Joy by name not by life – Portrait from the South

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Aïda Abou Charaf

Content Writer, Middle Eastern & Northern African Affairs at The New Global Order

Aïda is a fervent advocate for human rights and social justice, driven by a profound commitment to making a meaningful impact. Armed with dual Master's degrees in International Management and International Affairs and Diplomacy, she has forged a career path deeply rooted in humanitarianism.

Now based in Beirut, Aïda is eager to channel her love for writing and her keen insights into politics of the Middle East and humanitarian affairs. With an unwavering belief in the transformative power of advocacy and education, she tirelessly supports human rights and social justice causes, striving to inspire positive change and nurture resilience in communities across the globe.

Latest posts by Aïda Abou Charaf (see all)

• Joy by name not by life – Portrait from the South - November 30, 2024
• Beirut’s unanswered cry for Justice: four years after the 2020 explosion - August 4, 2024
• Reform or Facade? Pezeshkian’s Challenges in Transforming Iran - July 11, 2024

What I’m going to tell you is not easy. And it is not only my story. It is the story of many women in Lebanon—women who lack access to education, who live under patriarchy, and who are forced to follow norms imposed by society.

Joy’s Journey: From Survival to Resilience Amid Lebanon’s Tumultuous Landscape

At 34, Joy, a mother of five, has lived through more adversity than many could fathom. Born and raised in the heart of Southern Lebanon, Aytaroun, and then Toura, she grew up in a place where war was an echoing backdrop and hardship was woven into the daily fabric of life. Recently, war has forced her to leave her village and find refuge in the mountains of Mayrouba, away from the home she had fought to make peaceful. Her story sheds light not only on the struggles women face in Lebanon but also on the resilience that defines them and the ongoing war.

A Challenging Childhood

Joy’s life began in poverty, amid family strife. Her father was often angry, while her mother bore the weight of both parental roles. “I don’t remember ever buying clothes or having the freedom of a child,” she recalls. “Our survival sometimes meant cultivating things we’d rather not, just to put food on the table.” By the age of 11, she had started bearing adult responsibilities—cooking, caring for her siblings, and holding together a household that often seemed on the verge of breaking. Her father’s imprisonment was both a relief and a burden, bringing both peace and added responsibility. By the time he returned, Joy was a teenager, and her brief childhood moments were already behind her.

Marriage and the Role of a Woman

In her late teens, Joy was married off to a man 20 years older than her, mainly to escape the turbulence at home. “My mother thought marriage would bring me peace,” she says. Yet this new chapter came with its challenges. Her critical and controlling in-laws monitored her every move, and Joy spent many nights in prayer, feeling as if freedom and peace were just out of reach.

Over time, Joy grew into her marriage and eventually started to love her husband. “He was the opposite of my father; he treated me with kindness and respect.” As the years passed, she found the strength and determination to offer her children the life she never had. “My daughters will have the chance to study, to experience life. I want them to feel love, joy, and freedom.”

“My community, however, was and still is slow to evolve”. When Joy’s eldest daughter turned sixteen, a man twice her age asked for her hand. Joy allowed her daughter the freedom to choose, reinforcing her right to live and love freely, while still guiding her within the bounds of their culture. For Joy, respect and responsibility must come first in love, a message she imparts to her daughters. “But sadly this is not the case for all the girls in our community. Coming from poor areas in the South, lots of girls get married at 15-16. Freedom to choose is rarely an option.”

Faith and Resilience in a divided society

“They taught us religion wrong. They taught us interdictions: don’t show skin, don’t answer when a man talks, don’t listen to music it is haram… I loved God of fear. I used to pray because I was afraid of getting hit by my father, afraid of the violence. And then people would say “Don’t do this or that because God will get mad”.

Joy’s relationship with faith has been a journey from fear to love. Taught as a child to fear God and to obey rules without question, she grew up praying out of fear of punishment. Only in adulthood, through self-reflection and reading, she started to understand faith as rooted in compassion and forgiveness. “God is love and understanding, not punishment. We are human, allowed to make mistakes,” she says, emphasizing that ignorance, not religion, is what fuels judgment within her community.

