BHANNINE, Lebanon (AP) – He was cluttered and agitated in the kitchen of Aisha al-Abed, as is usually the first day of Ramadan. The food was supposed to be on the table precisely at 7:07 p.m., when the sun sets and the fast ends all day.
What is traditionally a jovial celebration of the start of the Muslim holy month around a hearty meal was turned off and discouraged for his small family of Syrian refugees.
While the mother of two 21-year-olds worked, with her daughter in the trailer, reminders of life’s difficulties were everywhere: in the makeshift kitchen, where she crouched on the floor to chop cucumbers next to a single burner gas stove. At home: a tent with concrete floor and wooden walls covered with a canvas. And definitely in their iftar food: rice, lentil soup, chips and a yogurt-cucumber bath; her sister sent some chicken and fish.
“This will be a very difficult Ramadan,” al-Abed said. “It should be a better meal … After a day of fasting, more nutrition is needed for the body. Of course, I feel defeated.”
Ramadan, which began on Tuesday, comes when the displaced lives of Syrian refugees have become even more difficult amid the economic problems of their host country. The struggle may be most pronounced during the holy month, when fasting is usually followed by festive feasts to fill an empty stomach.
“High prices kill people,” said Raed Mattar, Al-Abed’s 24-year-old husband. “We can fast all day and then break the fast with just one onion,” he said, using an Arabic proverb that usually wanted to convey disappointment after a long patience.
Lebanon, home to more than a million Syrian refugees, is collapsing from an economic crisis exacerbated by the pandemic and a massive explosion that destroyed parts of the capital last August.
Citing the impact of aggravated crises, a UN study said the proportion of Syrian refugee families living below the extreme poverty line (equivalent to about $ 25 a month per person by current market rates black) increased to 89% in 2020, compared to 55% the previous year.
He said more people resorted to reducing the size or number of meals. Half of the Syrian refugee families surveyed suffer from food insecurity, up from 28% at the same time in 2019, he said.
Refugees are not alone in their pain. The economic turmoil, which is the culmination of years of corruption and mismanagement, has squeezed Lebanese, plunging 55% of the country’s 5 million people into poverty and shutting down businesses.
As jobs became scarce, Mattar said more Lebanese were competing for poorly paid construction and plumbing jobs that they had previously left largely for foreign workers like him. Wages lost their value as the local currency, pegged to the dollar for decades, fell. Mattar went from earning the equivalent of more than $ 13 a day to less than $ 2, the price of about a pound and a half (about 3 pounds) of unsubsidized sugar.
“People are kind and are helping, but the situation has become disastrous,” he said. “The Lebanese themselves cannot live. Imagine how we are managing “
Nerves wear out. Mattar was one of hundreds of displaced people from an informal camp last year after a group of Lebanese set him on fire after a fight between a Syrian and a Lebanese man.
It was the fifth displacement of the young Al-Abed family, bouncing mainly between informal settlements in northern Lebanon. They had to move twice later, once a Lebanese landlord doubled the rent, telling Mattar that he can afford it as he gets help as a refugee. His current store is in Bhannine.
This year, the Syrians marked the 10th anniversary of the beginning of the revolt turned into a civil war in their country. Many refugees say they cannot return because their homes were destroyed or they fear being defeated, either to be considered opponents or to evade military recruitment, such as Mattar. He and al-Abed fled Syria in 2011 and met in Lebanon.
Even before Ramadan began, Rahaf al-Saghir, another Syrian in Lebanon, worried about what his family’s iftar would look like.
“I don’t know what to do,” the newly widowed mother of three said. “The girls keep saying they crave meat, they crave chicken, cookies and fruit.”
As the family’s choices diminished, their daughters ’questions became more painful. Why can’t we have tokens like the neighbors’ children? Why don’t we drink milk to grow as they say on TV? Al-Saghir recalled breaking down in tears when his minor asked him how he knew the strawberry he saw on TV. He later bought some of them, with money from UN aid, he said.
For Ramadan, al-Saghir was determined to prevent her daughters from seeing photos of other people’s iftar meals. “I don’t want them to be compared to others,” he said. “When you fast at Ramadan, you desire many things.”
The beginning of Ramadan, the first since Al-Saghir’s husband died, brought tears. Her older daughters were accustomed to her father waking them up for suhoor, the meal before dawn before the fast of the day, which he would prepare.
A few months before he died, due to cardiac arrest, the family moved into a one-bedroom apartment shared with a relative’s family.
This year, his first iftar was simple: chips, soup and greasy salad. Al-Saghir wanted chicken, but decided it was too expensive.
Before the violence ripped them out of Syria, Ramadan felt festive. Al-Saghir cooked and exchanged visits with family and neighbors, gathering around delicious savory and sweet dishes.
“Now, there’s no family, no neighbors, no sweets,” he said. “Ramadan feels like any other day. We can even feel more sad. ”
In the midst of his struggles, he turns to his faith.
“I keep praying to God,” he said. “May our prayers at Ramadan be answered and may our situation change. … Let us open a new path “.
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Hunger reported from Egypt. Associated Press journalist Fay Abuelgasim contributed from Bhannine.
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Associated Press religious coverage is supported by Lilly Endowment through The Conversation US. The AP is solely responsible for this content.