LEBANON STAFF ACCOUNT: Forced to flee but we are among the lucky ones

Jana, 28, is Save the Children’s Awards Management Coordinator in Lebanon. She has been displaced three times by conflict in Lebanon, the first time when she was eight years old. Jana and her family fled their house in Beirut on 2 March shortly after missiles struck a nearby neighbourhood. Jana studied petrochemical engineering before becoming a humanitarian worker.

Blog by Jana
Awards Management Coordinator at Save the Children Lebanon

When this latest conflict hit, we were woken at 3:00 a.m. to the sound of airstrikes across Beirut and the entire house shaking. It is Ramadan so waking up early is not unusual for us right now, but that morning was different. 

Even though we couldn’t see what was happening outside, the noise and vibrations made it clear what was happening.  

I am 28 and this is the third conflict I have lived through in Lebanon. 

The first time was in 2006 when I was eight years old. The second, in 2024, when Israel invaded southern Lebanon before a UN-brokered ceasefire was agreed.  

Now, once again, for the third time, my family and I have been forced from our home, as Lebanon is hit by Israeli military strikes and conflict escalates across the region.

When something like this happens, you don’t have much time to think. Being a humanitarian worker and having experienced conflict since I was a child, I’m always emergency prepared. In emergency and humanitarian settings, you learn to think ahead, always have a plan and act quickly. 

When the strikes began, I organised my family to leave as quickly as possible, ensured that we had somewhere to go, and that we had an emergency “grab bag” ready with important papers and cash. 

We are a family of six: my parents, my two siblings, and my 81-year-old grandmother – who was staying with us at the time because of Ramadan – and myself. As we were getting into the car ready to leave, I heard the whistling sound that comes before an airstrike lands.

It is a very specific sound, and it immediately brought me back to the previous wars I’ve lived through. 

It is one sound that will stay with me forever.  

Everyone was trying to leave Beirut at once so the roads were gridlocked with traffic. We eventually made it to my aunt’s house in the mountains, a respite from the airstrikes until we could find somewhere else to live. That day we missed our pre-dawn meal before fasting, so I ended up not eating for nearly 22 hours that day.

However, my family is one of the lucky ones, being able to find somewhere safe to stay.

As a humanitarian worker, I know that displacement is often discussed in numbers and statistics. But when I see people forced from their homes living in shelters, I do not see numbers. I see people. I know what it feels like, because I used to be one of them.

In the last week of the 2006 conflict, my family fled to a collective shelter after trying to stay at home for as long as we possibly could as we could not afford to rent somewhere else. I spent my eighth birthday there and I remember crying because there was no celebration. 

For a long time after that, I would feel anxious whenever I drove under a bridge because during that conflict, many bridges were destroyed by airstrikes. Every time I passed under one, I would get anxious. It took many years before that feeling finally faded. 

Writing became my coping mechanism. Even as a child, I expressed my feelings in a journal that I still write today. When children cannot express their emotions verbally, writing, drawing, and music can become an important outlet. 

Emotionally, the past week or so have been extremely stressful for my entire family. 

My grandmother had one of the hardest reactions. When displacement orders were issued for areas of Beirut, she broke down crying and was unable to walk for a while. 

Ramadan this year feels very different. Usually, it is a month full of gatherings with friends and family, evenings out drinking coffee and eating ice cream, and long walks after breaking the fast. This year it feels quiet and joyless. When you feel sad or uncertain, food can lose its pleasure.  

To cope, we try to create small moments of normal life. My brother, sister, and I sometimes sit together and play music guessing games, picking the singer of different songs. We always try to take time to laugh. In Lebanon, sarcasm and humour are often our best medicine. 

In recent days, many of us have been working around the clock to scale up our response to this conflict. In a strange way, work helps. It gives me a sense of normalcy. Even if everything around you feels uncertain, you know that you are contributing something meaningful to what is happening around you.

Living through three conflicts is something I will carry with me forever. It is also something I hope my children will never experience. Yet it is a paradox as I do not want to leave my country.  

I love my country with my friends and family. In the end, what matters most is not a geographic place or building; the best therapy is having people who love you around you, it is about the love you feel among the people. And that is something worth fighting for.