Syrian refugee in Lebanon decides to head to Turkey to risk flight to Europe.

News Stories, 21 July 2015

© UNHCR/photo
Hanan, in Lebanon before her flight, reflects on what the future may hold

SHOUEIFAT, Lebanon, July 21 (UNHCR) In the hall of her bare apartment, five packed suitcases lay neatly on the floor. After four crushing years of living in Lebanon as a refugee, Hanan* had made up her mind. She was going to leave, no matter the cost.

"I'll go anywhere; Italy, Greece, I don't care. I have officially hit rock bottom," she said.

Hanan had just booked four airplane tickets to Turkey. She sold her last pieces of jewelry to do so. "My plan is to link up with a smuggler there who can put me and my three children on a boat to Europe… I haven't slept in three nights," she said. She paused and looked thoughtful: "My brain is constantly at work, calculating, recalculating."

Hanan is an architect. Back in Syria, she refurbished and sold old houses in and around her hometown. She had a good life with her husband and children in the suburbs of Damascus. The family spent their summers in their vacation home in Bloudan a former holiday destination for Syria's middle class.

Her husband was the owner and CEO of one of Syria's biggest air freshener factories, a 200-employee business.

She opened a leather briefcase and placed it carefully on her lap. "This is all that is left from the factory," she pulled out a worn out air freshener, a branded cotton bag, and two scented candles.

"My children wanted to throw them away but it would have driven their father completely mad, I couldn't let them."

Her husband is now in Sweden. He fled there in 2014 thinking he could eventually manage to bring his family with him. He has since been on a waiting list in a reception centre at the Swedish borders.

"He loved life and he loved people," Hanan choked; "he's completely given up now, he just could not accept our new reality."

When Hanan first arrived in Lebanon in 2012, she told her story to a Lebanese man, "tears ran down his face as I helplessly sat there with my husband and children and told him how we didn't even manage to bring our clothes."

For close to two years, he opened a home to them in Bchamoun, in the southern outskirts of Beirut. "He bought us a heater, a washing machine, and gave us $200," she remembered, "I started collecting goods from generous neighbours; the concierge gave me a carpet, the next door neighbor a couple of chairs."

But this arrangement came to an end in 2014. "He needed the apartment for his own family," she explained.

Hanan eventually had to work four jobs to try and pay the rent of the apartment she moved into with her children. She cleaned, gave cooking classes, did secretarial work, and volunteered to help other refugees, but still struggled each month to make ends meet.

"At first I was embarrassed to work as a cleaner or do any other job that I wouldn't have considered doing only a few years ago, but I can't compare my current situation to my past life. My priority is my children's well-being."

Like hundreds of thousands of Syrian professionals, Hanan could not practice her trade in Lebanon. However, she was able to negotiate the enrolment of her children in a nearby school free of charge. "This year they did so well that they got exempt from the final exams. My eldest got straight As," she says with pride.

But the school capacity was overstretched, and they started to ask for tuition fees. "I simply could not afford it, I barely managed to cover the rent working four jobs and, with food aid reductions, I was often forced to tell my children that dinner was bread and olives," she smiled, "can you imagine?"

Hanan told me she had overstayed her residency permit and decided not to renew it. "I cannot think about having to pay $200." She couldn't afford it, like most Syrian refugees in Lebanon.

"What would you do if you were in my shoes? I am counting the hours until we leave," she lit a cigarette. "All we have left are beautiful memories of rose blossoms and cherry trees," she said.

Hanan can no longer be reached on her phone line.

*Name changed for reasons of protection

By Dana Sleiman, Lebanon

• DONATE NOW •

 

• GET INVOLVED • • STAY INFORMED •

Stateless in Beirut

Since Lebanon was established as a country in the 1920s there has been a long-standing stateless population in the country.

There are three main causes for this: the exclusion of certain persons from the latest national census of 1932; legal gaps which deny nationality to some group of individuals; and administrative hurdles that prevent parents from providing proof of the right to citizenship of their newborn children.

Furthermore, a major reason why this situation continues is that under Lebanese law, Lebanese women cannot pass on their nationality to their children, only men can; meaning a child with a stateless father and a Lebanese mother will inherit their father's statelessness.

