US Citizens in Lebanon Refuse Repatriation over Coronavirus, Say Beirut is Safer

Gloves and face masks are hanged to dry during a countrywide lockdown to combat the spread of the coronavirus disease (COVID-19) in Sidon, Lebanon April 8, 2020. (Reuters)
Gloves and face masks are hanged to dry during a countrywide lockdown to combat the spread of the coronavirus disease (COVID-19) in Sidon, Lebanon April 8, 2020. (Reuters)
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US Citizens in Lebanon Refuse Repatriation over Coronavirus, Say Beirut is Safer

Gloves and face masks are hanged to dry during a countrywide lockdown to combat the spread of the coronavirus disease (COVID-19) in Sidon, Lebanon April 8, 2020. (Reuters)
Gloves and face masks are hanged to dry during a countrywide lockdown to combat the spread of the coronavirus disease (COVID-19) in Sidon, Lebanon April 8, 2020. (Reuters)

Carly Fuglei was with a group of Danish friends in Beirut last month when she first considered moving back to the United States. They were preparing to leave Lebanon amid fears of a major coronavirus outbreak there, and tried to convince her to do the same.

But the 28-year-old humanitarian consultant from Montana decided to stay. After Lebanon closed its borders on March 19 to stem the spread of the global pandemic, she began furnishing her rooftop terrace. Her time in Beirut, she realized, would be indefinite.

"I made that decision for a combination of personal reasons and calculations about the virus that we're all making," says Fuglei. "I think that I am probably safer here."

It's a decision that several US citizens in Beirut who CNN spoke to have echoed, citing skyrocketing cases in the US. When the US government last week said it would fly its citizens and permanent residents to the US on a chartered flight for $2,500 per person, some Americans took to Twitter to publicly decline the offer.

"And no, Mom, I'm not going," Beirut-based freelance journalist Abby Sewell wrote in a tweet about the US embassy announcement.

Responding to her tweet, a Lebanese journalist said: "For once I'm like no America is not safer than here." Sewell's mother, Meg Sewell, replied: "Actually, for the moment I might have to agree."

Sewell tells CNN she never considered taking the US embassy's offer.

"From everything I'm reading, the situation is worse in the US, in terms of the number of cases, prevention measures or lack thereof, and how overburdened the health system is," she says.

"Also, since I've been living overseas for years, I don't have health insurance in the US now, so if I did go back and then got sick, I would be looking at paying thousands of dollars out of pocket."

On the morning of April 5, the US embassy flew 95 US citizens out of Lebanon, according to a US State Department official. It is estimated that thousands of Americans live in Lebanon -- many of whom also hold Lebanese citizenship.

"The Department of State has no greater priority than the safety and security of US citizens overseas," the official told CNN. "We are rising to meet the historic challenge posed by the Covid-19 pandemic, every day, all over the world."

When asked about Americans suggesting that Beirut is, for once, safer than the US, the official declined to comment.

Daryn Howland, 27, is hunkered down in her Beirut apartment, diving into her work as a consultant. "My plan is to stay here for the indefinite future," says the Boston native.

"The fact that things are so bad in the US means it's one of the first times where it's safer to be in Lebanon than in the US," Howland also echoes. "Despite the (Lebanese political and economic) situation ... I think my odds are better here."

"All of my American friends here have decided to stay," she adds.

When the first novel coronavirus case was reported in Lebanon on February 21, the country was already awash with crises.

Nationwide protests erupted against the country's political elite last October, toppling the government of former Prime Minister Saad Hariri and deepening a political crisis. Already under increasing pressure, the country's currency tanked. Last month, Beirut announced its first ever debt default.

Under widespread pressure from activists and media, the freshly-minted government of Prime Minister Hassan Diab vowed not to take any chances with the virus, despite the toll any measures might take on the already troubled economy.

Eight days after that first case, on February 29, the country closed its schools and universities. On March 6, it shuttered restaurants and cafes, ahead of several western European countries, such as Italy, in enforcing such a measure. The government then announced a lockdown on March 15.

In recent weeks, the spread of the coronavirus in Lebanon has slowed, according to the World Health Organization's Lebanon office. Medical professionals have offered cautious praise for the country's relatively early steps to enforce the lockdown.

More than 1.6 million people have been reported to be infected by the novel coronavirus globally and 100,035 have died, according to a Reuters tally. The US has reported 483,603 cases and 17,876 fatalities and Lebanon has registered 609 cases and 20 fatalities.



Can One of Africa's Largest Refugee Camps Evolve Into a City?

General view of Kakuma refugee camp in Turkana county, Kenya, Saturday, Feb. 15, 2025. (AP Photo/Jackson Njehia)
General view of Kakuma refugee camp in Turkana county, Kenya, Saturday, Feb. 15, 2025. (AP Photo/Jackson Njehia)
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Can One of Africa's Largest Refugee Camps Evolve Into a City?

