Amena al-Ashkar
Mondoweiss / October 11, 2022
Palestinian refugees that died at sea when their boat capsized as they sought asylum in Europe left behind bereaved families amid worsening conditions in Lebanon.
The Palestinian refugees of Lebanon’s camps are mourning the loss of four Palestinians from Shatila and 24 from Nahr al-Bared camps, including many women and children. The migrant boat they boarded on September 21 started its trip from the shores of the northern city of Tripoli, heading towards EU Cyprus. The boat sank off the Syrian coast.
The worsening economic condition of Palestinian refugees, coupled with the Lebanese economic crisis, has pushed many Palestinians in Lebanon to brave dangerous conditions at sea in the hopes of finding a better life. Many of them have died in the attempt, and this recent shipwreck has been the deadliest in years.
According to surviving eyewitnesses, between 120 to 150 asylum-seekers of different nationalities — Lebanese, Syrians, and Palestinians — were onboard. As a result of a technical malfunction, unstable sea conditions, and the increased load, the boat stopped working and started to sink. It became one of the deadliest migration incidents in Lebanon in the past few decades. While many of the survivors have since recounted the terrifying events of that night, the victims also left behind countless families, loved ones, and friends with no recourse.
Those left behind
Eyes full of tears, Malaka Abou Shoukair (58) welcomed me in her humble home, located in the shanty alleyways of Shatila camp.
“You are here to ask me about my youngest, Rawad, right?” she said right away, before bursting into tears.
Rawad (16) was one of the four young men from the camp who had lost their lives on that boat.
“I begged Rawad not to go, but he was so insistent on doing it,” she continued. “I am old now, and I still work delivering orders to people. Rawad didn’t like that.”
“He decided to go on this trip because he wanted me to stop working,” she added. “He was planning on going to the Netherlands because he heard it’s the easiest country for family unification.”
The only documents Rawad took with himself were his UNRWA refugee card and his father’s death certificate, to prove that Malaka was living alone. “He did this only to give me a better life,” she said, as the tears continued to stream down her cheeks. “I still can’t believe he left this world before me — he was too young.”
Malaka isn’t the only one to share her story. This chapter of misery is common in most of Lebanon’s Palestinian refugee camps. Right next door, the Al-Hajj family mourns the loss of its two young sons, Ahmad (17) and Nour (21) — both friends of Rawad, and his partners on the trip. While the family was able to recognize Ahmad’s body, identified by a ring he often wore and the shape of his teeth, Nour is still waiting for DNA results to match his identity to one of the bodies that were recovered from the incident, and so he is presumed missing as of the time of writing.
“The human soul degrades in these camps, and sometimes we lose the feeling that we are human beings in the first place.”
Merhi Al-Hajj, grandfather of two of the victims.
“They were orphaned from a very young age after the death of their father, and lived their life in a humble house along with their siblings,” said Merhi al-Hajj, the boys’ grandfather. “Why would someone do that to themselves? It’s because they felt left out. The human soul degrades in these camps, and sometimes we lose the feeling that we are human beings in the first place. We feel like ghosts waiting for death. Ahmad and Nour wanted to change their destiny by any means. But all that followed them was death.”
Merhi could not hide his grief over his grandsons. He explained that this was not their first attempt to escape Lebanon by boat. “They tried twice before, through the same way. I would sell my blood for you to travel safely, I told them. And they promised me they would wait, but then I was surprised that they went ahead and did it without telling me.”
“The worst thing a person can lose is hope,” he reflects, elaborating on why he thought his grandsons ultimately made the choices they did. “Because then they might do anything without considering the consequences.”
This sense of desperation only increased in families where some of its members had managed to reach Europe while the rest were stranded in Shatila. Mahmoud Kteih, 30, is one example, a young man whose wife and daughter reside in Sweden. He was on the boat that night, and his body remains missing, awaiting a DNA match.
“I still cannot believe that the four of them are gone now. Just a few days ago we were hanging out right here in front of this coffee shop,” Mohammad Sayyed, a friend of Kteih, says in disbelief. Everyone in the camp referred to Kteih by the name Kaka, “after the Brazilian football player.”
“He was the best football player in our camp, a football wizard,” Sayyed explained. “He was turning thirty now, with no job, no money, nothing. During our nighttime hangouts, he would tell me how gloomy the future looked for him.”
“He was so eager to go on this trip, he thought his entire life would change and that he’d finally be reunited with his family. His life ended instead.”
Mohammad Sayyed, friend of Kteih
There was “no hope for life” for Kteih, and “that’s why he decided to go on this trip,” Sayyed explains.
He borrowed money from his friends, promising to pay them back when he made it to Europe. “We all helped him,” Sayyed said. “His wife and little daughter are already in Sweden. He’s applied a few times for a visa, but never succeeded in getting one.”
Sayyed’s tone becomes more somber now, as he reflects on Kteih’s fate. “He was so eager to go on this trip, he thought his entire life would change and that he’d finally be reunited with his family. His life ended instead.”
Reaching the promised neverland
Palestinian refugees in Lebanon have already been the victims of Lebanese legal restrictions — mainly, on the right to work — relegating Palestinians to the permanent status of second-class citizens. According to a survey conducted in 2015, around 65% of Palestinians in Lebanon live below the poverty line, while the rate of unemployment has reached 56%.
While more up-to-date surveys do not exist, the aforementioned numbers have almost certainly increased in light of UNRWA’s shrinking services and the Lebanese economic crisis, all of which has further aggravated socioeconomic conditions for thousands of marginalized Palestinian refugees. This has all led to a dramatic increase in the number of Palestinians seeking asylum outside of Lebanon.
Others in the camps see little hope in migration, knowing that the promise for a better life in Europe has often proven to be illusory.
“I know the circumstances in our camp are miserable, but I do not see any reason why someone would throw themselves directly into death,” said Mahmoud Afifi, a refugee from Shatila and the neighbor of the Al-Hajj family. “My son emigrated 5 years ago to Germany, and look at him now — I am growing older, and he is too, and I haven’t seen his face since he left.”
While Afifi’s son was able to successfully reach Germany, his troubles were far from over. “He still doesn’t have any legal documents, no housing, no constant job,” Afifi said. “Is this the life we want for our kids? He went against my wishes, but I could not stop him because he wanted a better life that he thought he might find in Europe. All he got was yet another chapter of a miserable life, away from us.”
Amena al-Ashkar is a Palestinian journalist and refugee living in Lebanon
