihood, is now a distant memory. He has not been able to return to it since the conflict began. His savings are locked in Lebanese banks; a result of the ongoing financial crisis. Ali now relies on community support and humanitarian aid to survive. The thought of rebuilding his life after such a loss seems impossible.

“I never thought I would end up like this,” he says, sitting in the temporary shelter he now calls home. “I was proud of what I had built. Now, I don’t know what I will do.”

***

An uncertain future

For Hajar, 19, the war has taken everything. Over the course of a year, she and her family have been forced to flee four times. Each time they’ve left hoping to find a safer place, the conflict has followed them.

Three of her family’s homes have been destroyed, each one reduced to rubble by bombings and air strikes. Now, Hajar is living with her family in a school in the Chouf district, near Beirut.

“We lost everything: three homes, three different places. But I don’t care about the stuff,” she says quietly. “I miss my friends. I miss the life we had before all this. I don’t know where they are anymore. I don’t even know if they’re still alive.”

For the young people of southern Lebanon, the war has meant not just the loss of their homes but the loss of their communities, their schools, and their future.

“There’s no school here. We’re having to study online for the second consecutive year, but it’s not the same. It’s hard to focus when everything around you is falling apart.”

Hajar is one of many children and young adults who are unsure if they will ever be able to return to their education, unsure if they will ever be able to rebuild the lives they once knew.

***

Discrimination in displacement

For Maha, a Palestinian woman who had lived in Lebanon since birth, the war has brought a new layer of hardship.

Maha has always known what it was like to be a refugee. Her family fled Palestine many years ago, settling in Burj Shamali Camp in Tyre, Lebanon, where they lived in precarious conditions as refugees. Palestinians in Lebanon have long faced discrimination, and Maha’s family have always had the sting of feeling like second-class citizens in a country they call home.

“We are people who run into discrimination, if not based on nationality, then based on race, origin, or beliefs. We are used to it, but it always hurts.”

When the conflict escalated, Maha’s situation grew even more complicated. She and her family were forced to flee from their home in southern Lebanon, joining the ranks of displaced Lebanese and Syrian families.

They sought refuge in an UNRWA collective shelter in Mount Lebanon, a region known for being home to many displaced people from different backgrounds, especially Palestinians. But even here, Maha and her family felt the weight of discrimination.

“Sometimes, when aid organisations came, they managed to support, for example, only Lebanese or only Syrians,” Maha explains. “They would distribute food, clothes, and money, but it wasn’t the same for everyone.”

“Often, the Lebanese families would get priority… It felt like they were giving us the bare minimum, as though we didn’t matter.”

It wasn’t just the aid distributions that created divisions. Some shelters wouldn’t even accept Palestinian or Syrian families. They would prioritise Lebanese families, fearing that opening for all would cause tension or overcrowding.

The collective shelter where Maha and her family now live hosts Lebanese, Syrian and Palestinian families.

“We live in the same shelter, but it’s clear that we are not fully accepting of each other. Even in a place of supposed refuge, there is division,” says Maha.

For Maha, this ongoing discrimination had been a part of her life for as long as she can remember. Now the war has displaced her family once again, reinforcing the feelings of isolation and strangeness that have followed her throughout her life.

***

Determined to help others

Before the war, Fatima was a community leader. She had dedicated herself to helping displaced people, particularly those from the southern villages who had fled to Beirut and Aley during past conflicts.

Fatima had been organising resources and food, and supporting displaced families to settle into their new homes.

“It’s strange. I was helping people in my community, and now I’m the one asking for help,” she says.

Fatima’s world was turned upside down when her family fled their home in Beirut’s suburbs. Like many others, she grabbed what she could amid the chaos. “The first thing I thought to grab were the clothes that had been donated to us in the past. I knew we were heading to Aley, and I knew it was cold there, so I made sure to take some winter clothes.”

Now, Fatima finds herself living in a collective shelter at the Lebanese University in Aley, a place she had once helped others reach.

But Fatima is not standing by. She has begun volunteering in the shelter, cooking for the displaced families there, as well as those in the nearby shelters.

“I’m not just sitting here waiting for aid. I’m still helping. I’m cooking meals for others, just like I did before, even though I’m also displaced now,” Fatima says. “It’s what keeps me going. I may have lost my home, but I can still do something to make a difference.”

***

We are there

The Norwegian Refugee Council (NRC) has been actively responding to the escalating crisis in Lebanon. Inside collective shelters, we have added portable showers and toilets, partitioned classrooms to make them into bedrooms, provided water and assistance with hygiene (such as diapers and menstrual kits), and distributed essential household supplies in South Lebanon, Beirut, Mount Lebanon, Bekaa and North Lebanon governorates.

Outside of the shelters, we have been providing households with cash towards their living expenses, contributing to rent or covering utilities bills for instance, or buying additional kitchen items.

We have also been trucking water to households, ensuring that both displaced families and locals have access to clean water. And we have provided legal assistance and facilitated lease agreements for vulnerable groups at risk of eviction.

The war may still be intense, but the people we have spoken to are determined to rebuild, and to keep moving forward. They hold on to the hope that one day, they will return home.

Find out more about our work in Lebanon

Sign up to our newsletter to read more stories from around the world.