Shadia ran out of rice for her family of nine.
The Syrian mother hoped that the 5 kilos she bought last week would be enough to feed them during the draconian national blockade that Lebanon imposed on January 14 in response to the increase in the number of coronavirus cases.
More than a week later, however, there is little food left in a family room bungalow. A 24-hour curfew is in effect, with residents allowed outside only for what is officially considered “emergencies”. Supermarkets across the country are closed.
The blockade, which was originally scheduled to last 11 days, has now been extended to February 8, leaving Shadia, 33, and her husband frantic about how their family will survive. In addition to the lack of food, the terracotta roof of his house collapsed, causing the family to nestle on the floor under blankets to keep warm.
“As a mother, I don’t know what to say to you. I can’t afford anything for my children, not even daily food,” she said in a WhatsApp call from Dahiyeh, a suburb south of Beirut.
Shadia’s fears are echoing across Lebanon, where more than half of its 6 million people live below the poverty line. Decades of political corruption, widespread inequality and a persistent economic crisis have meant that concerns about the coronavirus have lagged behind other challenges – particularly after a massive port warehouse explosion in Beirut in August killed 200 people and destroyed a third of the capital. . Now, however, millions of impoverished people are fighting the blockade.
On Wednesday and Thursday, anger turned to violence in the northern city of Tripoli, while thousands of protesters clashed with the army over blocking rules for a third night of unrest. Civilians threw grenades at security officials and water and tear gas cannons were used by police to repress the crowd. At least one protester was shot with live ammunition and more than 70 were injured, according to the Associated Press.
“In fact, we heard people say, ‘I would rather die of Covid than starve to death,'” said Lebanese activist Dayna Ash, founder of the nonprofit arts organization Haven for Artists.
Shadia has no residency status in Lebanon, a country with more than 1.5 million Syrian refugees, and asked that her surname not be released for fear of attracting the attention of the authorities and possibly being deported.
Shadia and her husband fled Idlib, Syria, in 2014 during the civil war in Syria, along with their four biological children and three orphaned children they call their own.
Before the blockade was announced, her husband was able to earn money doing odd jobs on the streets, and Shadia was saving up to buy an extra phone to improve her children’s education. Children, ages 6 to 15, share a cell phone to attend school online.
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The curfew cut that source of income and Shadia now has to choose between raising her children and putting food on the table.
“When the quarantine started, everything went up. They have increased the price of bread, ”she said. “I will not let them starve to educate them.”
The government relaxed social distance measures during the Christmas and New Year holidays to boost the fluctuating economy. As a result, Covid-19 cases have skyrocketed to record numbers, with more than 5% of the population currently infected.
Frontline employees are overwhelmed with hospital admissions that are out of control. Photos of people being treated in their cars went viral on the social networks.
Now, the number of daily deaths from Covid-19 is more than five times what it was in July, according to the World Health Organization.
With supermarkets closed, people who want to leave home to go to hospitals or pharmacies, including doctors, must complete an authorization form approved by the government. Workers from local non-governmental organizations said the government had denied their requests to deliver food and supplies to vulnerable families.
“They live because we send them food,” said Maya Chams Ibrahimchah, founder of the Lebanese charity Beit el Baraka. The nonprofit organization typically provides essential supplies to 226,000 people through its free grocery store. “It is not normal today to tell NGOs that you are not allowed to work when most of these people with houses that exploded during the explosion still don’t have a roof over their heads.”
Ibrahimchah said he has received hundreds of calls a day, while families ask for diapers, milk and food.
Despite blocking restrictions, aid workers continued to distribute essential items. Several times, Ash left the house pretending to go to the pharmacy as an excuse to deliver boxes of food.
The Lebanese armed forces distributed essential supplies to thousands of vulnerable families during the blockade, according to local media. But charity workers said the government has no resources to serve more than a fraction of the needy.
The Lebanese Ministry of Information has not responded to several requests for comment.
Many shopkeepers are concerned with the survival of their businesses in an already turbulent time for the economy. Barbel Basil, the chief chef and owner, reopened Le Chef, a beloved restaurant, last month after it was destroyed by the explosion. Now, the blockade forced him to close the store again.
“I feel like someone is flying a plane and is forced to make an emergency landing,” said Basil.
The government secured an emergency loan from the World Bank to help those most affected by the pandemic. But with the public’s faith in the government severely eroded, shopkeepers in the Mar Mikhael neighborhood of Beirut, an area that was impacted by last summer’s explosion, are skeptical of support coming.
“We’re still waiting,” said Guy Doniguian, a printer owner, with a laugh. “Today, tomorrow, the day after tomorrow, after a year, after 10 years, after 100 years, nobody knows.”
The Associated Press contributed reporting.