Although exact numbers are not known, it is generally accepted that many thousands of people lack a recognized nationality in Lebanon and the problem is growing due to the conflict in Syria. Over 50,000 Syrian children have been born in Lebanon since the beginning of the conflict and with over 1 million Syrian refugees in the country this number will increase.

Registering a birth in Lebanon is very complicated and for Syrian parents can include up to five separate administrative steps, including direct contact with the Syrian government. As the first step in establishing a legal identity, failure to properly register a child's birth puts him or her at risk of statelessness and could prevent them travelling with their parents back to Syria one day.

The consequences of being stateless are devastating. Stateless people cannot obtain official identity documents, marriages are not registered and can pass their statelessness on to their children Stateless people are denied access to public healthcare facilities at the same conditions as Lebanese nationals and are unable to own or to inherit property. Without documents they are unable to legally take jobs in public administrations and benefit from social security.

Children can be prevented from enrolling in public schools and are excluded from state exams. Even when they can afford a private education, they are often unable to obtain official certification.

Stateless people are not entitled to passports so cannot travel abroad. Even movement within Lebanon is curtailed, as without documents they risk being detained for being in the country unlawfully. They also do not enjoy basic political rights as voting or running for public office.

This is the story of Walid Sheikhmouss Hussein and his family from Beirut.

Stateless in Beirut

Thousands of desperate Syrian refugees seek safety in Turkey after outbreak of fresh fighting

Renewed fighting in northern Syria since June 3 has sent a further 23,135 refugees fleeing across the border into Turkey's southern Sanliurfa province. Some 70 per cent of these are women and children, according to information received by UNHCR this week.

Most of the new arrivals are Syrians escaping fighting between rival military forces in and around the key border town of Tel Abyad, which faces Akcakale across the border. They join some 1.77 million Syrian refugees already in Turkey.

However, the influx also includes so far 2,183 Iraqis from the cities of Mosul, Ramadi and Falujjah.

According to UNHCR field staff most of the refugees are exhausted and arrive carrying just a few belongings. Some have walked for days. In recent days, people have fled directly to Akcakale to escape fighting in Tel Abyad which is currently reported to be calm.

Thousands of desperate Syrian refugees seek safety in Turkey after outbreak of fresh fighting

The Winter Triplets: a Bitter Sweet New Year's Tale

The birth of triplets on New Year's Day in eastern Lebanon's Bekaa Valley should have been cause for celebration, but there was a terrible cost attached. The newborns' mother, Syrian refugee Amal, died shortly after giving birth, never having a chance to see her boys.

In a twist of fate, Amal's own mother had died giving birth to her. Amal, whose name means "hope," had been excited at the prospect of having triplets and had been confident about the birth. She named the three boys before they were born - Riyadh, Ahmed and Khaled - and told her husband to take good care of them in case anything happened to her.

The weather in the Bekaa Valley seemed to reflect the torment of Amal's family. Less than a week after she died, the worst winter storm in years swept through the region bringing freezing temperatures and dumping huge amounts of snow across the Bekaa. And so this family, far from home, grieve for their loss as they struggle to keep their precious new members safe and warm. Photojournalist Andrew McConnell, on assignment for UNHCR, visited the family.

The Winter Triplets: a Bitter Sweet New Year's Tale

Haunted by war, a Syrian family gets a new start  in CanadaPlay video

Haunted by war, a Syrian family gets a new start in Canada

Single mother Abeer and her 6-year-old daughter Maryam struggled to overcome the aftermath of the massacre they witnessed in their hometown of Homs in Syria. But an unexpected phone call gave them a chance to start over in Canada, where they want to rebuild their shattered lives.
Hoping for a new life in CanadaPlay video

Hoping for a new life in Canada

A new humanitarian programme will see 25,000 Syrian refugees chosen and flown to Canada within the next few months. UNHCR is assisting in the process that will offer thousands a chance at a new life in a new country.
Lebanon: Fishing provides a lifeline for Syrian refugeesPlay video

Lebanon: Fishing provides a lifeline for Syrian refugees

Samir and Mohammed fled the war in Syria and are seeking safety in Lebanon, where refugees are not allowed to work. They found a lifeline and a hobby in fishing, a skill they learned from local fishermen in the coastal town of Tripoli.

EMERGENCYSyriaSyriawatch video