“It’s always the little things that linger, like waking up in the morning in your bed, relatives coming over for breakfast, taking walks around the neighbourhood with my best friend, these kinds of things,” says Fawziyeh.
In 2011, at the start of the conflict in Syria, millions of people fled leaving behind their homes, belongings, and sometimes even their loved ones who were unable to flee with them. In the chaos of fleeing, they might abandon cherished possessions and items of sentimental value, but essentially, these people have left behind their sense of security, stability, and the very fabric of life they once knew. For most, that is now just an unattainable dream.
After thirteen years of escaping conflict and living in poor conditions, the face of a refugee is a true testament marked by the hardships endured and the burdens carried, etched in every line. The eyes, once bright with hope, now hold a weariness that seems to weigh them down and speak volumes of the scarcity that defines life in a tented settlement.
I was introduced to Fawziyeh during a field visit with our mapping team in the Bekaa Valley, which in coordination with the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR), helps put people on the map. Essentially, the mapping team seeks out tented settlements and provides the community members with an address so their locations and needs can be shared with the wider humanitarian community.
Fawziyeh, 45 years old, a Syrian community member holds her baby boy Mohammad, 9 months old inside her tented home, during a mapping visit at an informal settlement in Marj, the Bekaa Valley on the 23rd of April 2024. ©Medair/Abdul Dennaoui
Fawziyeh, was a mother of a beautiful nine-month-old baby boy named Mohammad. Like millions of others, she fled her home to seek refuge in Lebanon, carrying with her the weight of her memories, dreams, and aspirations. Fawziyeh’s journey was not an easy one. Here is a little part of our conversation.
“It was another life. A life of laughter and happy moments shared in the company of loved ones”, she says thinking back. “In the chaos of fleeing, you don’t think about the future. Your mind shifts to survival, silences the inner turmoil and mental chatter. There is no roadmap, so every decision you make is crucial and you hope whichever one you make, is the right one” she says looking down, while cradling her newborn.
“Leaving home behind was a difficult decision at the time, but it had to be done. Now, it just pains me to think about it. I still have vivid memories that replay in my head every day. It’s always the little things that linger, like waking up in the morning in your bed, relatives coming over for breakfast, taking walks around the neighbourhood with my best friend, these kinds of things. When my family and I fled home, I clung to the hope of creating a better life for myself, despite my belief that it was only temporary.”
Fawziyeh spoke to me about how she and her family fled under the cover of the night, facing dangers at every turn and how scared she was. She didn’t think she was going to survive. It’s a true testament to the great lengths Syrians must go through to reach safety. By rationing what little supplies they had, Fawziyeh would go days without food. After arriving in Lebanon, her problems were far from over.
“Arriving in Lebanon, I was met with a new set of challenges. I was an outsider, and we didn’t have anywhere to go. Life was uncertain and harsh. I did find some comfort in new friendships with people just like me, sharing stories of loss that brought us closer. But as the years pass, my vivid memories are fading, and life isn’t getting any easier. The situation in Lebanon is worsening. Now, I find myself navigating challenges beyond my control and I am terrified of what’s coming. Employment is hard to find, we are eating fewer meals in the day, and medications are so expensive and hard to come by. There is always a struggle to afford the necessities. I don’t want my son Mohammad to know this life. I want a better life for him” she says firmly.
Fawziyeh, 45 years old, a Syrian community member holds her baby boy Mohammad, 9 months old while showing Medairs team the damaged and worn out plastic sheets that make up her tented home, during a mapping visit at an informal settlement in Marj, the Bekaa Valley on the 23rd of April 2024. ©Medair/Abdul Dennaoui
I took a stroll with Fawziyeh around her tented home and saw the reality of their living conditions. Throughout our conversation, she shared with me that one year after arriving in Lebanon, she received news of her best friend’s passing. It was a very difficult time for her, and until today, it continues to be. Even though the years have left their mark, I could see hope in Fawziyeh’s eyes.
In Lebanon, refugees like Fawziyeh and millions of others continue to be affected by the ongoing turmoil grasping the country, which has added to their burdens. Today, for World Refugee Day, I wanted to honour Fawziyeh. In my line of work, I’ve come to the realization, that refugees are the canvas upon which stories of resilience are painted. Even though the years continue to pass, there is always hope in their eyes. A belief that one day, against all odds, there will be a place to call home once again.
Broken and damaged pieces of wooden pallets used as the foundation of a roof inside Fawziyeh, 45 years old, a Syrian community member’s tented home during a mapping visit at an informal settlement in Marj, the Bekaa Valley on the 23rd of April 2024.©Medair/Abdul Dennaoui
Medair services in The Bekaa Valley, United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR), and generous private donors.
This content was produced with resources gathered by Medair field and headquarters staff. The views expressed herein are those solely of Medair and should not be taken, in any way, to reflect the official opinion of any other organization.