Leo

Sierra Leonean mother of a 5-year-old daughter, 27, who moved to south Beirut two years ago to make money as a domestic worker.

“On the way there, I was crying, and I made a video of myself to send to my parents. I told them, ‘If you don’t see me again, this is why. There is a war.”

I’m a cleaner, and on 23 September 2024, the day Israel began heavily bombing Beirut, I was at work. I saw the news about the war on my phone.

I was sharing an apartment with seven other women, in Gondoline, a neighbourhood in south Beirut. When I got back home, we were talking about whether or not we should go to work the next day. I started hearing some bombing sounds, but at first I thought it was far away.

When the bombing came closer, I thought the building was going to collapse. It was shaking. So many people were running, and I was panicking and crying. I didn’t know where to go. I’m from Sierra Leone, and I’ve been in Lebanon for almost two years. I don’t know that many parts of Lebanon, and I didn’t have a safe place to go to.

When I left, I took only my phone and my Bible with me. I go everywhere with that Bible. I have had it since 2012 and brought it with me from Sierra Leone. It means a lot to me. It’s my protection.

Some of my friends had already gone to Raouche, a Beirut neighbourhood near the seaside. I started walking there. I asked some people for help, but they either didn’t understand me or tried to give me directions. I had to turn every time I saw smoke rising.

On the way there, I was crying, and I made a video of myself to send to my parents. I told them, “If you don’t see me again, this is why. There is a war.”

For a few nights I slept outside, on the sidewalk. Then me and some other women from Sierra Leone moved to Martyr’s Square, a large public space in downtown Beirut. But in the morning, soldiers told us we had to leave. I went back to sleeping on the sidewalks for a night, until some of my friends who work in Aramoun, a village in mount Lebanon, came to get me.

But I heard the sounds of bombing in Aramoun too, so I went back to Beirut. I went back to sleeping in Raouche, outside. Some people who saw us out there would go to the shops and bring us back food. Others gave us money. That’s how we got by.

After a few days, in early October, people from Goodwill Migrant Shelter, set up by Lebanese volunteers during the war, came to where we were sleeping. At first, when they came to tell us about the shelter, I didn’t want to go. I thought they might kidnap us, do bad things to us. Or maybe they might want to kill us, because we are African.

I had some difficulties before the war in my neighbourhood, just because of colour. Children threw stones at us and called us names. The landlord would sometimes show up at our apartment and demand more money or threaten to throw us out. Once, a man broke in and tried to abuse someone. I went out at night to buy bread and a man pulled a gun on me.

But the people from the shelter kept saying they didn’t want to hurt us, they just wanted us to be safe. We saw something in them, and said, “let’s give them a chance.”

They brought a bus for us, and the moment we got on the bus we were all so happy. We were taking videos and pictures. When we arrived at the shelter, in central Beirut’s Hazmieh neighbourhood, I almost forgot about all the sorrow because they were really welcoming. Everything was set up for us. It felt like there was no need to cry, or be scared, or panic anymore.

When we arrived at the shelter, in central Beirut’s Hazmieh neighbourhood, I almost forgot about all the sorrow because they were really welcoming. Everything was set up for us. It felt like there was no need to cry, or be scared, or panic anymore.

There were more than 200 people there. We had lots of fun! We played games, we danced, we listened to music. We even watched movies there. And food – at first, they prepared Lebanese food, but when we said we wanted African food, they went and got ingredients, and we took turns cooking.

At first, I wanted to leave Lebanon. But I decided not to. I knew that this would end one day. I said to myself: “Wait, have patience. I’m here to make money, and I’ll be able to start working again.”

In early January 2025 – more than a month after the ceasefire – volunteers from the shelter found us a house in Bourj Hammoud, a neighbourhood in north Beirut. I live with two roommates. They can’t work, due to injuries sustained as domestic labourers. I haven’t found work yet. I’ve met some agents who gave me jobs, but after they finished they didn’t pay me. Thank God for the volunteers. They are providing for us.

I hope there will be a lot of work in the summer. I want to stay here in Lebanon and work for a while, then leave to continue my education. I studied business management in Sierra Leone, but I couldn’t finish my degree because of the cost. My mom struggled a lot, and that gave me the courage to go to Lebanon. It was the only thing I could do for her, for my parents, my siblings, and my daughter, Sally. She is five years old. I wanted to put a smile on their faces.

In the meantime, we have a beautiful time together in the apartment. We watch TV, we have fun, we talk. We smoke nargileh. We play music. We feel safe here. I like the unity in the neighbourhood. I feel like people would stand up for us here.

It doesn’t always feel like the war has ended. Sometimes we still hear sounds of planes and bombing, but it’s not like before, when it was every minute, one after another, all night.

I lost things in the war. I lost friends; they left Lebanon. I lost a diary, I had it since I came to Lebanon. I used to write in it every day, what I did, and contacts. I really miss that book. The house where I was living wasn’t destroyed, but the landlord threw everything out.

One thing I got from the war was learning how to interact with different kinds of people from different backgrounds. I learned a lot from the people who run the shelter. They didn’t treat us differently than they would Lebanese people. They were encouraging. I like to be around people, it gives me zing.

I believe I have a brighter future, and I need to chase that. My family is going through a lot. That’s why I need to return, go back to school, and move forward. I’m determined.