DALHAMIEH, LEBANON // Back in Syria, back before the war, 30-year-old Amsha and her family would break the daily Ramadan fast with a feast: a variety of grilled meats, tasty balls of kibbeh, meat dumplings in yogurt and, of course, soups, salads and cooked vegetables. There were never fewer than five or six dishes on the table.
But here in Lebanon’s Bekaa Valley, where Amsha lives with her six sisters in a tent pitched on what was once farmland, lentil soup and fried slices of squash are the only dishes for iftar on a hot June day this Ramadan. It is a simple meal no different from what they would eat outside of the holy month, a menu dictated by the inescapable poverty that haunts and traps so many Syrian refugee families in Lebanon.
The iftar will be their only meal for the day.
“We don’t eat suhoor, ever,” Amsha says, referring to the pre-dawn meal before fasting begins at sunrise. “To eat breakfast you have to have butter, you have to have cheese and other things. We can’t afford it, so we don’t eat.”
“It’s good for fitness,” says her aunt Hasna, sitting on the ground next to her.
After six years of war, there are believed to be about 1.5 million Syrian refugees in Lebanon. Like Amsha and her family, more than 70 per cent of them live below the poverty line, according to the United Nations’ refugee agency, UNHCR.
The poverty is unremittingly crushing, but is felt even more keenly during Ramadan, a month of piety, charity, feasting and celebration elsewhere in the Muslim world.
The 40 families in Amsha’s camp have it particularly bad. Just two months ago, they were among thousands of refugees evicted by the Lebanese army from areas around Riyaq airbase, near the Syrian border, because the authorities deemed the proximity of the refugees to the airbase posed a security threat. .Left to fend for themselves, they found a new site on farmland about a kilometre away from their old site.
A new camp was hastily built, with residents salvaging what they could from the old one. Many of the dwellings are made of discarded vinyl billboards advertising goods their occupants can only dream of affording: diamond rings, luxury cars, expensive perfumes, fresh fish and blockbuster films. Goats wander the loose gravel lanes between the tightly-packed tents, but they are kept mainly for milk, not meat.
Many of the camp residents work as farm or construction labourers for just a few dollars a day. Having just spent money on setting up home in their new camp, few had any surplus for luxury and celebration during the holy month.
“Here, if I have money I can’t spend it all on food for Ramadan. I have to keep some money on the side in case one of my children gets sick or we have another emergency,” said Mohammed, 27, a refugee from Homs who lives in the camp with his wife and two young children. “In Syria we used to spend all the money we had, we didn’t care. But here we have to think.”
Nor does Ramadan in Lebanon inspire the same feelings.
“In Syria, you would feel the happiness of this month by being together with your family.,”Mohammed said. “At Eid, you would go out and buy new clothes for the children. We don’t have this feeling here. It’s different. You’re outside of your country. And now we have the pressure of the government on top of all the suffering we’re already going through.”
There is little hope that things will get better. The economic situation is worsening for those in the camp. People have mounting debts but less and less work. Already there are rumours that the government will evict the refugees from their new settlement.
Ahmed, the chaweesh, or local leader, does not believe the rumours but holds little hope for the future of those he watches over.
From a small, fly-infested shop stocked with basic necessities such as rice, cleaning products and insect spray, as well as treats like snacks, soft drinks and sweets, Ahmed supplies the camp’s residents on credit. He says the average family runs up a bill of US$200 (Dh734) a month, but many are finding it increasingly difficult to pay their debts, so he is forced to stop selling to them.
Like a number of other men in the camp, Ahmed can be seen puffing cigarettes during the daylight hours and is not fasting this Ramadan. Some have given up because of their long hours of physical toil. And some, like Ahmed, have simply given up, ground down by life as a refugee.
“I don’t fast. I don’t care,” said Ahmed. “I really respect Syrians who fast in Lebanon given how bad the situation is … every year it gets harder and harder. As long as it goes on, it’s going to get harder.”
jwood@thenational.aes