The Day Home Became a Classroom

“Being able to close a door at night, with a lock and a key brings me peace of mind”, says Khaled, an internally displaced father.

Khaled, 56, is from southern Lebanon, where he built his life with his wife and two children. For years, his home was a place of stability, where daily routines felt predictable and safe. Today, that sense of normalcy has been replaced by uncertainty, as he and his family navigate life as internally displaced.

“When I sit on this school desk, it reminds me of my own school days, sitting quietly and waiting for the class to start. Back then, waiting was simple and full of promise. Today, I sit on the same kind of desk, but instead of waiting for a lesson, my family and I are waiting for this classroom to be transformed into a living space, so we can have our own corner, our privacy, and a place that feels safe. It is a different kind of waiting, one filled with uncertainty but also hope that soon we will be able to close a door and call this space our own.”

When forced displacement orders reached Khaled’s phone, everything changed in an instant. Panic set in as he and his wife gathered their two children, focused on one thing only, getting them to safety. “We fled right away with our two children and found refuge in a public school in Mount Lebanon that had been converted into a collective shelter.” But safety came with new challenges. The school was already overcrowded, filled with families who had also forcibly fled their homes with little notice. Khaled’s family was assigned to a single classroom, shared with another family of four.

“There were no walls or doors, just one open space for eight people who did not know each other.”

Living in such conditions meant constant strain. There was no privacy to change clothes, no quiet space to rest, and no sense of separation between families. Nights were especially difficult, with interrupted sleep and a lingering sense of insecurity. Over time, the exhaustion began to affect both physical and mental well-being. Even with mutual understanding between the families, the lack of space made daily life challenging. In an effort to create some form of boundary, Khaled and the head of the other household improvised a solution. “We hung a blue plastic sheet across the classroom, tying it from side to side with ropes. It was fragile and did not block sound, but it was the only solution we had. It was certainly better than nothing.”

Khaled’s experience reflects the reality for many displaced families across Lebanon, where collective shelters, often public schools are stretched beyond capacity. Overcrowding, limited privacy, and inadequate facility infrastructure make daily life difficult, while the uncertainty of displacement continues to weigh heavily on families. Today, small but meaningful changes are taking place. “I am sitting just outside the classroom as the Medair team install proper partitions and doors, so each family can finally have its own space.” The improvements are simple, but their impact is profound.

Funded by UNHCR and other generous donors and implemented by Medair, our teams have conducted technical assessments in over 70 collective shelters across the Bekaa and Mount Lebanon, identifying 62 in need of urgent rehabilitation. These shelters are currently hosting more than 11,000 people, including Lebanese families and Syrian refugees who have been displaced by the ongoing war.

Rehabilitation works have already been completed in a number of shelters with more works ongoing in others, helping to improve living conditions, restore a sense of privacy, and provide safer, more dignified spaces for families seeking refuge.

‍

“There is something powerful about having a space you can call your own. It will never replace our home in the South, whose fate we still don’t know, but it gives us dignity. Being able to close a door at night, with a lock and a key brings me peace of mind. It may seem small, but for us, it means privacy, safety, and the ability to live together as a family again.”

Khaled’s story is one of many families currently navigating displacement, adapting to new realities, and holding on to a sense of dignity despite uncertainty.  

‍

Medair's work in Lebanon is possible with funding from the, United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR), Swiss Development Cooperation through Interaction-CH, German Federal Foreign Office, the Department of State – United States, Monegasque Cooperation for Development, Métropole de Grenoble, 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 organisation. 

‍

‍