Lebanon’s society remains deeply divided along religious and sectarian lines. Yet for Joy, true faith and community transcend these boundaries. “The war showed me there is no Sunni, Shia, or Christian—only humanity. We are all just people trying to live and survive,” she says.

War and Displacement

Just before the recent escalation of conflict, Joy’s husband returned from Africa, and her family cherished the peace of his presence. They spent time at the beach, prepared for the children’s return to school in October, and dreamed of an easier future. Then came the rockets, the evacuations, and the frantic journey north.
“The drive to Mayrouba was harrowing; it took us nine hours. Every fifteen minutes, the car’s wheels would slide. We saw families stranded, people crying, everyone trying to escape. Everything happened so fast. I remember it was a Monday, my husband had left the day before. I was at the market, an hour away from our village. People were murmuring, everyone seemed anxious. I asked what was going on, and they told me Israel had started striking. Then, I got a call from my eldest telling me they had just hit near our house. I dropped everything and rushed back home. The road going north was empty, but the opposite side was packed with cars trying to flee.”

“It felt like a scene from a movie. Black smoke rose on both sides from the fires, firefighters dashed around, and aid workers did all they could. My five children were at home. I can’t put into words what I felt driving back. May God never test us like that again. The sounds of missiles overhead were even worse than their explosions. My children were terrified. I just wanted to keep them safe, so I took them to my sister’s. We spent the whole day in one room without eating. I just wanted to go home, to sleep in my bed. Now I understand when they say a captain never leaves his ship, even as it sinks. That’s how we felt, and we still feel that way.
As soon as I opened our front door, a rocket fell just behind the house. Rubble, dust, stones, glass—everything shattered. There are no words to describe what we felt. We stayed only to pack, spent one last night, and at seven the next morning, my brother-in-law came to get us to a safer place. On our way to Mayrouba, we passed through Beirut. It broke my heart to see families on the streets—families who once had homes, land, and lives. It felt like the whole world had turned upside down.”

Arriving in Mayrouba brought some relief, but no real solution.
“We were 31 people, crammed into a tiny apartment, sharing everything. The nightmare continued.” Despite moments of laughter and camaraderie, the overcrowded living conditions wore everyone down. The children grew restless, the adults grew tense, and arguments broke out daily. “The war outside seemed to take root inside, between each of us and within each of us.”
Determined to restore a sense of normalcy, Joy eventually found a small apartment for her immediate family, reclaiming a measure of stability and dignity.

Reflections on Lebanon’s Political and Social Landscape

Joy holds complex feelings about the political landscape that has shaped her life. Growing up in southern Lebanon, the influence of the Hezbollah party was woven into her education. She once felt admiration for its former leader, Hassan Nasrallah, though she was never affiliated with the party.
“He gave significance to the Shia community, calling us the ‘most honorable of people’ (ya achraf el nass), bringing us together. But now, so much has changed. We are broken, shattered. We have all lost something: a home, a loved one, a village. No child should have to die for a cause. The blood that has been spilled—and continues to be spilled—is unjust. Yet, sadly, in my community, some still believe otherwise. How can people be so blind? How can they accept this kind of death? Are we all human?”

Lebanon’s fractured communities continue to bear the weight of war and economic hardship, but Joy believes that education is the key to breaking cycles of ignorance and judgment. She hopes that her daughters will grow up empowered, free from the constraints of societal expectations, and capable of making their own choices.

Looking Ahead: A Message of Strength

As she navigates the uncertainty of displacement, Joy clings to hope like a lifeline. She dreams of returning to her beloved homeland, of seeing her children flourish, unshackled by the constraints that once bound her. Her message to women facing similar struggles is both a call and a challenge: “Be strong. Live your life on your own terms. Don’t say ‘yes’ to everything, or you’ll be crushed. Hold your ground.”

Joy’s life is a testament to the resilience of Lebanese women—the quiet, fierce strength of those who carry on despite being uprooted and displaced. Her story reveals the soul of Lebanon’s southern communities, communities bound by struggle but sustained by hope. Against the backdrop of war and displacement, her spirit endures, bearing witness to a truth that can’t be taken: even in the darkest times, the will to survive and to dream is unbreakable.