Joy, a 34-year-old mother of five, has faced more challenges than most people can comprehend. Born and raised in Aytaroun and then Toura, in the heart of southern Lebanon, Joy grew up in a place where war was a resounding backdrop and hardship was woven into the fabric of daily life. Most recently, the war forced her to leave her village and seek refuge in the mountains of Mayrouba, far from the home she fought to keep peaceful. Her story sheds light not only on the struggles women in Lebanon face, but also on the resilience and ongoing war that defines them .
A Difficult Childhood
Joy’s life began in poverty, amidst family strife. While his father was often angry, his mother bore the burden of both parental roles. “I don’t remember ever buying clothes or having the freedom of a child,” she recalls. “Survival sometimes meant growing things we didn’t want just to put food on the table.” By age 11, she was taking on adult responsibilities: cooking meals, caring for her siblings, and keeping together a household that often seemed on the verge of falling apart. His father’s imprisonment was both a relief and a burden, bringing both peace and additional responsibility. When her father returned, Joy was a young girl, and the brief moments of childhood were long gone.
Marriage and the Role of Women
In her late teens, Joy was married off to a man 20 years her senior, mainly to escape turmoil at home. “My mother thought marriage would bring me peace,” he says. But this new chapter came with challenges. Their critical and controlling mother-in-law watched her every move, and Joy spent many nights in prayer, feeling that freedom and peace were just beyond her reach.
Over time, Joy adjusted to her marriage and eventually came to love her husband. “He was the complete opposite of my father; he treated me with kindness and respect.” Over the years, she found the strength and determination to give her children the life she never had. “My daughters will have the opportunity to be educated, to experience life. I want them to feel love, joy and freedom.”
“But my community has developed slowly and is still evolving.” When Joy’s eldest daughter turned sixteen, a man twice her age asked to marry her. Joy gave her daughter the freedom to choose, reinforcing her right to live and love freely while continuing to guide her within the boundaries of their culture. For Joy, respect and responsibility must come first in love, which is a message she gives to her daughters. “But unfortunately this is not the case for all girls in our community. Many girls from poor areas in the South get married at the age of 15-16. Freedom of choice is rarely an option.”
Faith and resilience in a divided society
“They taught us the wrong religion. They taught us prohibitions: it is forbidden to show your skin, it is forbidden to answer when a man speaks, it is forbidden to listen to music… I loved the God of Fear. I used to pray because I was afraid of my father beating me and violence. Then people would say, “Don’t do this or that because God will be angry.”
Joy’s relationship with faith has been a journey from fear to love. Taught as a child to fear God and follow the rules without asking questions, Joy grew up praying for fear of punishment. However, in adulthood, through self-inquiry and reading, he began to understand that faith is rooted in compassion and forgiveness. “God is love and understanding, not punishment. We are human, we are allowed to make mistakes,” he says, emphasizing that ignorance, not religion, is what fuels judgment in his society.
Lebanese society is deeply divided along religious and sectarian lines. Yet for Joy, true faith and community transcend these boundaries. “The war showed me that there is no Sunni, Shia or Christian – there is only humanity. We are all just people trying to live and survive,” he says.
War and Displacement
Just before the final escalation of the conflict, Joy’s husband returned from Africa and his family enjoyed his peace. They spent time at the beach, prepared for the children to return to school in October, and dreamed of an easier future. Then came rockets, evacuations and a wild ride north.
“It was very difficult to get to Mayrouba; it took us nine hours. Every fifteen minutes, the wheels of the car were slipping. We saw families trapped, 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 in the market an hour away from our village. People were murmuring, everyone looked worried. I asked what was going on and they told me that Israel had started attacking. Then I got a call from my eldest and said they had hit near our house. I ran home. “The road leading was empty, but the other side was full of cars trying to escape.”
“It was like a movie scene. Black smoke was rising from the fires on both sides, firefighters were running around and aid workers were doing their best. My five children were at home. I can’t express in words what I felt as we were returning back. May God not test us like this again. The sound of the missiles fired above our heads was even louder than their explosions.” It was worse. My children were terrified. I just wanted to keep them safe, so I took them to my sister’s and we spent the whole day in a room, just going home and sleeping in my bed. I wanted to. Now I understand that they said that a captain should never abandon his ship, even if it sinks. That’s how we felt, and we still feel that way.
As soon as we opened our front door, a rocket hit right behind the house. Rubble, dust, stones, glass – everything was shattered. There are no words to describe what we feel. We stayed only to pack our belongings, spent the last night overnight, and at seven the next morning my brother-in-law arrived to take us to a safer place. We passed through Beirut on our way to Mayrouba. It broke my heart to see families on the streets; families who once had homes, lands and lives. “I felt like the whole world was turned upside down.”
Arriving in Mayrouba brought some relief, but not a real solution.
“There were 31 of us, crammed into a small apartment, sharing everything. The nightmare continued.” Despite moments of laughter and camaraderie, the overcrowded living conditions wore everyone down. Children began to get restless, adults became tense, and arguments broke out every day. “The war outside seemed to take root within, 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 and regained some stability and dignity.
Thoughts on the Political and Social Landscape of Lebanon
Joy has mixed feelings about the political landscape that shapes her life. Joy, who grew up in southern Lebanon, reflected the influence of the Hezbollah party in his education. He once admired its former leader, Hassan Nasrallah, even though he was never affiliated with the party.
“He cared about the Shiite community, called us ‘the most honorable of men’ (ya achraf el nass) and brought us together. But now a lot has changed. We are broken, shattered. We have all lost something: a home, a loved one, a village.” No child should die for a cause. The blood that has been shed and continues to be shed is unjust. Yet unfortunately, some in my community still think otherwise. How can we all accept this kind of death? Are we human?
Lebanon’s fragmented communities continue to bear the brunt of war and economic hardship, but Joy believes education is the key to breaking cycles of ignorance and judgment. She hopes her daughters grow up strong, free from the constraints of social expectations, and able to make their own choices.
A Power Message to the Future
As she grapples with the uncertainty of displacement, Joy clings to hope like a lifeline. He dreams of returning to his beloved hometown and seeing his children flourish, free from the constraints that once bound him. 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. Stand your ground.”
Joy’s life is a testament to the resilience of Lebanese women; the quiet, relentless strength of those who carry on despite being uprooted and displaced. His story reveals the spirit of Lebanon’s southern communities, bound by struggle but sustained by hope. Against the backdrop of war and displacement, his spirit endures and bears witness to a truth that cannot be taken away: even in the darkest times, the will to survive and dream is unbreakable.