Young Palestinians in Lebanon Dream of a Future Abroad

In this picture taken on April 19, 2023, Nirmeen Hazineh, a young Palestinian refugee in Lebanon, poses atop a rooftop at the Shatila camp for Palestinian refugees in the southern suburbs of Beirut. (Photo by ANWAR AMRO / AFP)
In this picture taken on April 19, 2023, Nirmeen Hazineh, a young Palestinian refugee in Lebanon, poses atop a rooftop at the Shatila camp for Palestinian refugees in the southern suburbs of Beirut. (Photo by ANWAR AMRO / AFP)
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Young Palestinians in Lebanon Dream of a Future Abroad

In this picture taken on April 19, 2023, Nirmeen Hazineh, a young Palestinian refugee in Lebanon, poses atop a rooftop at the Shatila camp for Palestinian refugees in the southern suburbs of Beirut. (Photo by ANWAR AMRO / AFP)
In this picture taken on April 19, 2023, Nirmeen Hazineh, a young Palestinian refugee in Lebanon, poses atop a rooftop at the Shatila camp for Palestinian refugees in the southern suburbs of Beirut. (Photo by ANWAR AMRO / AFP)

In Lebanon's impoverished Palestinian refugee camps, young people say they dream of leaving a struggling country where their families took refuge generations ago and where their futures remain bleak.

Nirmeen Hazineh is a descendant of survivors of what Palestinians call the Nakba -- the "catastrophe" -- when more than 760,000 Palestinians fled or were forced from their homes by the 1948 war over Israel's creation.

She proudly considers herself from Jaffa -- now south of Tel Aviv -- and talks as if she has lived there all her life, instead of in the ramshackle Shatila refugee camp south of Beirut.

"Emigration has become the main solution for young people," said Hazineh, 25.

"Whoever you speak to, they'll tell you 'I want to leave', whether legally or illegally, it doesn't matter," she told AFP.

Lebanon has been grappling with a devastating economic crisis since late 2019.

Most of the population is now in poverty, according to the United Nations, and many Lebanese have quit the country for better prospects abroad.

Hazineh is a sociology graduate but is not allowed to practice in her field, as Lebanon bars Palestinians from working in 39 professions, including as doctors, lawyers and engineers.

Instead she helps to raise awareness of the dangers of drugs, which add to the daily misery of Shatila.

"There is a kind of despair among young people in the camp," said Hazineh, who despite the difficulties maintains a radiant smile.

She said she wanted to live "in a country that respects me, that gives me a chance, a job".

Tiny Lebanon hosts an estimated 250,000 Palestinian refugees, according to UNRWA, the UN agency for Palestinian refugees, while almost double that number are registered for the organization's services.

Most Palestinians, including more than 30,000 who fled the war in neighboring Syria after 2011, live in one of Lebanon's 12 official camps, now bustling but impoverished urban districts.

Shatila is a warren of tumbledown homes where tangled electricity cables criss-cross tight alleyways.

Walid Othman, 33, says he spends his spare time in political activism with the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine, which is banned in Israel.

Othman said he would have liked to study political science and dedicate his life to "defending the Palestinian cause on an international level".

But he had to stop his studies because of "the difficult economic situation" and instead became a blacksmith.

In Lebanon, Palestinians' "denied right to own property... further complicates employment and income generation activities", said Dorothee Klaus, director of UNRWA affairs for Lebanon.

Lebanon says restrictions on Palestinians are justified by their right to return to their country.

In neighboring Syria, some 400,000 Palestinians are registered with UNRWA, where they have access to the job market.

In Jordan, more than half of the around 10 million population is of Palestinian origin, while some 2.3 million Palestinians are registered with UNRWA but have the same rights as Jordanians.

"With no prospect of meaningful future", Palestinian refugees in Lebanon have "attempted to migrate whenever possible", Klaus said.

But their travel documents "may not be recognized", and they may be "required to file visas related to stateless persons", she added.

Mohammad Abdel Hafiz lamented that Palestinians in Lebanon "don't even enjoy the most basic rights".

"Everybody is born in a country, while we are born where our heart is," said the 29-year-old, who volunteers for the Palestinian civil defense in Shatila.

As he zips through its alleys on his moped, he dreams of leaving, but his chances of getting a visa to a Western country are slim.

