“For the past 6 months, we’ve been sleeping on the ground in the open air. We just want to get help"

Life for Hesbi’s two dozen Lebanese families of Palestinian heritage has long been a struggle for survival. When we visited this settlement in mid-April, father of five Hamad remarked, “we don’t even have enough money to cover the basics.” Six months later, a fire destroyed most of the tents and the situation has only worsened for all families in Hesbi.    

While Lebanon’s spiral into apparent economic and social oblivion has continued unabated throughout 2021, for some of the country’s citizens – notably the marginalized and vulnerable – life has delivered a disproportionate level of challenges. For many in Lebanon, these have pushed them ever closer to the edge.

In April, we were greeted by Hesbi’s dense collection of tented homes, constructed by its residents at the foot of an embankment by a busy highway on the outskirts of the south Lebanon city of Saida. Six months later, only two tents remain – the homes of 22 of the families were destroyed by fire within weeks of our last visit. They received immediate emergency support from UNICEF, including hygiene kits and clothes for the children. Yet, shelter is a need that has not been satisfied.    

“For the past six months, we’ve been sleeping on the ground in the open air,” reports Assad Mostapha. “We don’t have homes any longer, and all we want is to provide a secure space for our children. We just want to be noticed; we want help for this”, he says.

Where once there stood the sanctuary of flimsy homes interlaced by narrow alleyways, today sits barren land on which are laid out the few possessions saved from the blaze.

Assad, his wife, and eight children sleep on four mattresses, laid directly on the ground. “We have four quilts which we use to try to cover ourselves,” he says, “but the cold is hurting us at night now. Everything we collected for the past twenty years was destroyed in the fire”.

For sure, there is greater cold to come, and winter storms.

Shaking his head, he adds: “We can’t even think of rebuilding our homes. The economic situation is tough now. We can’t even buy tea glasses. How can we rebuild?”

Assad earns a salary of LBP1,000,000 every month. He regards himself as among the fortunate few to have an income. “But this isn’t enough in today’s Lebanon,” he stresses.

“We are hurting, and we hope our voices will be heard”

In April, one million Lebanese pounds was equivalent to around US$70. Today, following a further decline in the national currency’s fortunes, it is worth around US$50 at average LBP 20,000 black-market rates, whereas a little over two years ago, it was valued at US$660.

“We are hurting, and we hope our voices will be heard,” he says.

Driven by the need to earn more money, two of his children now work. Combined, they receive LBP80,000 (around US$4), with which the family buys seven bread rolls.

“The whole neighborhood is living one day at a time,” Assad insists. “And we can’t go on like this.”

Also homeless is 65-year-old widow Amina Sobhi Hassan.

“Everything is much more expensive than it was earlier this year. My children help me and bring me food, but I eat a limited variety these days. Usually only potatoes and lentils, sometimes I have bread, and meat is something I can no longer afford”.

Amina’s limited diet is only part of her daily challenge. “I don’t have a house. I sleep under the tree over there”, she says, pointing.

Among Hesbi’s residents, there are 62 children who no longer attend school, and that’s every child in the settlement.

Fourteen-year-old Ahmad* is one of them. “My brothers and I have jobs as labourers. We lift things into trucks from 6 in the morning until seven at night. I earn LBP30,000 (around US$1.50) a day. It’s good alhamdulillah (praise be to God)” he smiles. His earnings enable Ahmad to buy food for his siblings.

“It’s so cold at night now, though,” he comments. The cold isn’t the only drawback to sleeping outside. “At night, sometimes cars pass by on the highway, and drivers throw things down the embankment onto us. I’m sure they don’t know we’re here; they can’t imagine people are sleeping outside on nights like these”.

The situation here affects everyone.

As we move to leave Hesbi once again, the tiny figure of five-year-old Aya* appears by our side and pleads, “We don’t want anything but a new home.”