Baraa Shkeir works with Save the Children in Lebanon. Currently, she is part of Save the Children Lebanon’s ongoing emergency response. Here she shares a testimony of her experiences.
It feels like a year has passed. Some days have gone in the blink of an eye, while others have dragged on endlessly, as if they could never end.”
Although these are my own words, they were echoed by most of the displaced families I met this week during my visits to the collective shelters.
I’ve suffered my fair share of teary goodbyes this past year but nothing like this past month.
Every weekend I used to visit my family in the south. More and more, each welcome and goodbye felt as if they might be the last.
Then, that dreaded Monday, [23 September] I lost contact with them. That’s when, I realised that if they don’t leave immediately, I might never see them again. I never thought death was this close until it was.
In those first few days I watched on screens as my hometown and villages burned to the ground. Cars flooded the streets like rivers, clogging the roads as families, elderly people and children fled for their lives. Chaos erupted as some one million people were forced to abandon their homes, seeking shelter away from the Israeli bombing.
I’ve experienced pain and sorrow before. But not like this. It’s heavy, crippling. Should I take comfort in knowing it’s a shared experience, that over 2 million people are going through this, that I’m not alone? I’ve been told over and over that I must stay strong, as tomorrow will be harder - and it is.
Safety has become an illusion; and comfort lies in having our loved ones with us. We cling to fleeting memories of joy only to be reminded of what has been lost.
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For Fadwa* and her family, who I met in a collective shelter in Bekaa recently, their struggle didn’t begin on 23 September; it has been an unrelenting reality for over a year, as this marks their second forced displacement. Yet she would tell you that these recent weeks have been the hardest of her life.
Living in a classroom with her husband, three daughters, mother-in-law and sister-in-law’s family, they are all visibly tired. “We fled with only the clothes on our backs”, Fadwa* continued, “all I could think about was getting my children and myself out alive. Now that we’ve settled, everything comes flooding back.”
To think that all their belongings could fit into just a couple of backpacks, hastily packed as they ran for their lives. To think that a family of ten lives in a single room, sharing a common bathroom with over twenty other families, that leaves no room for privacy or even a semblance of normalcy.
When it comes to Marriam*, Fadwa’s 15-year-old daughter, the only thing she wants is privacy, a room of her own to gather her thoughts in the light of day, and to remember who she is, not who she’s become after the cold and bitter nights. “I don’t like who I am anymore”, she told me. “I’m always angry, frustrated, and on edge. I just want to go back home – to my own home, to my village. Even if it’s in ruins, I want to sit there, surrounded by my things.”
This is a sentiment we all share, we want to go home, come what may. These children and their families must be seen and heard, not reduced to numbers and statistics. They should be recognised for the lives they now lead as well as the lives they have lost. As I bid them farewell, we quietly promised to meet again on the land of our ancestors, where our family roots spread deep.
Working in the humanitarian sector gives me a sense of purpose, an anchor amid overwhelming needs. Save the Children Lebanon is providing food, water, mattresses, toiletries and learning materials to displaced families. We've set up safe spaces for children to play and recover. We're helping to reunite unaccompanied children with their families. Knowing that we can, even briefly, ease someone's suffering or bring a moment of joy to a child is hugely meaningful. But there is still so much more to be done. For every moment we ease, there are countless others that are not getting the help they need. By donating to our Children’s Emergency Fund, you can help us close this gap. We must also all do everything in our power to demand an immediate ceasefire. This is the only way to protect children and families and safely get them the support they need.