General view of Kakuma refugee camp in Turkana county, Kenya, Saturday, Feb. 15, 2025. (AP Photo/Jackson Njehia)
General view of Kakuma refugee camp in Turkana county, Kenya, Saturday, Feb. 15, 2025. (AP Photo/Jackson Njehia)

Windswept and remote, set in the cattle-rustling lands of Kenya’s northwest, Kakuma was never meant to be permanently settled.

It became one of Africa’s most famous refugee camps by accident as people escaping calamity in countries like South Sudan, Ethiopia and Congo poured in.

More than three decades after its first tents appeared in 1992, Kakuma houses 300,000 refugees. Many rely on aid to survive. Some recently clashed with police over shrinking food rations and support, The Associated Press said.

Now the Kenyan government and humanitarian agencies have come up with an ambitious plan for Kakuma to evolve into a city.

Although it remains under the United Nations' management, Kakuma has been re-designated a municipality, one that local government officials later will run.

It is part of broader goal in Kenya and elsewhere of incorporating refugees more closely into local populations and shifting from prolonged reliance on aid.

The refugees in Kakuma eventually will have to fend for themselves, living off their incomes rather than aid. The nearest city is eight hours' drive away.

Such self-reliance is not easy. Few refugees can become Kenyan citizens. A 2021 law recognizes their right to work in formal employment, but only a tiny minority are allowed to do so.

Forbidden from keeping livestock because of the arid surroundings and the inability to roam widely, and unable to farm due to the lack of adequate water, many refugees see running a business as their only option.

‘World-class entrepreneurs’ Start-up businesses require capital, and interest rates on loans from banks in Kakuma are typically around 20%. Few refugees have the collateral and documentation needed to take out a loan.

Denying them access to credit is a tremendous waste of human capital, said Julienne Oyler, who runs Inkomoko, a charity providing financial training and low-cost loans to African businesses, primarily in displacement-affected communities.

“We find that refugee business owners actually have the characteristics that make world-class entrepreneurs,” she said.

“They are resilient. They are resourceful. They have access to networks. They have adaptability. In some ways, what refugees unfortunately have had to go through actually makes a really good business owner.”

Other options available include microloans from other aid groups or collective financing by refugee-run groups. However, the sums involved are usually insufficient for all but the smallest startups.

One of Inkomoko’s clients in Kakuma, Adele Mubalama, led seven young children — six of her own and an abandoned 12-year-old she found en route — on a hazardous journey to the camp through four countries after the family was forced to leave Congo in 2018.

At the camp it took six months to find her husband, who had fled two months earlier, and six more to figure out how to make a living.

“It was difficult to know how to survive,” Mubalama said. “We didn’t know how to get jobs and there were no business opportunities.”

After signing up for a tailoring course with a Danish charity, she found herself making fabric masks during the COVID-19 pandemic.

Able to borrow from Inkomoko at half the rate charged by banks, she expanded, taking on 26 employees and buying new sewing machines. Last year she made a profit of $8,300 — a huge amount when many refugees live on allowances or vouchers of about $10 or less a month.

Another beneficiary is Mesfin Getahun, a former soldier who fled Ethiopia for Kakuma in 2001 after helping students who had protested against the government. He has grown his “Jesus is Lord” shops, which sell everything from groceries to motorcycles, into Kakuma’s biggest retail chain. That's thanks in part to $115,000 in loans from Inkomoko.

Trading with other towns is also essential. Inkomoko has linked refugee businesses with suppliers in Eldoret, a city 300 miles (482 kilometers) to the south, to cut out expensive middlemen and help embed Kakuma into Kenya's economy.

Other challenges Some question the vision of Kakuma becoming a thriving, self-reliant city.

Rahul Oka, an associate research professor with the University of Notre Dame said it lacks the resources — particularly water — and infrastructure to sustain a viable economy that can rely on local production.

“You cannot reconstruct an organic economy by socially engineering one,” said Oka, who has studied economic life at Kakuma for many years.

Two-way trade remains almost nonexistent. Suppliers send food and secondhand clothes to Kakuma, but trucks on the return journey are usually empty.

And the vast majority of refugees lack the freedom to move elsewhere in Kenya, where jobs are easier to find, said Freddie Carver of ODI Global, a London-based think tank.

Unless this is addressed, solutions offering greater opportunities to refugees cannot deliver meaningful transformation for most of them, he said.

“If you go back 20 years, a lot of refugee rights discourse was about legal protections, the right to work, the right to stay in a country permanently,” Carver said. “Now it’s all about livelihoods and self-sufficiency. The emphasis is so much on opportunities that it overshadows the question of rights. There needs to be a greater balance.”