People who have fled the recent bombing in southern Lebanon now feel isolated. Displaced to other parts of Lebanon, they lack basic aid and feel stigmatised and insecure in a country hit by multiple crises.
How the Gaza conflict is affecting people in Lebanon
On 8 October 2023, just a day after the start of the conflict in Gaza, hostilities broke out in the south of Lebanon. Nine months on, it is estimated that almost 100,000 civilians in Lebanon have had to flee their homes because of Israeli bombardment. The attacks on southern Lebanese villages have caused widespread damage to large swathes of agricultural land, with more than a quarter of farmers forced to abandon their fields completely.
As the conflict continues to rage, displaced people are not moving back to their home towns. The majority is scattered in the south further away from the border and a good number have also fled to Beirut, the capital city.
We recently spoke to two families who had found refuge in Bourj Hammoud, a densely populated area to the north-east of Beirut. One family was of Lebanese descent, while the other was a refugee family from Syria. Both had fled bombing in southern Lebanon and were now living in the same neighbourhood.
Bourj Hammoud is a community where people of diverse backgrounds, including Muslims and Christians, coexist. It was first established by the Armenian diaspora, who fled to Lebanon after the collapse of the Ottoman Empire in the early 20th century. Palestinians sought refuge in the area in the latter half of the century, followed by Syrian refugees seeking safety from the war in their homeland in 2011.
On 8 October 2023, just a day after the start of the conflict in Gaza, hostilities broke out in the south of Lebanon. Nine months on, it is estimated that almost 100,000 civilians in Lebanon have had to flee their homes because of Israeli bombardment. The attacks on southern Lebanese villages have caused widespread damage to large swathes of agricultural land, with more than a quarter of farmers forced to abandon their fields completely.
As the conflict continues to rage, displaced people are not moving back to their home towns. The majority is scattered in the south further away from the border and a good number have also fled to Beirut, the capital city.
We recently spoke to two families who had found refuge in Bourj Hammoud, a densely populated area to the north-east of Beirut. One family was of Lebanese descent, while the other was a refugee family from Syria. Both had fled bombing in southern Lebanon and were now living in the same neighbourhood.
Bourj Hammoud is a community where people of diverse backgrounds, including Muslims and Christians, coexist. It was first established by the Armenian diaspora, who fled to Lebanon after the collapse of the Ottoman Empire in the early 20th century. Palestinians sought refuge in the area in the latter half of the century, followed by Syrian refugees seeking safety from the war in their homeland in 2011.
"We feel suffocated - just as all Lebanese do"
Antoinette fled with her family from Dibbine, a village in southern Lebanon. They are now living with relatives, nine family members together in one apartment. Moving to Bourj Hammoud left them without jobs or access to education, struggling to afford the basics.
“We moved here because my son is ill and frequently needs medical care,” says Antoinette. “My mother as well. I consider myself a nurse for my family due to the demands of our life and the hardships we face. These challenges are overwhelming, and we feel suffocated, just like all Lebanese do.”
Previously, several members of the family were working in agriculture, and some were already receiving pensions.
“Now, everyone has fled from the south to here, and there are no job opportunities,” she continues. “People are searching for work but cannot find any.
“We will only be able to survive by adapting to the limited resources available. Securing medical care and medicine is particularly challenging.
“These days, it is rare to find families who are not in need. In fact, all families are in need. In the south, the villages are now empty. Farmers do not go to their fields for fear of being targeted by warplanes. There are movement restrictions, and most people have fled. Here, they can’t even rent homes, so whole families are staying in one room.
“Our situation has regressed a lot. The south has become remote. Those who used to farm are now afraid, there’s nothing left. They used to grow tobacco and live off it, but now they’re just sitting around.
“With the constant bombing, you sometimes wake up to the sound of explosions and fall asleep to them. They become a normal part of life.
“Homes near ours have been bombed and completely collapsed. Shops are empty. Families with ill members no longer dare to stay – there is no medicine available. Even if they try to go to the hospital, there are no doctors to help them.
“Now, if something happens – God forbid – there are no neighbours around, no cars, no-one to turn to. It’s not like it was before. The people who are still in the village have nothing to eat. In the border area you might as well consider yourself completely isolated from the world.”
Antoinette remembers the 2006 war, known in Lebanon as the July War, in which more than 1,000 Lebanese citizens died. But she believes the current situation is much worse because of the accompanying economic crisis.
