Since, the Syrian Civil War began six years ago, two million people have fled to Lebanon from Syria and Iraq. Refugees now make up almost one-third of the total population of a country smaller than the state of Connecticut. Beirut, Lebanon’s capital, now has some of the most densely populated neighborhoods in the Middle East.
This country is filled with stories that will break your heart, and instead of trying to choose one, I thought I’d try to give you all a series snapshots of what it is to live here, among these people. Too many times, the need is overwhelming and the suffering is daunting, and the truth is, we’ll never save everyone.
Sometimes, the only thing we can do is listen.
I started writing down quotations in our first couple days here when I became desperate to remember their stories. I’ve done my best to get them right.
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“We thought we were coming for six months, but we’ve been here for six years.” – a young Syrian refugee
A friend of ours told us his story at one of our first meetings. He was young when his family fled from Aleppo to Beirut. They all expected to return. Now, he hopes he’ll never have to, but his passport expires in the spring and he won’t ever leave Lebanon without valid documents. He wants to study computer science at a university abroad, but for now, he’s trapped in Beirut. Getting a new passport means returning to Syria where he knows he will almost immediately be drafted into the Syrian army
“They were approved to go to the US, but them Trump started changing the laws. Now, they don’t know what’s going to happen to them.” – an American woman introducing us to a pair of siblings from Yazidi Kurdistan who fled ISIS
“He’s drawing his father, but his father is dead. A bomb hit their house in Syria and he didn’t make it out.” – the wife of a local pastor in Tyre speaking about a little boy in our Sunday school lesson
We asked them to draw pictures of their families. He asked if it was alright to include his father.
“So, we’re not going to go get ice cream tonight. We think Jacob* and Badar* were taken by [one of the terrorist organizations in Lebanon] and we’re trying to get them back.” – the daughter of a pastor in Tyre
I don’t know how much I can post here, so I will err on the side of caution, but to say both men were returned safety even though the group’s $10,000 ransom wasn’t met.
“If there’s babies, just make sure they’re quiet, because last time when they were loud a man came and pointed a gun at Jeremy.” – an eight-year-old boy while playing on the playground behind a makeshift healthcare center
If you want the real scoop on any place, spend enough time with an eight-year-old boy who speaks just enough English to give you the details, but never enough to explain the context.
“I have eight screws in my skull. My fingers were broken, and my teeth were ripped out one by one. I have trouble remembering things now.” – an Arab man who was arrested and beaten fourteen different times in Egypt for converting to Christianity
“If I shook his hand my husband would kill me. He’d slit my throat.” – a twenty-one-year-old Syrian woman who arrived in Lebanon one month ago
I first met this woman (I won’t post her name) outside the church in Tyre. She put her baby in my arms and started taking photos of her daughter with “an American.” She is lovely, bubbly, and incredibly outgoing, and chatted with us in rapid-fire Arabic long before we were able to pull a translator into the conversation. She refused to shake the hand of one of the men on my team and laughed as she gave her explanation. The effect was jarring.
We talked about marriage and boyfriends, and she was smiling as she told us how her parents married her to the first man that knocked at the front door. She was a bride before she finished high school. Even more, the idea of a boyfriend was comical to her. With a hand at her throat, she said her parents would’ve killed her if she’d ever come home and said she had a boyfriend. She was laughing, but she wasn’t joking.
“That’s the big joke around here. The dog has a more valuable passport than any of us.” – the daughter of a pastor in Tyre
While we were visiting Tyre, an American couple, who’d previously been living in Lebanon, came to pick up their dog and fly him back to the United States. Apparently, that kind of endeavor required the dog to have his own American passport. Here’s the punchline: to the people here, an American passport is worth its weight in gold, and it’s easier for a dog to get one than a refugee.
“His name is Chris. His mother [a Syrian woman] gave him an American name because someday she hopes he will get to go to America.” – a nineteen-year-old Syrian boy translating for us on a bus
“Sometimes the best thing I can do for people is say, ‘It’s not going to get better.’” – an American man with a background in trauma counseling who is here long-term working with Syrian families
There’s a $10,000 salary cap for refugees in Lebanon, so they’re trapped in a cycle of systematic poverty if they stay here, but for most, that’s the only option that have left. The history of violence and animosity between Lebanon and Syria is no small matter either. The Lebanese don’t want them here, but the refugees are stuck, living among enemies, with no option but to endure. It’s not necessarily a new story. They moved into the apartments and camps built to house Palestinian refugees almost seventy years ago. Many of the Palestinians have never left.
“This is our weapon. The truth, and the truth told through story.” – unknown
*Names have been changed
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