Riham

When Israel threatened to bomb the Beqaa Valley – where I lived with my family in eastern Lebanon – at first I couldn’t believe it. I’m originally from Daraa, in Syria. My husband and I left for Lebanon eight months after we got married, because of the war and the situation in Syria. That was 11 years ago.

Our home was in a village called al-Karak. It was on the ground floor of an old five-floor building, and my favourite thing to do there was sit outside in the morning with a cup of coffee and listen to the birds sing. The view is just a quarry, but the beauty is in the quiet. About 10 families live nearby, and we all felt like family. 

I am paralysed from the waist down, so I was scared I wouldn’t be able to get my children out of our house if something happened. I have three children and my wheelchair is my fourth child. I can’t live without it.

This fear really affected me. I told my husband that if we were bombed he should just get the kids out and go, so someone from the family would be saved. I started leaving my wheelchair outside so we would be ready at any moment.  

Ever since we moved to the house in al-Karak, I had been buying things, setting up the house. I saved all of my husband’s salary to buy various things. It was all gone in an instant.

At first the sounds of the bombing were far away. The first time it came close, in late September 2024, a boy came knocking on the door at 8am and told me, “they are bombing, you have to get the kids out.” The sky was full of rockets and war planes.

We went to stay in a garage in Saadnayel, a town about six kilometres away. There were 33 of us, including some of my husband’s relatives. We all stayed in a small garage that was divided into two small rooms and a bathroom, and we slept on the floor.

After three days, the people we were staying with said we had to leave, and people said it was fine to go back to al-Karak. But everyone was scared. When we got back home, I was giving my kids a bath and I heard a big bombing sound. I hugged my kids and started to cry.  

My husband came and got the children. I told him to grab clothes and diapers, but he said they didn’t matter, the most important thing was to get me and the kids out. We didn’t want to go back and forth, staying in other people’s homes. We knew there was an open field – an olive grove – near where we stayed before, in Saadnayel. So we went there. My wheelchair didn’t work on the ground, and it was so hot. My husband carried me on his back, and my daughter in his arms. One of my kids carried my wheelchair.

He went back and brought us a double mattress and two blankets. At night, the mattress would get wet from the humidity. My husband and I took turns sleeping in two-hour shifts. There were rats climbing all over us. I was scared they would bite one of my children. When it was windy, we sheltered behind some rocks. We slept there for 10 days, until it became unbearable. My husband even suggested I take the children and go back to Syria. He couldn’t go back because he would be arrested by the regime. I didn’t want to leave him.

My husband told a friend how we were living, and he arranged for us to go to the shelter where we are now, in Bar Elias, a town in the Beqaa Valley. When we got here, I was shocked. I felt like I was in a totally different world. Frontliners for Change, a Syrian aid group that runs the shelter, gave us a beautiful welcome. They told me nothing would happen to us there. I kept touching the walls, thanking God that I had four walls to shelter me and my children.

At first there were just two families here, then it got crowded. I didn’t know anyone at first, but I got to know them. I was so affected by what had happened to me, by the war, that it was three days until I realised there was a kitchen in the building. My husband tried to carry me downstairs and show me that people were living a normal life, but I made him bring me back. I would say, “no, the planes will come now and start bombing.” The fear has really taken control of me.

In late 2024, when the regime fell and rebels were fighting former Syrian President Bashar al-Assad, we could hear the shelling from neighbouring Syria. I kept crying and breaking down. I said to my husband, “Firas, are they attacking us?” I thought the bombing and shelling had followed me. When a friend told us that Syria had been liberated, I couldn’t fully understand the news. I couldn’t take it in. The fear is still in me. I get scared when I hear fireworks, or the high-pitched sound of a door closing.

My kids were scared too. When they heard bombing, my youngest son would hide under the bed. He would wake up at night shouting “Mom, the planes are here, the planes are here!” For a while, they wet the bed.

Still, I slowly began to feel safe here. This place became a home for everyone. I met so many people here who touched my heart. One woman wouldn’t let me crawl on the stairs myself, she carried me on her back. When I was shy, people came to my room and brought me to hang out a little bit in the evening. It’s amazing that these people came all the way from the south, and we became good friends here.

In addition to giving me four walls and everything else I needed, the people who run the centre gave us other support. They taught me about how to deal with my kids, and reduce my own stress. Back then, I was so on edge that everything would get on my nerves. The people there were so kind. They didn’t make us feel like we were just displaced people, or a burden on them.

Most people have left the shelter and gone back home, and the building is almost empty. But I’m happy where I am now. I feel psychologically good. I can close the door to the outside, even if my husband isn’t there, and not be scared I will be trapped inside.

I suffered through the unbearable. When we were in the fields, I envied people who could die just once, because they would be done with it. You would know the suffering is over. Whereas I felt like I died a thousand times a day.

If this shelter closes, I don’t know where I’ll go. I’m waiting for God to find a way for me. If God gives us a place to stay, even a tent, I’ll be ok with it. My house was destroyed, but I am not sad about that. Thank God that my children are safe and my husband is still with us, standing by us. Thank God things are replaceable.