And he is haunted by the memory of three young camp residents who drowned when a boat carrying would-be migrants sank off the Lebanese coast last year.

"They died because they wanted to have a future," Abdel Hafiz said.

"Here, our aim is just to survive."



'We Don't Want to Die Here': Sierra Leone Migrants Trapped in Lebanon

Sierra Leone is working to establish how many of its citizens are currently in Lebanon -AFP
Sierra Leone is working to establish how many of its citizens are currently in Lebanon -AFP
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'We Don't Want to Die Here': Sierra Leone Migrants Trapped in Lebanon

Sierra Leone is working to establish how many of its citizens are currently in Lebanon -AFP
Sierra Leone is working to establish how many of its citizens are currently in Lebanon -AFP

When an Israeli airstrike killed her employer and destroyed nearly everything she owned in southern Lebanon, it also crushed Fatima Samuella Tholley's hopes of returning home to Sierra Leone to escape the war.

With a change of clothes stuffed into a plastic bag, the 27-year-old housekeeper told AFP that she and her cousin made their way to the capital Beirut in an ambulance.

Bewildered and terrified, the pair were thrust into the chaos of the bombarded city -- unfamiliar to them apart from the airport where they had arrived months before.

"We don't know today if we will live or not, only God knows," Fatima told AFP via video call, breaking down in tears.
"I have nothing... no passport, no documents," she said.

The cousins have spent days sheltering in the cramped storage room of an empty apartment, which they said was offered to them by a man they had met on their journey.

With no access to TV news and unable to communicate in French or Arabic, they could only watch from their window as the city was pounded by strikes.

The Israeli war on Lebanon since mid-September has killed more than 1,000 people and forced hundreds of thousands more to flee their homes, amid Israeli bombards around the country.

The situation for the country's migrant workers is particularly precarious, as their legal status is often tied to their employer under the "kafala" sponsorship system governing foreign labor.

"When we came here, our madams received our passports, they seized everything until we finished our contract" said 29-year-old Mariatu Musa Tholley, who also works as a housekeeper.

"Now [the bombing] burned everything, even our madams... only we survived".

- 'They left me' -

Sierra Leone is working to establish how many of its citizens are currently in Lebanon, with the aim of providing emergency travel certificates to those without passports, Kai S. Brima from the foreign affairs ministry told AFP.

The poor west African country has a significant Lebanese community dating back over a century, which is heavily involved in business and trade.

Scores of migrants travel to Lebanon every year, with the aim of paying remittances to support families back home.

"We don't know anything, any information", Mariatu said.

"[Our neighbours] don't open the door for us because they know we are black", she wept.

"We don't want to die here".

Fatima and Mariatu said they had each earned $150 per month, working from 6:00 am until midnight seven days a week.

They said they were rarely allowed out of the house.

AFP contacted four other Sierra Leonean domestic workers by phone, all of whom recounted similar situations of helplessness in Beirut.

Patricia Antwin, 27, came to Lebanon as a housekeeper to support her family in December 2021.

She said she fled her first employer after suffering sexual harassment, leaving her passport behind.

When an airstrike hit the home of her second employer in a southern village, Patricia was left stranded.

"The people I work for, they left me, they left me and went away," she told AFP.

Patricia said a passing driver saw her crying in the street and offered to take her to Beirut.

Like Fatima and Mariatu, she has no money or formal documentation.

"I only came with two clothes in my plastic bag", she said.

- Sleeping on the streets -

Patricia initially slept on the floor of a friend's apartment, but moved to Beirut's waterfront after strikes in the area intensified.

She later found shelter at a Christian school in Jounieh, some 20 kilometres (12 miles) north of the capital.

"We are seeing people moving from one place to another", she said.

"I don't want to lose my life here," she added, explaining she had a child back in Sierra Leone.

Housekeeper Kadij Koroma said she had been sleeping on the streets for almost a week after fleeing to Beirut when she was separated from her employer.

"We don't have a place to sleep, we don't have food, we don't have water," she said, adding that she relied on passers by to provide bread or small change for sustenance.

Kadij said she wasn't sure if her employer was still alive, or if her friends who had also travelled from Sierra Leone to work in Lebanon had survived the bombardment.

"You don't know where to go," she said, "everywhere you go, bomb, everywhere you go, bomb".