The
Lebanon
Displacement
Diaries

The end of a war is not the end of the story.

On 27 November 2024, Israel and Hezbollah began a ceasefire deal that finally brought an end to more than a year of conflict in Lebanon – not before three months of heavy Israeli air bombardment and a ground invasion forced more than a million people from their homes and killed approximately 4,000, many of them civilians.

On the first day of the truce, people packed the roads to south Lebanon, honking horns and celebrating their return. But many were going back to bombed-out villages and destroyed houses, and everyone carried with them the weight of fear, uncertainty, and loss. Six months later, some 90,000 people have still not been able to go home at all, and that weight has barely lifted.

These are the stories of 10 people displaced during the war, told in their own words, photos, and videos. During their displacement, they stayed in shelters, family homes, schools, garages, in olive groves, and on sidewalks by the sea. Some managed to bring along things that brought them comfort – sentimental pieces of jewelry, a beloved dog, a bible. Others left with almost nothing. Some have returned to their homes. Others have nothing to go back to but rubble.

They share an experience of displacement – a non-descript term that doesn’t truly capture what it is like to be uprooted by violence – that for many feels like it hasn’t truly stopped. The psychological impacts remain, reconstruction has barely begun, and even though people are back to work and school, nothing is truly back to normal. Lives remain disrupted. Israel still frequently bombs southern Lebanon. Israeli troops remain in the country. Each side accuses the other of violating the ceasefire. 

The words of Abu Ali, Abbas, Hassan, Leo, Nour, Ragida, Riham, Robert, Zahraa and Yasmina are a window into what displacement is really like. They are a reminder that – for the civilians caught in the middle of a war – the end of the conflict is not the end of the story.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to return. That’s how it looks, anyway. Even if there is reconstruction, how long will it take; four or five years? Will I even still be alive by then?”

Abu Ali, 77, spent a lifetime building his family home and tending to his fields in Kfar Kila, on the southern Lebanese border. He fled when a house next door was hit by an Israeli bomb, and after spending time sheltering in schools, public buildings, and with relatives, he is now staying in a south Lebanon apartment owned by a relative, with his son, daughter-in-law, and three granddaughters. His entire village was destroyed, and he doesn’t think he will ever be able to go home.

Read more→

“I had memories in that house, and now it’s gone. But we are the people who made those memories. We will make better memories.”

Zahraa, 21, is from Bint Jbeil, in south Lebanon. She’s studying to be a graphic designer. Her family fled their home when Israel threatened to bomb the area, and she eventually spent two months displaced in Karbala, a city in central Iraq that is home to many holy sites for Shia Muslims. Although her house was reduced to rubble, she has returned to Bint Jbeil.

Read more→

“If this shelter closes, I don’t know where I’ll go. I’m waiting for God to find a way for me.”

Riham, 38, is originally from Deraa, in Syria. Until the war escalated in September 2024, she lived with her husband Firas and their three young children in al-Karak, a village in the eastern Beqaa Valley. She is paralysed from the waist down, and describes her wheelchair as “like her fourth child”. Their home was destroyed in a bombing, and after spending time in a garage and sleeping outside in an olive grove, Riham and her family are staying in a shelter.

Read more→

"The feeling of leaving is like tearing your soul from your body. You have to leave everything behind, but you want to take everything with you. You have to get to safety, but for you the safe place is the one you left behind."

Nour, 28, got married in her south Lebanon hometown of al-Hosh on 8 October 2023, just as war was breaking out. She and her husband planned to move to a home they had set up in nearby al-Bazourieh, but ended up spending minimal time there because of ongoing Israeli attacks. Eventually, they fled the south and stayed with family, while she continued to work at an aid group. Nour became pregnant and miscarried during the war, and lost her home to Israeli bombing.

Read more→

"On my last day in Khiam, a bird came and perched on the balcony swing. It stood in front of me, sang for me, then it began fluttering its wings… then it left. A second came and did the same thing. The third didn’t get so close. Then they all disappeared."

Yasmina, 58, is a social support worker and mother of three from Khiam, a town in south Lebanon that was heavily bombed by Israel. She is divorced and prides herself in her independence, remaining at home alone for nine months despite the bombardment. Eventually, she left to stay with her children in Beirut, where they had to flee bombings multiple times and ended up sheltering in a university building. Her home in Khiam is still standing, but it was looted and desecrated and she doesn’t know if she will return.

Read more→

“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.”

Leo, 27, is mother to a five-year-old daughter, who lives back in her home country of Sierra Leone. She came to work in Lebanon as a domestic worker two years ago, and when Israel began bombing south Beirut she – along with many women from the migrant community – went to sleep on the sidewalks near the seaside. She spent several months at a volunteer-run shelter for migrant workers, and is hoping to find new work as a cleaner soon.

