Lebanon plunges into worst economic crisis.
Sanaa Kaiss, a social worker, grinned back as she walked boldly through the maze of narrow alleyways in Lebanon’s Shatila refugee camp, greeted by nods of the head and raised hands.
Kaiss has worked in the Palestinian encampment in the southwest of Beirut for about 25 years with the grassroots Association Najdeh, but has never witnessed a situation as serious as the current one.
“In the morning, one can afford something and by the afternoon one no longer can because the price has gone up,” Kaiss explained.
As Lebanon descended deeper into one of the world’s worst economic crises, the United Nations Relief and Works Agency for Palestinian Refugees (UNRWA) raised the alarm last week about a major funding gap that could further restrict access to basic services for the country’s 200,000 Palestinian refugees.
The UK alone slashed its funding to UNRWA by more than half, from 42.5 million pounds ($56.5 million) in 2020 to 20.8 million pounds ($27.6) this year, while Gulf governments that had gave $200 million in 2018 only supplied $20 million this year.
UNRWA Commissioner-General Philippe Lazzarini described the situation as a “existential crisis,” warning that a lack of financing would severely limit access to school and basic healthcare services, including a COVID-19 immunisation programme.
The Lebanese government is not involved in the camps’ operations, relying instead on the United Nations and humanitarian organisations to provide basic amenities.
Olivier De Schutter, the UN special rapporteur on extreme poverty and human rights, claimed camps near Beirut “suffer from a persistently failing infrastructure as a result of competing sources of basic service delivery” during a visit to Shatila last month.
“These communities have been living in the camps for at least three generations, and they deserve better – their right to work, own property, education,” De Schutter told news agency.
Kaiss makes the rounds in the camp as part of Association Najdeh, bringing whatever support the organisation can afford. She now finds herself soothing families that have experienced conflict and displacement and have been re-vulnerable as a result of Lebanon’s escalating difficulties.
Hani Sharab, originally from Gaza, had been able to establish a nice life for his wife and four children in Shatila before Beirut’s port explosion destroyed enterprises that were already on the verge of bankruptcy.
Prior to the depreciation of the Lebanese pound two years ago, he was earning the equivalent of $1,500 per month as an hourly cleaner for real estate firm Solidere, a private company formed to reconstruct Beirut’s historic downtown centre after the 15-year civil war ended in 1990.
Solidere transformed bullet-riddled buildings into swanky offices and boutique shops, where Sharab worked until October 2019, when the polished streets became the site of anti-government protests.
The restored waterfront sector was once again a mound of twisted metal and wreckage on August 4, 2020, when a big blast devastated Beirut’s port and the city’s heavily populated residential zones.
Sharab continues to work every day, but the number of hours he is paid is insufficient to meet his needs, he claims.
According to the unofficial currency rate, the father-of-four now earns less than 2,500,000 Lebanese pounds each month, or less than $108. The cost of power and drinking water alone consumes half of his monthly income.
The skyrocketing inflation has compounded with the loss of working hours. “Now, supermarkets have become boutiques,” Sharab said. “These past two years have felt like a hundred. I hate not being able to get my kids what they need.”
Since October 2019, when 10,000 pounds was legally worth $6.63 and could buy staples like milk, chicken, rice, and veggies, the price of food has climbed nearly tenfold. On the illegal market today, 10,000 pounds is worth less than $1 and only buys one kilogramme of tomatoes and one kilogramme of oranges.
The living room walls were stained and cracked by rain coming in through the roof, but home repairs have become a luxury they can no longer afford.
Sharab’s wife, Nazha, said she went to UNRWA to ask for help but was unable to get anything other than education for one of their children.
The Canadian embassy offered Sharab and his family the chance to resettle five years ago, which he turned down and now regrets. “I told them I didn’t want to leave Lebanon,” he said. “Now I would go wherever they take me.”
Rim Ali’s little flat on the fourth floor of a run-down building was without power. Before fleeing war-torn Syria in 2013, she, her husband, and their five children resided in Jobar, a Damascus suburb.
“We had no where to stay when we initially arrived,” Ali told the news agency. Families in the camp would house them until they found their current three-room flat. They relied on UNRWA, NGOs, and Palestinian factions for survival.
Lebanon’s terrible economic crisis is now threatening the family’s hard-won stability, eight years after they fled Syria’s violence.
“The cost of private electricity goes up almost by the day, and it’s become a huge burden,” she said, adding power has become more expensive than rent. “We also have loans to pay.”
The pound has lost more than 90% of its worth, leading inflation to skyrocket. According to UN estimates, three-quarters of the population presently lives in poverty. Due to financial cuts, UNRWA has had to alter cash support, while other charities are struggling to keep up with the rising demand for aid.
Ali, the family’s breadwinner, survives on whatever part-time jobs she can find.
She was recently involved by an NGO in a project that employed women to sew eco-friendly cloth sanitary pads, which she produces in excess of 100 every week. She took delight in her work, embellishing it with bright flowers and designs.
Her apartment’s third room was transformed into a sewing studio, complete with multiple sewing machines. She worked late at night when her children were asleep, as long as she had electricity to run the equipment.
“I’m working bit by bit to be able to cover my children’s expenses and secure a college education for them. That’s what every mother lives for,” she said.
Moayyad, her eldest son, is unemployed at the age of 24. Her 63-year-old husband travelled to Istanbul in an attempt to reach Europe, but as his health deteriorates, he has been unable to gather the funds to continue his journey.
Ali wires him money for rent and food on top of his growing bills. “I send him everything I can save, even if it’s just $50,” she explained.
Ali anticipated that more organisations will sponsor projects that provide a better long-term source of income. “It’s critical,” she said.
