Lessons for life
As the new school year starts in Europe, there are children living unparalleled lives in Lebanon. Traumatized and vulnerable, the kids rely on the few makeshift schools to provide a semblance of normalcy.
Therapy
Syrian refugee students sing a song at the Karam Zeitoun School in Beirut. Creative activities serve as therapy for some of the children. "They hear the stories of their parents. They talk about the war, about having no money. When they go to school, they can be themselves. They can be children," says Charlotte Bertal, co-founder of a French NGO that administers the school.
'A second life'
A student flips through her English-language exercise book at the Karam Zeitoun School in Beirut. The long-term goal is to prepare children for Lebanese public schools if financially and logistically possible. "It's a second life," said14-year-old Susanne who wants to grow up to be an artist. "Without school, my life would feel fruitless."
Number-crunching
Diana, 11, tries to keep pace during a math lesson at the Karam Zeitoun School in Beirut. "In general, the difficulties that the students face are that the families can't support or teach them at home. They just study at school," said their teacher Nasser Al-Issa, also a refugee.
Food for thought
Children eat lentils in the courtyard of the Karam Zeitoun School in Beirut. "One room (in the neighborhood) costs between $400-$500 to let," said Nazarene Church Rev. Andrew Salameh. His church, in partnership with the NGO, Yalla Pour Les Enfants Syriens, runs the non-religious, non-politically affiliated school. "If you're paying $400-$500 a month, then they have no more money for food."
Home from home
Apartment buildings are reflected in a classroom of the Karam Zeitoun School in Beirut. "The families live in the neighborhood," said Nazarene Church Rev. Andrew Salameh. "Some rooms are under stairs or on roofs."
Creative channelling
Ashta, 12, looks out the window during a creative writing exercise at the Karam Zeitoun School in Beirut. "Writing workshops and creative activities allow us to assess the psychological need of the students and refer the child to a specialist if needed," said Charlotte Bertal, co-founder of Yalla Pour Les Enfants Syriens.
A lost generation
Gathered around a math homework, parents Haider and Leila (not their real names) sit with their children in their rented room in Beirut. "I brought them here because I was afraid they would never learn. I want them to be educated," said Haider who was a farmer in Syria and now does odd jobs in Beirut. "It's a big mistake. If they don't find a solution, this generation will be lost."
Killing time
Syrian Armenian refugee Simon, 3, plays in the tiny flat he shares with 10 other family members in Beirut. Refugee children who do not attend school or supplemental educational activities often spend all day at home watching television or playing. "There are 400,000 children," says Charlotte Bertal, "but only 90,000 are going to school. It's a huge problem the UN and NGOs have to address."
School of hard knocks
Mohammed and Ahmed try to make money by shining shoes. They've not been in school since 2011. "Of course, we miss school," said Ahmed. "At the school here, they told us if we registered as refugees, they will accept us. But my father has an illness and must go to Syria to treat it. If he registers he might be caught by the regime (at the border). That's why we can't go to school."
Street life
Nariman, 7, tries to sell packets of tissues to customers at the entrance of a restaurant in Beirut. Nariman was in second grade in Syria before fleeing with her family to Beirut. She gets the packets from her uncle and must bring in 12,000 Lebanese pounds (or roughly $8) per day before 6 pm. She spends most of the day unsupervised on the street.
Losing focus
A young child loses focus during class at a school recently set up by the non-governmental organization SAWA for Development & Aid near the Syrian border in Bar Elias, Lebanon. "The children have gone through so much fear and so much stress that they don't care anymore," said teacher Shams Ibrahim, a refugee, herself, originally from Damascus. "They've broken the fear barrier."