Read more→

"While I was displaced, I saw people giving their energy, money, and effort to help other displaced people. Meeting them was the best thing for me."

Abbas, 36, is from the town of Jebchit, near Nabatieh in southern Lebanon. He has long felt like an outsider in his town and his country, and spends most of his time alone or in nature with his dog, Cozax. When Israel began bombing his hometown, he refused to leave for a week, but eventually he and Cozax joined his family in the village of Hrar. Once there, he began volunteering to help others who had been impacted by the war, and met some like-minded people.

Read more→

“I want to be here. People who don’t know anything in the south may imagine we are living in hell. But it’s not like that. It’s paradise because we choose to be here.”

Robert is a 49-year-old father of five who farms and raises cows in the south Lebanon village of Kfour. He drove his children and wife to Beirut once the bombardment started, but returned with his mother to stay in his village for 13 days, before the bombs got too close. He found a place to board his cows and stayed for most of his displacement in a Mount Lebanon village, and is still in touch with the people he met there. He has returned to Kfour and is deeply connected to the village and the south, but is worried it’s not a safe place for his children to build a future.

Read more→

“Nobody escaped the war unchanged. War leaves something in everyone. Nobody feels safe. There is a ceasefire, but the war isn’t really over.”

Hassan is a 27-year-old media analyst who lives in Dahieh – the southern suburbs of Beirut – with his parents and two sisters. While Israel heavily bombed his neighbourhood, he spent 66 days displaced in a relative’s home, secretly visiting Dahieh whenever he could to get his family’s belongings out of the house. He has returned home, but he doesn’t really feel like the war is over.

Read more→

“I’m trying to get back to how I was before we left Syria the first time. It takes time to remember your dreams.”

Raghida is a 26-year-old who grew up in Syria’s northwest Idlib province and fled the war in her home country for Lebanon in 2013. She married and had two children in Lebanon, but over time found life as a refugee increasingly expensive and dangerous. She and her husband saw the war in Lebanon as the last straw and returned to Syria only a few days before the ceasefire came into place.

Read more→

“I don’t think I’ll be able to return. That’s how it looks, anyway. Even if there is reconstruction, how long will it take; four or five years? Will I even still be alive by then?”

Abu Ali, 77, spent a lifetime building his family home and tending to his fields in Kfar Kila, on the southern Lebanese border. He fled when a house next door was hit by an Israeli bomb, and after spending time sheltering in schools, public buildings, and with relatives, he is now staying in a south Lebanon apartment owned by a relative, with his son, daughter-in-law, and three granddaughters. His entire village was destroyed, and he doesn’t think he will ever be able to go home.

Read more→

“I had memories in that house, and now it’s gone. But we are the people who made those memories. We will make better memories.”

Zahraa, 21, is from Bint Jbeil, in south Lebanon. She’s studying to be a graphic designer. Her family fled their home when Israel threatened to bomb the area, and she eventually spent two months displaced in Karbala, a city in central Iraq that is home to many holy sites for Shia Muslims. Although her house was reduced to rubble, she has returned to Bint Jbeil.

Read more→

“If this shelter closes, I don’t know where I’ll go. I’m waiting for God to find a way for me.”

Riham, 38, is originally from Deraa, in Syria. Until the war escalated in September 2024, she lived with her husband Firas and their three young children in al-Karak, a village in the eastern Beqaa Valley. She is paralysed from the waist down, and describes her wheelchair as “like her fourth child”. Their home was destroyed in a bombing, and after spending time in a garage and sleeping outside in an olive grove, Riham and her family are staying in a shelter.

Read more→

"The feeling of leaving is like tearing your soul from your body. You have to leave everything behind, but you want to take everything with you. You have to get to safety, but for you the safe place is the one you left behind."

Nour, 28, got married in her south Lebanon hometown of al-Hosh on 8 October 2023, just as war was breaking out. She and her husband planned to move to a home they had set up in nearby al-Bazourieh, but ended up spending minimal time there because of ongoing Israeli attacks. Eventually, they fled the south and stayed with family, while she continued to work at an aid group. Nour became pregnant and miscarried during the war, and lost her home to Israeli bombing.

Read more→

"On my last day in Khiam, a bird came and perched on the balcony swing. It stood in front of me, sang for me, then it began fluttering its wings… then it left. A second came and did the same thing. The third didn’t get so close. Then they all disappeared."

