From homes to shelter halls: Lebanese women bearing the burden of displacement alone
After 45 days of hostilities, a ceasefire announced on 16 April – which was extended for an additional 3 weeks - offered brief hope for displaced families in Lebanon. Some returned, only to find destruction, lack of services, and ongoing insecurity. While communities have been affected, women bear a disproportionate burden. As of 4 May 2026, the total casualties reached 2,679.
“What kind of life is this?” asks Zeinab Fakih, 56, a mother of four from Srifa, who sheltered in Borjain and Mrayjat municipality—managed by the Chouf Development Association, through the Bishop Maroun Al Ammar Primary Health Care Center.
“My family was scattered. My husband stayed in the south. I stayed at the shelter with my children, my grandchildren, and my husband’s elderly, sick parents. I am responsible for their food, their medicine and care”, she says. “I am exhausted. This is the second time we have been displaced in two years”.
When the 10-day ceasefire was announced, Zeinab returned to Srifa. “The streets were destroyed, and my home is no longer livable. We lost loved ones and siblings,” she says. “The sadness was overwhelming.” Unable to stay, she returned to displacement, moving from a shelter to temporary arrangements, and eventually to a rented room supported by others. “We have no furniture. We are trying to endure for the sake of the children and the elderly with us.”
More than 100,000 displaced – the crisis within the crisis
The Lebanese Government has established 624 shelters, of which 228 are at full capacity. These displacement shelters expose stark gender disparities, offering little to no privacy for women and girls.
Across Lebanon 117,623 internally displaced people are currently residing in collective shelters, while a total of 1,049,328 displaced people are registered through Lebanon’s government relief platform (MoSA, 1 April)- 51.67 per cent women –living in overcrowded insecure conditions. Families sleep on thin mattresses with makeshift partitions, while access to heating, hot water, medicine, hygiene items, and cooking facilities is severely limited, and sanitation is shared among dozens.
In shelters within municipalities such as Borjain and Mrayjat, women are carrying overwhelming caregiving responsibilities.
Daily life is a struggle for women
Zahra Farhat, 66, a widow and former shop owner from Nabatieh, fled with her children as the situation deteriorated: “We left in a hurry. I didn’t bring anything except the clothes I was wearing.”
She says she cannot afford her medication and is sheltered in the municipality building, after staying at her brother’s house, during the 2024 conflict.
When Zahra heard about the ceasefire, she returned to Nabatieh to check on her home. “My heart was trembling,” she recalls. What she found was heartbreaking: a house still standing, but worn, surrounded by widespread destruction. “Homes were reduced to rubble. Neighbours were gone. Only a few people came back, and they left again.”
She could not stay. “There is no work, no services, and constant fear.” She returned to the municipality building, with her children. “Home is where we all long to be, yet there is not even a minimum level of safety to make staying possible.”
Once economically independent, many women now rely on limited and inconsistent humanitarian assistance. Rising unpaid care responsibilities are restricting women’s mobility and access to humanitarian assistance.
Zahra adds “My sons lost their jobs. We all need to find work to survive. Yesterday, I picked wild herbs so we could have something to eat.”
Beyond survival: The hidden toll of conflict
Beyond material hardship, displacement is exacting a significant physical and psychological strain.
“No one understands what we are going through,” says Wahiba El Hajj, 54, displaced with her children to the same shelter.
“We wash dishes outside in the rain. My sons sleep in the car while I stay inside. There is only one chair. There is no privacy. Daily life is physically draining and emotionally overwhelming.”
Like others, Wahiba returned to Nabatieh after the ceasefire, hoping to find stability. The journey was filled with painful scenes of destruction. Her home was still standing, and she tried gathering essential belongings. “There was no electricity, no water, no shops—not even bread,” she says. “We had hoped it would be safe, but airstrikes continued overhead, forcing us to leave again.”
“The area has completely changed,” she adds. “Buildings have been reduced to rubble, and even the entrance to the city is unrecognizable. None of our neighbors have returned.”
For Wahiba, returning to the shelter felt like the only option. “If there were real security, we would never have left our homes. No one chooses this.”
There is uncertainty about the future: “How long will we stay here? Will we ever return home? Or keep moving from one displacement to another?”
For mothers, the fear is deep “All I want is to protect my children, but I can’t. What kind of future awaits them? There must be a solution.”
Women’s needs remain overlooked – humanitarian action must be gender-responsive
The crisis highlights the urgent need for a gender-responsive humanitarian response. Women are not only among the most affected—they are central to sustaining families and communities—but their specific needs remain largely overlooked. Without targeted action, displacement risks deepening inequality and reinforcing cycles of vulnerability.
UN Women is scaling up its response to support women and girls through protection services, livelihood support, and efforts to strengthen gender accountability and women’s leadership across the humanitarian response.
