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The Lebanese Republic: ‘They Quivered, Sob and Move Away from the Glass Panels’

A Young Educator, 24

I was newly appointed instructing at a educational institution in the valley area when conflict began in September 2024. Shortly after, an bombing raid tore through my family home. Initially we were eating lunch, the next the building were collapsing around us and on top of my automobile outside. It took me a long time setting aside money for that compact car, so when I saw it wrecked, I broke down in tears.

My relatives, similar to other families, were forced to relocate to a reduced accommodation. The academy quickly transitioned classes to digital platforms to make sure the displaced could participate. I was educating French to grades 5 and 6 with about 35 students in each group. Their images would flicker on the monitor, cutting out when the internet was unstable.

Being present was mandatory, but many of the young ones found it hard to focus. After one especially intense bombing, a parent turned on her pupil’s sound and started shouting at me: “What is the point? They are not in a condition to learn. They must have to rest.” I had no words I could say to comfort her.

Immediately after the truce was reported, people returned to what was left of their dwellings. My family covered our building with makeshift covers, trying to keep out the winter weather, while I started taking a taxi to classes again. Face-to-face classes resumed, but the environment had shifted completely.

Following the truce, attacks continued to sporadically hit the area, forcing the children to live in a ongoing condition of fear. Sudden noises – like a abrupt noise or an item dropping the floor – distressed the children. They would shake, weep and step back from the glass, afraid a bomb might land and damage the glass. When remote devices hovered overhead, they refused to sit near the glass at all.

Drawing dwellings that had been damaged helped them see that something gone can also be rebuilt

I remember one day, after a sudden sound occurred, a child started weeping. He exclaimed at me, “I don’t want to die in school. I wish to die next to my parents.” Another child became emotional when the word “dad” came up in discussion – he had lost his father during an incident.

During these episodes, I set the subject aside to focus on their wellbeing. We had no resources for formal training, so I adapted my professional knowledge and my own study about emotional support.

One exercise involved the students creating images of the homes that had been damaged. I then asked them to depict them restored, surrounded with plants, vibrance and family. It allowed them see that something lost can also be repaired.

At times I used basic “icebreaker” questions to help them express themselves. If they were unable to speak openly, I created stories and asked my students to finish them, so they could communicate their emotions through another figure. For the most challenging cases, we sought help from a school psychologist.

When the academic term finished in July, many of the children were still affected. They kept saying me they could not see a tomorrow away from the war, which made them doubt whether schooling was valuable anything at all. Our upcoming term begins in a short time, so I have just been praying that they were able to recover and find peace during the summer break.

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Niger: ‘I Greet Youngsters Who Often Walk for Considerable Time … on an Empty Stomach’

A Teacher, Young Adult

Every day I walk through the old gates of the academy, where the library, digital space and science room remain shut for insufficient equipment. Since external support stopped two years ago, my colleagues and I pool money to buy necessary items. In the dusty courtyard, where students gather at early hours every morning, the flag flies at the top of a structure.

Following a political takeover in July 2023, this flag is all that remains of public support in our institution, where we host nearly a many pupils per group. Some sit multiple to a table, while the majority sit on the ground.

At this educational center, pupils come from across the local area. Last year, at the start of the educational period, we welcomed more than four hundred children evacuated from Nigeria, fleeing violence. Many have stayed silent since arriving, deeply disturbed after seeing relatives abducted and parents killed in repeated attacks. Others, especially male students, were drawn in by militants, which prospers on illiteracy.

Last year, according to reports, nearly 800 schools remained shut in Niger. Some impacted institutions are in regions close to neighboring areas, but there are others in certain regions, bordering Mali, where displaced people are fleeing the spread of militants in the east of the country.

Every day, we try to turn our educational environments into secure zones. We built makeshift shelters we call “shelters” in the school courtyard to teach the new pupils.

Girls’ dropout rates are concerning, worsened by hostility, assault and widespread underage unions.

I hope to convey they are protected at this institution, that they can learn here without anxiety – especially the girls. They are the future of our society

Last year one of my learners, Barkatou, young, stopped participating to get married. I went to see her family. With a incapacitated father and a mother caring for her family by selling local food, Barkatou represents the main source of income for her parents.

I clarified to them the role of learning and the significance of their daughter’s education for the financial stability of the family.

Some youngsters like her do not even have a home over them. Many manage by asking for help with makeshift items before returning to empty buildings.

However, every morning I meet children who sometimes walk for long periods, often on an empty stomach, to reach classes. Their determination and perseverance give me the strength to keep instructing.

It was also what gave me the confidence to convince Barkatou’s parents and her partner so that this year, after a year out of school, she returned to class. I saw her smile when she came back, {proud|ple