Yasmina, 58, is a social support worker and mother of three from Khiam, a town in south Lebanon that was heavily bombed by Israel. She is divorced and prides herself in her independence, remaining at home alone for nine months despite the bombardment. Eventually, she left to stay with her children in Beirut, where they had to flee bombings multiple times and ended up sheltering in a university building. Her home in Khiam is still standing, but it was looted and desecrated and she doesn’t know if she will return.

Read more→

“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.”

Leo, 27, is mother to a five-year-old daughter, who lives back in her home country of Sierra Leone. She came to work in Lebanon as a domestic worker two years ago, and when Israel began bombing south Beirut she – along with many women from the migrant community – went to sleep on the sidewalks near the seaside. She spent several months at a volunteer-run shelter for migrant workers, and is hoping to find new work as a cleaner soon.

Read more→

"While I was displaced, I saw people giving their energy, money, and effort to help other displaced people. Meeting them was the best thing for me."

Abbas, 36, is from the town of Jebchit, near Nabatieh in southern Lebanon. He has long felt like an outsider in his town and his country, and spends most of his time alone or in nature with his dog, Cozax. When Israel began bombing his hometown, he refused to leave for a week, but eventually he and Cozax joined his family in the village of Hrar. Once there, he began volunteering to help others who had been impacted by the war, and met some like-minded people.

Read more→

“I want to be here. People who don’t know anything in the south may imagine we are living in hell. But it’s not like that. It’s paradise because we choose to be here.”

Robert is a 49-year-old father of five who farms and raises cows in the south Lebanon village of Kfour. He drove his children and wife to Beirut once the bombardment started, but returned with his mother to stay in his village for 13 days, before the bombs got too close. He found a place to board his cows and stayed for most of his displacement in a Mount Lebanon village, and is still in touch with the people he met there. He has returned to Kfour and is deeply connected to the village and the south, but is worried it’s not a safe place for his children to build a future.

Read more→

“Nobody escaped the war unchanged. War leaves something in everyone. Nobody feels safe. There is a ceasefire, but the war isn’t really over.”

Hassan is a 27-year-old media analyst who lives in Dahieh – the southern suburbs of Beirut – with his parents and two sisters. While Israel heavily bombed his neighbourhood, he spent 66 days displaced in a relative’s home, secretly visiting Dahieh whenever he could to get his family’s belongings out of the house. He has returned home, but he doesn’t really feel like the war is over.

Read more→

“I’m trying to get back to how I was before we left Syria the first time. It takes time to remember your dreams.”

Raghida is a 26-year-old who grew up in Syria’s northwest Idlib province and fled the war in her home country for Lebanon in 2013. She married and had two children in Lebanon, but over time found life as a refugee increasingly expensive and dangerous. She and her husband saw the war in Lebanon as the last straw and returned to Syria only a few days before the ceasefire came into place.

Read more→

About

In an attempt to show a diverse array of experiences, participants were chosen for The Lebanon Displacement Diaries through a Lebanon-based outreach process that took into account geography, age, gender, nationality, religion, and other factors.

Interviews were conducted in Arabic or English, depending on the participant’s preference.

Stories were edited for style, length, and clarity. Translations between languages are not always word for word. Arabic has been published in dialect, in order to preserve the way they told their own stories. 

Context was added to stories to help readers who are not familiar with Lebanon’s geography or history. The New Humanitarian cannot independently verify the details of each individual story, and first names or pseudonyms were used to protect the privacy of the participants. 

Sasha Haddad created unique illustrations for each participant based on their descriptions and photos of items they brought with them – or were forced to leave behind – during displacement. She also incorporated elements from plants native to different parts of Lebanon. 

For the most part, other imagery was provided by the participants. They shared photos and videos taken before, during, and after displacement, as well as screenshots and social media posts. In some cases, additional photos were taken by the project’s reporters.

The New Humanitarian will be hosting online and in-person events about The Lebanon Displacement Diaries, Lebanon, and participatory journalism. Sign up below to receive updates.

To get in touch, please email [email protected].

Credits 

Direction and editing:
Annie Slemrod

Project co-ordination:
Zainab Chamoun

Illustrations:
Sasha Haddad

Translation:
Najat Keaik

Design and web development:
Marc Duby

Production:
Sofia Kuan

Additional reporting:
Ghadir Hamadi and Zainab Chamoun

Photos and videos:
Courtesy of participants or by Zainab Chamoun, unless otherwise noted, with textured paper overlays designed by Freepik

Social media:
Namukabo Werungah

Events and impact design:
Janine Bressmer

Audience and product:
Whitney Patterson

Special thanks to Frederica Boswell, Jasmin Lilian Diab, Madeline Edwards, Myra Saad, Zeina Shahla, Goodwill for Migrants, and Frontliners for Change.