Amidst the chaos and destruction in Lebanon, Tarek Osman, a 39-year-old co-founder of the Ahleam Lajae, also known as the Refugee Dreams Association, tells of a joke he heard between two displaced individuals. As devastating as it is, it’s a bleak reflection of their dire circumstances – displaced people seeking refuge in classrooms as the Lebanese government fails to secure provisions for its citizens.
Ahleam Lajae, founded in 2011, originally served the Shatila camp, a city-based refugee encampment in south Beirut housing almost 25,000 individuals within one square kilometre. Primarily a home for Syrian refugees and Palestinians, its endeavours expanded to improving neighbourhoods through diverse methods, including the establishment of kindergartens and a recycling plant, street maintenance, providing services for all age groups and tackling drug abuse issues.
Despite the escalating conflict, Ahleam Lajae has pivoted to address the urgent needs of the estimated 1.2 million individuals, over twenty percent of the Lebanese population, who have been displaced. Osman demonstrates this new venture during a visit to one of their kitchens, where donations, including contributions from his Irish associates Enda Nevin and AnnaSophia Gallagher, are used to fund staple supplies. The Association successfully repurposed its network of 30 kindergarten teachers into caterers, producing lunch and dinner for almost 300 households each day as educational institutions remain closed due to the conflict.
25-year-old Malak Sukkar, a social worker and one of seven women preparing food in a kindergarten serving as a makeshift kitchen, highlights the critical nature of their work. In her words, “I think the way for people to stay alive is having somewhere to live and food access…that’s what we’re here to provide”. Accordingly, meals are entirely vegetarian since the absence of refrigeration at shelters causes meat to spoil rapidly in the heat. According to Osman, their recipes are developed in cohesion with a dietitian to ensure nutrition.
The Ghobeiry municipality of southern Beirut, which encompasses the Shatila district, has been converted into a sanctuary by a technical school. This safe haven is maintained by the Refugee Dreams Association, offers amenities like, bed linen, electricity, water tanks, and numerous other essentials. The association’s personnel, including 24-year-old Khaled Abadi, not only arrange meal distribution but also work to alleviate the tension among the refugees during air attacks. The shelter was recently in close proximity to a strike so, now, whenever there’s an air incursion, primarily occurring at night, everyone is swiftly moved to a basement for safety.
The school is currently filled to the brim but there is a waxing and waning of occupants as families, once they can afford it, transfer to more secure locations, and new groups replace them. Each room within the shelter conceals a tale, confesses Abadi.
Among the refugees is Khadija Ghoson, a woman in her forties, who, despite her struggles, still regrets not being able to offer her guests a simple cup of coffee. Her husband, partially paralysed due to an electrical mishap, is seen at the building’s entry in his wheelchair and their adolescent son now requires crutches following a separate accident.
Their municipality, Ghobeiry, has faced air strikes, yet it is considered to be less hazardous compared to Dahiyeh, a Hizbullah stronghold they escaped from. Ghoson also reminisces on the kind-heartedness of the Dahiyeh community. “Dahiyeh is an inclusive city. Anything one could desire could be found there. It’s a standard city, also known as the centre of Beirut,” says Ghoson, comforting herself with memories of her past.
The tight-knit community came crashing down on September 27th, the day Hizbullah leader Hassan Nasrallah was killed in a string of explosions that demolished a portion of Beirut, throwing its residential buildings to the ground. “We had to leave at 4 in the morning. We weren’t certain about our destination,” Ghoson remembers. “The situation was extremely precarious.” Ghoson and her family had to leave their son’s education, who was pursuing computer programming, behind as the region where he studied has been destroyed severely.
Various groups are currently providing for the needs of the family residing in the shelter, according to Ghoson. But the aid given by the Lebanese government is virtually non-existent, she insists, and they are apparently overlooked by the governing authority. Many men, particularly, are wary of inadequate support systems, leading them to remain in perilous zones to maintain their employment. Although Osman’s wife and his four daughters have relocated to a safer location, Osman still makes regular visits to their previous home in Shatila. Departing from one’s home despite having an alternative accommodation can indeed be challenging. However, living in fear constantly is similarly tough. Osman admits being apprehensive, saying fear is universal.
In the present day, the congested lanes of the neighbouring Shatila camp bear a conspicuous desolation, with many having relocated to shelters or the homes of relatives in northern Lebanon or the highlands. As Osman navigates through the streets on his motorbike, he sees functioning small-scale businesses such as a blacksmith, tailor, grocers and a bakery. A recycling scheme run by the Refugee Dreams Association is also still functional, with half of its personnel paid daily. They claim their livelihood depends on it.
Owing to the impossibility of enlarging the area of the Shatila camp, the inhabitants were forced to build vertically over the years. This mode of construction is unstable, as Osman observes buildings shaking during nearby aerial strikes; his own house is no exception. He reveals that the thought of his house collapsing, where he has resided for 14 years and started his family, often moves him to tears.
Last year, UNRWA – the UN institution for Palestinian refugees – estimated Lebanon’s Palestinian population to be at 250,000. Palestinians like Osman have received a newfound motivation due to the invasion and aerial bombardment of Lebanon, pushing them to claim their country back. Osman believes even if he were to perish, his children and their children would persist. They still reel from the shock and trauma of the bombings and the horrible incidents happening, with people losing their lives. However, he insists that liberation does not come without sacrifice, struggle and combat.
He expresses his desire for an interview in order to underscore the fact that the events transpiring in both Gaza and Lebanon aren’t manifestations of a “religious war”. Instead, he views them as a “slaughter” that is readily observable yet ignored worldwide.
Parallel to this, he asserts that despite the actions of the Israeli Prime Minister, Binyamin Netanyahu, or the persistent bombardments they endure, existence persists. His belief is echoed by many who resolve to maintain their daily routines until their lives are ultimately claimed. They refuse to halt their activities, merely anticipating death. However, they will not allow the prospect of death to bring their lives to a standstill.