Women Lack Basics in Lebanon's Crowded Prisons

Nour said she and her daughter shared a cell at the Baabda women's prison with another 23 people, including two other babies. AFP
Nour said she and her daughter shared a cell at the Baabda women's prison with another 23 people, including two other babies. AFP
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Women Lack Basics in Lebanon's Crowded Prisons

Nour said she and her daughter shared a cell at the Baabda women's prison with another 23 people, including two other babies. AFP
Nour said she and her daughter shared a cell at the Baabda women's prison with another 23 people, including two other babies. AFP

Nour is raising her four-month-old daughter in Lebanon's most overpopulated women's prison, struggling to get formula and nappies for her baby as the country's economy lies in tatters.

"I don't have enough milk to breastfeed, and baby formula isn't readily available," said the 25-year-old, who was detained eight months ago on drug-related accusations.

"Sometimes my daughter doesn't have formula for three days," she added, as green-eyed Amar wriggled on her lap.

Lebanese authorities have long struggled to care for the more than 8,000 people stuck in the country's jails.

But three years of an unprecedented economic crisis mean even basics like medicines are lacking, while cash-strapped families struggle to support their jailed relatives.

Essentials like baby formula have become luxuries for many Lebanese, as the financial collapse -- dubbed by the World Bank as one of the worst in recent world history -- has pushed most of the population into poverty.

A months-long judges' strike has exacerbated the situation in prisons, contributing to overcrowding.

Nour said she and her daughter shared a cell at the Baabda women's prison with another 23 people, including two other babies.

She said she sometimes kept Amar in the same nappy overnight while waiting for her parents to bring fresh supplies, but said even they can "barely help with one percent of my baby's needs".

In a hushed voice, she said the shower water gave her and her daughter rashes, but that Amar had never been examined by a prison doctor.

"We all make mistakes, but the punishment we get here is double," Nour said.

Inmates at the prison, located outside the capital Beirut, spoke to AFP in the presence of the prison director and declined to provide their surnames.

Around them, in the facility's breakroom, paint peeled off the walls and water dripped from the ceiling.

Rampant inflation and higher fuel prices have also prevented families from visiting their jailed relatives regularly.

Bushra, another inmate, said she had not seen her teenage daughter for nine months because her family could not afford transportation.

She was detained earlier this year on slander allegations and has been in jail ever since.

"I miss my daughter," said the tattooed 28-year-old, as her eyes welled up with tears.

"So many mothers here cannot even see their children," she added.

Interior Minister Bassam Mawlawi said in September that Lebanon's economic crisis had "multiplied the suffering of inmates".

His ministry has appealed for more international support for the prison system, citing overcrowding, poor maintenance and shortages of food and medications.

Inmate Tatiana, 32, expressed helplessness at her and her family's situation. She said her mother had slipped into poverty and was living on just $1 a day.

Prisoners "need basics: shampoo, deodorant, clothes," said Tatiana, who has been waiting for a court hearing for nearly three years.

"But our parents cannot afford them for themselves, how can they buy those things for us?" she added, dark circles lining her eyes.

Tatiana is among the nearly 80 percent of Lebanon's prison population languishing in pre-trial detention, according to interior ministry figures. Prison occupancy stands at 323 percent nationwide.

The country's already slow judiciary has been paralyzed since August, when judges started an open-ended strike to demand better wages.

Inmates told AFP they slept on dirty mattresses strewn on the floor in a one-toilet cell shared between more than 20 people.

Baabda women's prison director Nancy Ibrahim said more than 105 detainees were crammed into the jail's five cells, compared to around 80 before the economic collapse.

Non-governmental organizations help with everything from food to "medications, vaccinations for the children" and maintenance, she told AFP from her office at the facility.

Rana Younes, 25, a social worker at Dar Al Amal, said her organization helps women prisoners get the basics including sanitary pads, and also provides legal assistance and even funding for cancer treatments.

She said prisoners sometimes missed court hearings because authorities failed to secure fuel or transportation for them.

Dar Al Amal has spent thousands of dollars on repairs for worn-out pipes and trucked-in water supplies at the Baabda prison, said organization director Hoda Kara.

"Parents can no longer help, the state is absent, so we try to fill the gap," she said.



Lebanon's Public Schools Reopen amid War and Displacement

Children playing in a shelter center for displaced people in the town of Marwaniyah in South Lebanon (AP)
Children playing in a shelter center for displaced people in the town of Marwaniyah in South Lebanon (AP)
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Lebanon's Public Schools Reopen amid War and Displacement

Children playing in a shelter center for displaced people in the town of Marwaniyah in South Lebanon (AP)
Children playing in a shelter center for displaced people in the town of Marwaniyah in South Lebanon (AP)

In the quiet seaside town of Amchit, 45 minutes north of Beirut, public schools are finally in session again, alongside tens of thousands of internally displaced people who have made some of them a makeshift shelter.

As Israeli strikes on Lebanon escalated in September, hundreds of schools in Lebanon were either destroyed or closed due to damage or security concerns, according to the United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (OCHA).

Of around 1,250 public schools in Lebanon, 505 schools have also been turned into temporary shelters for some of the 840,000 people internally displaced by the conflict, according to the Lebanese education ministry.

Last month, the ministry started a phased reopening, allowing 175,000 students - 38,000 of whom are displaced - to return to a learning environment that is still far from normal, Reuters reported.

At Amchit Secondary Public School, which now has 300 enrolled students and expects more as displaced families keep arriving, the once-familiar spaces have transformed to accommodate new realities.

Two-and-a-half months ago, the school was chosen as a shelter, school director Antoine Abdallah Zakhia said.

Today, laundry hangs from classroom windows, cars fill the playground that was once a bustling area, and hallways that used to echo with laughter now serve as resting areas for families seeking refuge.

Fadia Yahfoufi, a displaced woman living temporarily at the school, expressed gratitude mixed with longing.

"Of course, we wish to go back to our homes. No one feels comfortable except at home," she said.

Zeina Shukr, another displaced mother, voiced her concerns for her children's education.

"This year has been unfair. Some children are studying while others aren't. Either everyone studies, or the school year should be postponed," she said.

- EDUCATION WON'T STOP

OCHA said the phased plan to resume classes will enrol 175,000 students, including 38,000 displaced children, across 350 public schools not used as shelters.

"The educational process is one of the aspects of resistance to the aggression Lebanon is facing," Education Minister Abbas Halabi told Reuters

Halabi said the decision to resume the academic year was difficult as many displaced students and teachers were not psychologically prepared to return to school.

In an adjacent building at Amchit Secondary Public School, teachers and students are adjusting to a compressed three-day week, with seven class periods each day to maximize learning time.

Nour Kozhaya, a 16-year-old Amchit resident, remains optimistic. "Lebanon is at war, but education won't stop. We will continue to pursue our dreams," she said.

Teachers are adapting to the challenging conditions.

"Everyone is mentally exhausted ... after all this war is on all of us," Patrick Sakr, a 38-year-old physics teacher, said.

For Ahmad Ali Hajj Hassan, a displaced 17-year-old from the Bekaa region, the three-day school week presents a challenge, but not a deterrent.

"These are the conditions. We can study despite them," he said.