Bullied, impoverished and misunderstood: Syrian students in Lebanese inferno

Op-Ed by Maysaa Ajjan, Contributor

February 2nd, 2021

For 13-year-old Abdullah Adham, 2020 was not a good year. He had to first switch schools after performing poorly academically, before deciding to leave school altogether because of his family’s precarious financial situation.

“I left school at first because the lessons were so hard, I didn’t understand what the teachers were saying,” Abdullah, who is Syrian, said in dismay while sitting in his house on Salim Slem. “But then my father needed help in paying for my younger siblings’ tuition, so he took me out of school to help him at work.” 

Abdullah certainly isn’t the only Syrian refugee who was struggling to remain in school in Lebanon. According to Human Rights Watch, only 3% of Syrian refugees aged 13-18 years old enrolled in public schools during the 2015-2016 school year, a very small and marginal figure that has not varied much.

Poverty is not the main factor driving Syrian students out of schools. Drastic changes in their academic curriculum, harassment from their Lebanese colleagues and estrangement from their country have all taken a toll on these young refugees. “The dropout rate for Syrian students is generally high, especially for the older teenagers, who feel compelled to leave school and find work to support their families,” UN Development Program (UNDP) Project Manager Toufic Karam said in a call with The Phoenix Daily.

Abdullah is now working at a hairdresser’s shop near his house in Borj Al Barajneh. 

“What I feared for my son has already happened,” Yehya Adham, Abdullah’s father, said in a regretful tone. “He is now left without an education. He will not have a good future.”

According to the Human Rights Watch, the number of Syrian refugee children enrolled in school in Lebanon has stalled at the same inadequate levels as in the 2017-2018 school year. Fewer than half of the 631,000 school-age refugee children in Lebanon are currently enrolled in formal education.

It’s not just poverty that stands between this lot and excellence. Academic incompetence is at an all-time high for them, mainly because of the heavy reliance of the Lebanese curriculum on the English language. “The Lebanese curriculum dictates that, from grades 1 to 9, all subjects should be taught in either French or English, while Arabic is taught as a separate subject,” Mona Itani, Principal of the Omar Fakhoury public school, said. “By contrast, in the Syrian education system, Syrian pupils are used to being taught all of their courses in Arabic.” Therefore, she added, Syrian refugees are having severe difficulties performing in school. In addition, this language-barrier impedes them from pursuing vocational training in universities and technical schools that require bilingual training.

A third reason for dropping out from school is the feeling of inferiority from Lebanese students and sometimes from the teachers themselves. 

Last September, the Education Ministry issued an informal request that Lebanese and Syrian students take lessons separately in public schools: the former would attend their usual morning classes while the latter would attend afternoon classes. The purpose of this decision was to ease the pressure of high enrollment caused by the influx of Syrian students. This arrangement has no doubt deepened the feelings of segregation and inequality between both nationalities. 

“We’ve noticed that some of the Lebanese children are deriding and mocking towards their Syrian classmates, although the two never actually mix because of the new segregation rule,” Noha Itani, English teacher at Raml El Zarif public school said in an interview online.

Another unforeseen consequence of the segregation rule is the doubled effort that teachers have to put to teach both morning and afternoon classes. “It’s very tiring to have to teach a class in the morning and then the same one in the evening,” Itani said. “Also, most of the [Syrian students] don’t own laptops or iPads which have become necessary for online learning.”

Indeed, Syrian students seemed to be faring worse in distant learning than they are in the classroom. 

“I can’t attend my afternoon classes online because my dad can’t buy me a laptop,” seven-year-old Soha, a student at Raml el Zarif, said shyly as she toyed with one of her school books. “We also sometimes have no internet access at home.”

 She added that none of her classmates has a laptop except for one. 

Seven-year-old Soha is a Syrian student at Raml el Zarif public school. She says that distant learning is difficult for her because her father cannot afford to buy her a laptop. Credits: Borderless

 The solution to the dilemma?

It is an understatement to say that Syrian students are underperforming. They need a solution and they need it quickly. The best solution currently lies with NGOs and “makeshift” transitory schools that try to bridge the educational gap that Syrian students are suffering from, and to prepare them to successfully transition into Lebanese formal schooling.

Perhaps Jusoor is one of the biggest NGOs that is dedicated to helping Syrian students continue their education outside of Syria. With three transitory centers in Lebanon- two in the South and one in Beirut- Jusoor is able to accommodate over 500 students who need the skills and the language in order to make the transition.

“It can be really desperate at times,” said Rana Taleb, a teacher at one of Jusoor’s transitory skills, in an online call. “You really get wretched cases of poverty where the parents are unable to afford even a public school tuition, let alone stationary and laptops. The children come hungry sometimes and we give them food.”

Some children, she continued, have never seen the inside of a classroom, let alone hold pen to paper. They can be as young as two and as old as seven. In Jusoor’s transitory schools, there is warmth and friendship; the teachers are welcoming and the volunteers are willing to step in to give classes. All in all, Jusoor has registered more than 4500 students since its inception six years ago.

“We have more than 50% success rate,” Dana Mayas, principal of Jusoor’s transitory center in Beirut, said in a phone call. “We were aiming for more than that, but COVID-19 really messed things up.”

Children at the Jusoor centers typically stay for two years until they catch up on the language and other disciplines. 

Borderless is another NGO helping Syrian children transition into formal schooling in Lebanon.

“This is our second year operating the center in Ouzaii,” Program Associate Sary Mohsen said. “We currently have 130 students enrolled in our program.” Most of the students, added Mohsen, live within walking distance of Borderless’ center, in underprivileged areas.

“Our main goal is to equip them with the knowledge they lack and prepare them for what lies ahead, but honestly, we’re underfunded in that area,” Mohsen confessed on the phone. “We had bigger goals for 2020 concerning our capacity for accommodating children,” Mohsen continued, “but COVID-19 really toned things down. Hopefully next year will be more promising.”

In order for Syrian students to really prosper in Lebanon, a number of factors have to come together to create the nurturing environment they so need. They need proper funding, an accepting environment and- above all-patience.