Property Sharks Circle Ravaged Beirut Homes

Workers remove the rubble beneath a partially-destroyed traditional Lebanese building in the Gemmayzeh neighborhood of the capital Beirut, in the aftermath of the devastating port blast, on August 26, 2020. (Photo by JOSEPH EID / AFP)
Workers remove the rubble beneath a partially-destroyed traditional Lebanese building in the Gemmayzeh neighborhood of the capital Beirut, in the aftermath of the devastating port blast, on August 26, 2020. (Photo by JOSEPH EID / AFP)
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Property Sharks Circle Ravaged Beirut Homes

Workers remove the rubble beneath a partially-destroyed traditional Lebanese building in the Gemmayzeh neighborhood of the capital Beirut, in the aftermath of the devastating port blast, on August 26, 2020. (Photo by JOSEPH EID / AFP)
Workers remove the rubble beneath a partially-destroyed traditional Lebanese building in the Gemmayzeh neighborhood of the capital Beirut, in the aftermath of the devastating port blast, on August 26, 2020. (Photo by JOSEPH EID / AFP)

Ever since a monster blast ravaged the arches and high ceiling of his family home in Lebanon's capital, Bassam Bassila says a real estate developer has been hounding him to sell.

"The owner of a tower block nearby is trying to pressure me into selling him my home so he can raze it to the ground" and "build a tall tower" instead, the 68-year-old said in Beirut's Monot neighborhood.

A massive explosion at the Beirut port on August 4 that many blame on official negligence killed more than 180 people, wounded thousands and laid waste to some of the capital's most picturesque streets.

With survivors still picking through the rubble, property sharks are moving in to take advantage of distraught homeowners, sparking outrage over yet another disaster in the making, this time targeting the country's heritage.

Standing inside his living room turned balcony after the wall separating them was blown off, Bassila said the developer had first approached him some time before the blast, offering to buy his apartment after acquiring the ground floor of the same building.

"Eventually you will leave," the developer threatened at the time.

And now he is back, ramping up pressure on Bassila to sell the home he inherited from his grandparents by refusing to prop up the ceiling of the flat below -- meaning Bassila's apartment could collapse.

A former photographer now eking out a living as a taxi driver, Bassila says he cannot afford to restore his family home without financial aid. But he is also determined not to give it up.

"I was born in this house and my father was before me... I can't live anywhere else."

Of 576 heritage buildings surveyed in the wake of the explosion, including 331 in the port's immediate vicinity, the culture ministry says 86 were severely damaged.

Of those, 44 risk complete collapse, while a further 41 could partially fall down.

In the days after the explosion, Bishara Ghulam, the mayor of the Rmeil district near the port, said he received an unexpected visitor among those flocking to his office to report damage to their homes.

"A man turned up who said he was a real estate broker. He said he wanted to buy houses damaged in the blast, and would pay whatever the owners wanted," Ghulam said.

"I told him we weren't selling."

In the capital, banners have appeared reading "Beirut is not for sale".

Naji Raji, the founder of the Save Beirut Heritage initiative, said: "We've heard from people who have received offers from investors linked to certain politicians."

These developers were bent on profit and coveted central Beirut real estate as it was a "prime touristic area" but would likely change its appearance with no regard for heritage, he said.

In the devastated Gemmayzeh neighborhood, architect Rita Saade surveyed the damage sustained by the home that once belonged to her great-grandparents.

Between the mint green walls of a room held up by arched pillars, she pointed to where the floor had partially caved in. Wooden slats from broken window shutters and shattered drinking glasses lay in a pile nearby.

"This is heritage and it needs to be restored," said the 23-year-old Saade. But "we can't afford to restore it on our own".

Audrey Azoulay, the head of the UN's culture and education body UNESCO, Thursday said the agency hoped to raise "considerable" funding to help with reconstruction.



Lebanon’s Migrant Workers Stuck in Limbo as Thousands Flee Conflict

 Fajima Kamara, 28, from Sierra Leone poses for a picture at a shelter for displaced migrant workers, in Hazmieh, Lebanon October 4, 2024. (Reuters)
Fajima Kamara, 28, from Sierra Leone poses for a picture at a shelter for displaced migrant workers, in Hazmieh, Lebanon October 4, 2024. (Reuters)
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Lebanon’s Migrant Workers Stuck in Limbo as Thousands Flee Conflict

 Fajima Kamara, 28, from Sierra Leone poses for a picture at a shelter for displaced migrant workers, in Hazmieh, Lebanon October 4, 2024. (Reuters)
Fajima Kamara, 28, from Sierra Leone poses for a picture at a shelter for displaced migrant workers, in Hazmieh, Lebanon October 4, 2024. (Reuters)

Migrant worker Fajima Kamara came to Lebanon three years ago from Sierra Leone, but when Israeli jets started pounding her neighborhood with airstrikes last month, her employers left her jobless and homeless.

The 28-year-old mother-of-three had been working as a domestic helper for a Lebanese family in the eastern city of Baalbek, a Hezbollah stronghold.

As a nearly year-long cross-border conflict between Israel and the armed Shiite movement sharply escalated in late September, Kamara's employers sought refuge in Dubai and told her she could not stay in their home while they were away.

Instead, they told her to go and find her "fellow African sisters" in the capital, Beirut, Kamara said.

With her phone and passport still confiscated by her employers and no time to pack, Kamara left Baalbek with nothing but the clothes she was wearing and made her way among the thousands of other displaced people to Beirut, where she hoped to find somewhere to stay.

Turned away by local shelters that were taking in displaced Lebanese, she soon found herself homeless and living on the city streets.

"I slept on the street for two days. Now I have fever," Kamara told Reuters between sneezes.

UN officials said on Friday most of Lebanon's nearly 900 shelters were full, voicing concern for tens of thousands of mostly female, live-in domestic workers being "abandoned" by their employers.

Kamara eventually found refuge at a shelter hurriedly opened by Lebanese volunteers on Oct. 1, but is worried about her future as the conflict intensifies. For now, she hopes to stay on and find another job to avoid having to go home penniless.

About 100 migrant workers and some of their children are staying at the same crowdfunded shelter, sleeping on thin cots on a cement floor and eating on wooden pallets.

Dea Hage-Chahine, who helped lead the project, said she and her team were working around the clock to expand the shelter by adding power generators and a makeshift kitchen.

Their ultimate goal is to help repatriate workers who want to return to their home countries - although most, like Karama, are without a passport.

"For now, for those who told us they want to travel, we initiated the process. For those who want to stay, for now, we have the shelter open for them, providing any needs they require. But we don't know what's next," Hage-Chahine said.

In a country historically wrought by conflict and where a devastating economic crisis has crippled state institutions, grassroots efforts have stepped in across the country to help the displaced.

Lebanese authorities say Israel's escalated offensive has displaced about 1.2 million people - almost a quarter of the population - and killed more than 2,000.