I boarded a minivan for the short journey down to Sidon, Lebanon’s third city. Southern Lebanon must be one of the least secure regions in the world, repeatedly buffeted by the conflicts of its neighbours, flooded by refugees, pummelled by civil war. The threat of future conflict forever hangs over it. The most recent serious clash in Sidon was in 2013, when fighting broke out between Hezbollah and followers of a firebrand Sunni cleric, mirroring the bloody war over the border in Syria. The fighting was put down by the Lebanese army in a short conflict that killed dozens of people. Sidon has a significant Sunni majority, as well as smaller Shia Muslim and Christian populations.
Yet when I arrived, all appeared calm and normal in the bustling streets of Sidon. Once again I was struck by the resilience of the Lebanese people, who always seem to bounce back from whatever the world throws at them. Sidon’s central historical district is beautiful. The stone buildings lining the narrow streets of the Souks were in a good state of repair. Whatever damage the town had suffered, the renovation had been carried out sensitively. It might have helped that the late prime minister, Rafiq Hariri, who was assassinated in 2005, came from Sidon. The Hariri family have continued to be powerful in Lebanese business and politics, Rafiq Hariri’s son Saad also becoming prime minister. The Hariri foundation has been actively involved in renovating Sidon.
Among the fine old buildings of Sidon is the Khan el Franj, Khan of the French, built in the 17th century to accommodate French merchants. It is a fine example of a typical khan, a courtyard surrounded by an arched gallery. The beautiful, and wonderfully renovated Debbané Palace is as fine an example of Arab-Ottoman architecture as you could hope to find, with its arches intricately decorated with geometric patterns, and its magnificent carved wooden ceiling. The Sea Castle, built by Crusaders in the 13th Century, stands like a dreamy ruin in the bay, a wonderful backdrop for a delicious seafood lunch by the sea. But there is poverty in Sidon too. I visited another khan, tumbledown and overgrown. Yet people lived there in squalid makeshift homes with corrugated iron roofs, with rubbish strewn around.
From Sidon, I continued south to Tyre. Tyre, or Sour in Arabic, is another ancient Phoenician city, and had also seen periods of rule by Persians, Greeks, Romans, Arabs, Crusaders and Ottomans. Its archaeological remains are among the most impressive in Lebanon, though not on the grand scale of Baalbek. There are two main sites, including collonaded streets, a triumphal Roman arch, an enormous hippodrome, and a necropolis with dozens of stone tombs, the finest of which have been moved to the National Museum in Beirut.
Like Sidon, Tyre has suffered terribly from repeated warfare. The population is predominantly Shia, with a Christian minority and a large Palestinian refugee camp. The town, together with a slice of territory in southern Lebanon, was occupied by Israel after its 1982 invasion of Lebanon, and then by the Christian-dominated and Israeli-backed South Lebanon Army. In 2006, Tyre again suffered serious damage during the war with Israel. The war damage in the old city centre is in places more evident than in Sidon. It was not possible to enter the sprawling Palestinian camp, but from the outside the shabby poverty of the place, with its makeshift buildings, was evident.
Yet despite its repeated trials, life has picked up in Tyre. The old town, divided between Muslim and Christian districts, bustles with life. I enjoyed drinking Turkish coffee outside a little café on the Christian side of the picturesque little harbour. Like other seafront cafés in Tyre, the interior, with its vaulted ceiling, may once have been a warehouse. I tried to ask the owners what the building had been in the past, but they replied that it had been a café. Tyre has glorious sandy beaches. Even in March I was able to enjoy swimming in the sea. There are rough-and-ready seaside restaurants, in one of which I spent a delightful sunny afternoon eating fried fish and green beans.
The Palestinian refugee camps in Tyre and elsewhere in Lebanon are long-established, with new generations born and raised in them. Now there are hundreds of thousands of new refugees from the war in Syria. Many live in rented accommodation. I was told it is often very poor and inadequate, in unfinished houses, garages and warehouses. Others live in camps made up of temporary buildings built out of thick plastic sheets spread over wooden or metal frames. They usually have concrete bases, but the facilities are very meagre. The Lebanese government does not allow anything more substantial to be built, as it does not want to acknowledge that these Syrian refugees may have any long-term, let alone permanent presence in Lebanon. It does not want them to become settled. Their reluctance is understandable. This small country has over decades accepted numbers of refugees that would horrify any European country. It has been deluged and destabilised by refugees, and driven into civil war by refugees. Amid all the controversy over refugees and asylum seekers in Europe, people might think of the enormous burden with which Lebanon has been encumbered.
I visited three of the camps, all in the restricted zone in the south of the country, close to the Israeli border. We stopped at a viewing point overlooking the border fences into Israel. UN troops from Indonesia stood around chatting to one another. Over the fences, on the Israeli side, were trimly planted fields and neat little settlements. I was told that Palestinian refugees sometimes came to this viewing point to gaze longingly at their lost land.
The camps I visited all consisted of similar plastic homes, made with materials provided by the UN. Simple outside toilets had been provided. In one smaller camp, the residents had tried to make their homes as homely as possible, planting flower and vegetable beds. A larger camp was more depressing, with piles of burnt rubbish. Disposal of rubbish was a problem, I was told. The UN was not paying for its removal, and the authorities were not taking responsibility. Hence residents were turning to bonfires. Other problems included the difficulty for children to access schools from these remote camps, given that parents could not afford transportation. We spoke with a couple of families. A lady from a village near Raqqa offered us delicious herbal tea. Even in such circumstances, norms of hospitality were observed. One of her concerns was the registration of newly born children. If they wanted them registered in Syria, someone had to make the journey back, despite the dangers.
We were invited into one of the homes. Inside it was surprisingly cosy. The home was sub-divided into different rooms. There were mats and cushions around the walls. They had a refrigerator and a television set. There was a stove with a chimney to provide warmth in winter. I was told that conditions in such temporary shelters were often better than in the rented accommodation that many other families endured. But the hopelessness of the people was depressing. Nothing to do, the lack of any future perspective either here in Lebanon or back home in Syria. This is the lot of refugees. Those that had the means might risk the journey to Europe. These people were stuck, nowhere to go, in a country that did not want them. They were not taking to boats for Europe or streaming across European borders. As a result, few people really cared about them.
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