BEIRUT -- Isatta Bah wakes up from a nap in a crowded shelter on the outskirts of Beirut, clutching her baby, Blessing.
The 24-year-old from Sierra Leone spends her days waiting for an exit visa that could put her and her 1-year-old on a plane back to the West African nation. She wants to reunite with her family after what she called exploitative work conditions and sexual violence, along with the recent horrors of war in Lebanon.
“My experience in Lebanon is not good for me. I am really tired,” Bah said. “I want to go home.”
Hundreds of migrant workers in Lebanon are waiting to be repatriated after the ceasefire ending the 14-month war between the Lebanon-based Hezbollah and Israel went into effect last month.
Lebanon has long drawn migrant workers dreaming of building better lives for their families. Enticed by promises of stable jobs and decent pay, they enter Lebanon via recruitment agencies under a sponsorship-based labor system known as Kafala — only to find themselves often trapped with confiscated passports, long hours, withheld wages and, for many, abuse.
The Kafala system has long been criticized by human rights groups, but the government rarely if ever addresses the criticism. But Bah knew little of that when she came to Lebanon in 2022. She was promised a job at a supermarket with a $200 monthly salary, she said. Instead, she was sent to care for an older woman once she arrived.
Within a month of her arrival, her 3-year-old son back home fell ill and died. She said she was not given the time to grieve and fled her employer’s house. Since her employer held her passport and other documents, Bah said she had to leave them behind.
Her experience in Lebanon then took a darker turn. One day she and five housemates were picked up by a taxi driver who said he would take them home. Instead, she said, the driver dropped them at the wrong spot. As they tried and failed to find another cab, a group of men chased them and raped them.
“Men were coming and they were cheering for us,” said Bah, who gave her consent to be named. “They beat us and they had sex with us.” She said it took her about two weeks to recover and resume work at two hotels. Without documents, migrants can hesitate to go to police.
Two months later, she and another friend found out they were pregnant.
Bah recounted the experience as she watched her baby’s wobbly footsteps.
With war, their lives became more precarious. When Israel intensified its bombardment of Beirut’s southern suburbs in September, Bah fled the area with her baby and friends on foot.
Not every migrant worker escaped the attacks. An estimated 37 have been killed and 150 wounded since October 2023, said Joelle Mhanna with the U.N.'s International Organization for Migration.
There were few places to turn. Most government-run shelters refused to take in displaced people who were not Lebanese, said activist Dea Hajj Shaheen. After supporting migrant women during previous crises in Lebanon, she stepped in again along with other volunteers.
To house over 200 women from Sierra Leone including Bah, they repurposed an abandoned space owned by her family — a former car dealership that was later a venue for pop-up events and named The Shelter.
The kitchen was alive with activity as women cooked, some dancing to Nigerian music. In another area, rows of thin mattresses lay in the dim light from broken windows. Despite the modest conditions, the women set up a Christmas tree crafted from sticks.
While some migrants have been accepted at government-run shelters, there were regular reports of others being evicted or denied access, the IOM said.
Some migrants hesitate to approach the government shelters for fear of detention or deportation, Mhanna said. “As a result, most are being hosted by embassies, NGOs and community-based organizations including churches, monasteries and other religious groups.”
The Lebanese government has not directly addressed the issue of migrant workers being rejected from government-run shelters, despite repeated calls for action from rights organizations and the United Nations.
Moving on from the shelters they found posed another challenge for migrants like Bah, as many had passports and other documents confiscated by former employers.
“We had to secure exit permits, immigration clearances and even child travel documents for the five children in this group,” said Shaheen, who coordinated the repatriation last month of 120 women and their children with the support of IOM, who chartered the flight.
IOM said it has received requests from around 10,000 migrants seeking to be repatriated, a small fraction of the over 175,000 in Lebanon.
As of Nov. 26, the IOM had supported over 400 migrants to return home. That included two charter flights for people from Bangladesh and Sierra Leone. It wasn't clear how many more flights are planned. or to where.
Laughter and cheer filled Beirut-Rafic Hariri International Airport on Nov. 19. The women from Sierra Leone arrived in groups, dragging suitcases and sharing hugs. Some danced in celebration for their long-awaited flight.
“It wasn’t easy in Lebanon,” said Amanata Thullah after four years. “I am happy to be going back to my country."
Mariam Sesay, who described herself as the head of Sierra Leone's community in Lebanon, said there had been “a lot of distress and trauma” in recent months.
Bah was not among those leaving, but she said she and others at the shelter were happy to see friends return home.
She now awaits her turn, along with over 50 others.
At first she was told she needed official documents for her baby and the father’s consent to travel. But a lawyer waived the requirement due to her circumstances, Shaheen said.
“I wish to go back home to continue my education,” Bah said. “Since I was little, I always wanted to be a computer science student, because I’m good at that.”
She looked down at Blessing. “Now I have something to take care of,” she said. “When I watch her walk or laugh, that gives me joy.”
___
Follow AP coverage of migration at https://apnews.com/hub/migration