“There’s no safety, safety is non-existent. Not just safety, many things have become non-existent in the south. If someone wants to fill up with gas, they must go from village to village. You need to walk half an hour to fill a gas cylinder.
Even in the relative safety of Beirut, families are struggling to survive.
“Those who are staying in the villages receive a portion of aid every month or two, but the displaced here in Beirut get nothing,” continues Antoinette. “Here, everything is expensive, more than expected. If the whole family doesn’t work, you can’t live.
“Many people are suffering as we are. Often, I see elderly women on the street who can’t afford to buy items at the store. They beg the shopkeeper to give them what they need, an aubergine or a potato for example. It’s distressing to witness these scenes.”
“You find many elderly people with no-one to help them. Our situation in Lebanon is not right.”
Antoinette’s family were able to move to their current home because it belonged to her late brother. Others have been less fortunate.
“Because the conflict has lasted more than seven months, some people could no longer pay rent here, so they returned to their homes in the south, despite the daily bombings,” concludes Antoinette.
“Sometimes, I feel like crying because of the way we are treated”
Maha and her family originally fled to Lebanon from Syria, and are now displaced again. They found refuge in Maha’s sister’s apartment in Bourj Hammoud. With 19 adults and children sharing one home, daily life is a challenge.
“Three years ago, my family and I escaped from Syria to the Wazzani area in south Lebanon,” says Maha. Together with her husband and children, she established a decent life. Moving to Bourj Hammoud was a blow to their economic situation.
“In the south, we used to work in agriculture, harvesting potatoes and other vegetables,” she continues. “My husband, two daughters, and I worked together. However, when the conflict in the south erupted, there was no safe place for us to go. We were forced to move from one place to another. Finally, we arrived at my sister's place, where we initially planned to stay for just a day or two. But our stay has been longer than expected.
“After moving here, I was shocked by the extremely high cost of rent, electricity, and even food. Job opportunities are rare. I waited for a long time before getting a chance to earn money to buy food for our children by cleaning stairs and houses.”
“My husband requires a sponsor to enable him to work. He has been waiting a long time for any job opportunities.
“We have young daughters, and two of them are working to help us with the expenses.
Along the way they were often met with kindness and solidarity from locals.
“Many people helped us during our displacement journey, especially the people we worked for,” says Maha. “They provided us with food, water, clothes and shoes, especially during the first three days. Here in Beirut, organisations were helping the displaced by distributing cash, food and water.”
But while most people treated them kindly, a few responded with anxiety and mistrust.
“Sometimes, I feel like crying because of the way we are treated,” Maha recalls.
“When I go to clean a house, some owners say to me: ‘stop, I want to search you’. There are security cameras in some houses. They tell us: ‘we do not feel safe around you Syrians’.
“If they knew how I felt, they would not have spoken to me like this. If they knew that I am like them. That I also have a mother, a father, and a home, they would not have treated me this way.
Syrian children also experience bullying and discrimination at school.
“Education is important. My daughter enrolled in school last month and can now count to 10 in English. She's so excited to carry her school bag. We paid USD 20 and bought notebooks to cover her first month at school, but we couldn't afford to do the same the following month. It's been difficult to keep track of everything.
“I have two adult daughters, and when they see a child with a school bag, they feel a deep sense of regret.
“When I was 16 years old, I was in school, and had everything secured. Now my daughter, who is 12 years old, acts like an adult, responsible for an entire family.
“My children wonder why they can't go to school and carry their bags or wear a nice dress like other kids.”
Education, however, is not a top priority when essential needs remain a daily struggle.
“Displacement has had a profound impact on us in every way. We hadn't forgotten about fleeing from Syria when we were forced to move again.
“It feels like there's no stability in life. Let me tell you how I live: the day begins, I eat, drink, and work. I pay off debts. We wait for the next day. It feels like my life is at a standstill. I don't want to think at all.”
Recently, Syrians have had to face growing resentment and discrimination among the local population. Maha is reluctant to even allow her children to play with other children in the street. In the south, however, this was not a problem.
“In the south, I knew neighbours who lived ten houses away, and if I was not home, my neighbour took care of my children. Here, we don't know even our next-door neighbours.”
Insecurity remains a constant source of stress. Maha’s sister recalls how her nephew was visiting a client to repair a washing machine and almost got beaten up by unknown men.
“Our options seem bleak,” Maha concludes. “We either risk crossing the sea and potentially drown, or hide here, knowing that if we are caught, we will be deported and shown on social media. Going back to Syria is not an option right now.”
Sign up to our newsletter to read more stories from around the world.