“They’re Trying to Take Paradise From Us”

At Kaddoura school in Beirut, now a displacement shelter, Hajje Mounifa recalled the many wars she has lived through, from Israel’s bombings in 1981 and invasion in 1982, to the 66-Day War in 2024 and the ongoing escalation. Her displacement from the southern border village of Markaba to Beirut was marked by exhaustion and difficulty, as the village remains under looming threats of invasion.

“Markaba is beautiful, just like the South. I wish everyone in the world had a South — it’s paradise. They’re trying to take paradise away from us,” Hajje Mounifa said. “Without the resistance, we would have neither our livelihoods nor our land. They bleed so that all of Lebanon may live.”

Despite repeated displacement, Hajje Mounifa foresees only return: “I imagine returning; I imagine it every day. On the day of liberation, we returned to Markaba at midnight. When I returned to my village, I kissed the soil.”

Since the resumption of the war, more than 1 million people have self-registered as displaced. Only around 13 percent are accommodated in official shelters — most of which are in Beirut. 

The vast majority rely on private arrangements, or temporary hosting, as the state’s response has remained insufficient. Within a day of the escalation, tens of thousands of people fleeing southern villages were stuck in severe congestion on roads around Saida for nearly 24 hours.

For many, this was a haunting repetition of September 23, 2024 — the deadliest day of Israeli bombardment in decades, when more than 90,000 people were forced onto those same roads in a single afternoon. Families spent up to 20 hours trapped in traffic without water, fuel, or medical assistance.

Inside displacement centers, overcrowding has reduced life to survival. Prices of basic food items in Beirut surged between 11 and 48 percent within the first week of the war. At the same time, education for many displaced children has become a luxury.

With so many displaced by the war, Lebanon’s housing crisis intensified. Rent has skyrocketed, and landlords and brokers are imposing arbitrary and discriminatory conditions on displaced families. The central criterion for securing housing is no longer affordability or space, but sect. Many landlords have increased their rent, demanding advanced payments, with some rejecting families based on their confession.

Along Beirut’s seaside corniche, displaced families sit beside their belongings  facing luxury hotels that remain empty.

In a statement issued on March 14, 2026, the Association of Residents of Southern Border Towns reported mistreatment in some shelters, where the displaced are “treated like prisoners,” unable to come and go freely. The association also cited shortages of water, electricity, and sanitation facilities, increasing the risk of disease outbreaks.

 Many schools, places of worship, and vacant buildings remain closed. Some have been forced to return to areas under continued attacks, the association warned. “Their blood is on the hands of all those who shut a school or place of worship in their faces, or demanded exorbitant rent from them.”

Back at Kaddoura school in Beirut, 9-year-old Fatima, displaced from Hay el-Sellom in Dahieh, shared her experiences of war and displacement with The Public Source. 

“We took the same road to leave during the last war and this one,” she said. “My heart broke for the people sleeping in the streets.”

Despite her young age, she follows developments through her mother, who updates her on airstrikes and resistance operations. “I feel like the war will last long,” she said, but is fine with it because the resistance can restore a sense of dignity, which she believes is indistinguishable from love.