Zaher's story

In less than a month, tens of thousands of people in Lebanon have been displaced. Farms have been left behind, villages emptied, and livelihoods abandoned overnight.

Zaher is one of them.

Like many others, Zaher fled not knowing when, or if, he would return.

When we met him, he spoke quickly, his thoughts moving between what he had left behind and the uncertainty ahead.

“My name is Zaher Haidar. I’m from Marjayoun, Blat. I work with animals.I’m an animal lover.”

Before the fighting escalated, Zaher lived and worked on his farm, surrounded by olive trees and the animals he cared for. Today, that life feels suddenly distant.

“Two days ago I was in Blat. In the farm.Then I came here because there was no one else on the farm but me… and now I don’t know what we’re going to do..”

Zaher didn’t leave everything behind. He fled with his dogs, each one an important part of his life.

“I’ve got three dogs here; they’re my life. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep them safe.”

He names them one by one, starting with the oldest, as if holding on to something familiar and certain.

“My first dog is called Namri; she’s 19 years old. I’ve had her for 18 years. The second is a Siberian Husky. The third is named Regan.”

In the middle of displacement and uncertainty, these details seem to anchor him, small pieces of continuity in a life that has been abruptly interrupted.

Back in Balat, Zaher’s days were rooted in the land. Structured around farming. He tended to his olive trees, produced olive oil, and made a living from the land.

“Olives. I really love this tree. I have an orchard, and I look after it. I know everything there is to know about pruning trees.”

Now, like many displaced people, he finds himself cut off from both his home and his work.

“I need to pick some things up from home right now, so I might have to go back. I don’t know when. I don’t knowhow.”

The uncertainty weighs heavily. While there is no immediate danger where he is now, the threat still feels close.

“There’s definitely a threat, just not an immediate one. It’s a bit of a grey area, nothing’s certain.”

What troubles him most is not only the present, but the fear that this situation could become permanent.

“That we’ll stay like this, that we’ll remain far from our homes… this horror.”

For Zaher, and for thousands like him, displacement is not just about losing a place. It is about being cut off from a way of life, and waiting, without answers, for it to begin again.