BHANNINE, Lebanon (AP) – Aisha al-Abed’s kitchen was messy and hectic, as is often the first day of Ramadan. The food had to be on the table at 7:07 pm exactly when the sun goes down and the day of fasting ends.
Traditionally a jovial celebration of the start of the Muslim holy month around a hearty meal, it was muffled and despondent for her small Syrian refugee family.
While the 21-year-old mother of two worked, with her toddler daughter in tow, memories of life’s hardships were everywhere: in the makeshift kitchen, where she crouched on the floor to chop cucumbers next to a single-burner gas stove. At their home: a tent with a concrete floor and wooden walls covered with a tarpaulin. And certainly in their iftarmaal – rice, lentil soup, chips and yogurt cucumber dip; her sister sent a small chicken and fish.
“This is going to be a very difficult Ramadan,” said al-Abed. “This should be a better meal … After a day of fasting, one needs more nutrition for the body. Of course I feel defeated. ”
Ramadan, which began Tuesday, comes as the lives of displaced people have become even more difficult for Syrian refugees amid the economic woes of their host country Lebanon. The struggle can be more pronounced during the holy month, when fasting is usually followed by festive feasts to fill empty stomachs.
“High prices are killing people,” said Raed Mattar, al-Abed’s 24-year-old husband. “We can fast all day long and then break our fast with just an onion,” he said, using an Arabic proverb usually meant to convey disappointment after long patience.
Lebanon, home to more than 1 million Syrian refugees, is reeling from an economic crisis aggravated by the pandemic and a massive explosion that devastated parts of the capital last August.
Citing the impact of the exacerbated crises, a UN study said the proportion of Syrian refugee families living below the extreme poverty line – the equivalent of about $ 25 per month per person according to current black market figures – has risen to 89% by 2020 , compared to 55% the previous year.
More people resorted to reducing the size or number of meals, he said. Half of the Syrian refugee families surveyed are suffering from food insecurity, up from 28% at the same time in 2019.
Refugees are not alone in their pain. The economic turmoil, culminating in years of corruption and mismanagement, has squeezed the Lebanese, plunging 55% of the country’s 5 million people into poverty and shutting down businesses.
As jobs became scarce, Mattar said more Lebanese competed for the low-paid construction and plumbing jobs that had previously been largely left to foreign workers like himself. Wages lost their value when the local currency, which had been tied to the dollar for decades, collapsed. Mattar went from the equivalent of more than $ 13 a day to less than $ 2, roughly the price of one and a half pounds (about 3 pounds) of unsubsidized sugar.
“People are nice and help, but the situation has become disastrous,” he said. “The Lebanese themselves cannot live. Imagine how we do it. “
Nerves fraying. Mattar was one of hundreds displaced from an informal camp last year after a group of Lebanese set it on fire after a fight between a Syrian and a Lebanese.
It was the fifth displacement for al-Abed’s young family, who bounced mainly between informal settlements in northern Lebanon. They then had to move twice, once when a Lebanese landowner doubled the rent and told Mattar that he could afford it because he was getting help as a refugee. Their current tent is in Bhannine.
This year, Syrians marked the 10th anniversary of the start of the uprising that turned into civil war in their country. Many refugees say they cannot return because their homes have been destroyed or because they fear retaliation, either because they are perceived as opposition or because they are avoiding military service, like Mattar. He and al-Abed both fled Syria in 2011 and met in Lebanon.
Even before Ramadan began, Rahaf al-Saghir, another Syrian in Lebanon, was concerned about what her family’s iftar would look like.
“I don’t know what to do,” said the recently widowed mother of three daughters. “The girls keep saying they crave meat, they crave chicken, cookies and fruit.”
As the family’s options diminished, her daughters’ questions became heartbreaking. Why can’t we have chips like the neighbor’s kids? Why don’t we drink milk to grow up as they say on television? Al-Saghir recalled bursting into tears when her youngest asked her how the strawberry she saw on television tasted. She later bought some for her with the help of UN aid money, she said.
Before Ramadan, al-Saghir was determined to prevent her daughters from seeing photos of other people’s Iftar meals. “I don’t want them to compare themselves to others,” she said. “When you are fasting during Ramadan, you long for many things.”
The beginning of Ramadan, the first since the death of al-Saghir’s husband, brought tears. Her eldest daughters were used to their father waking them up to suhoor, the pre-dawn meal before the day’s fast, which he would prepare.
A few months before he died – of cardiac arrest – the family moved into a one-bedroom apartment shared with a relative’s family.
This year their first iftar was simple: chips, soup and fattoush salad. Al-Saghir wanted chicken but thought it was too expensive.
Before the violence drove them out of Syria, Ramadan felt festive. Al-Saghir cooked and exchanged visits with family and neighbors, gathering around delicious savory and sweet dishes.
“Now there is no family, no neighbors, and no sweets,” she said. “Ramadan feels like any other day. We can feel even more sadness. ”
In the midst of her struggle, she turns to her faith.
“I keep praying to God,” she said. May our prayers be heard during Ramadan and may our situation change. … May a new path open up for us. ”
Fam reported from Egypt. Associated Press journalist Fay Abuelgasim contributed from Bhannine.
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