Beirut is a city that holds so much of my personal past. I lived and worked many times here between 2019 and 2021, and its streets and people became deeply connected with my memories. Now, in 2024, those memories are clouded by the people’s suffering.
The war has upended lives, turning schools into temporary shelters for families forced to flee their homes. Once lively classrooms now hold children and parents, struggling against the cold and the weight of uncertainty. These children sleep on school floors, wondering why they can’t return to their homes, while parents fear the next airstrike and its unknown consequences.
Each day, I visit these shelters, offering what help we can. Yet, the people I meet share a common plea—they don’t just want aid; they want to return to a life of peace. They dream of a home where their children can be safe, away from the constant fear that shadows their days. Despite our best efforts, true relief for them is not in temporary support, but in the hope of a peaceful tomorrow.]. On September 28, I met a friend whose life had fallen apart, with his wife and mother now sleeping on the streets with nowhere left to go. It was a painful reminder of my own journey from Syria in 2014, when I crossed into Turkey under the cover of darkness, searching desperately for safety. I spent months moving between different shelters in Turkey and Iraqi Kurdistan, never sure where I would find refuge next.