‘I lost my home twice’: Sudanese mothers caught between two wars
She arrived at St Joseph’s with her husband, Saif al-Din Mustafa, and their four children after renewed fighting forced them from a shared room in
She arrived at St Joseph’s with her husband, Saif al-Din Mustafa, and their four children after renewed fighting forced them from a shared room in Dahiyeh, Beirut's southern suburbs. At the time, she was eight months pregnant. She cradles her newborn daughter, Yana, while keeping watch over her four older children, who dart through the church grounds. With her husband spending his days searching for work, much of the responsibility for holding the family together falls to her. Much of Roudaina’s attention is focused on her eldest daughter, Tebyan. The eight-year-old was diagnosed with Asperger's syndrome in Lebanon and had been attending a specialised education centre. Since the latest conflict, however, the annual cost of care has risen from $2000 to $6000 a year – far beyond what the family can afford. Roudaina also says Tebyan experienced racism from other students at the centre, Dar al-Ahlam, or House of Dreams. "They told her things like, 'You're ugly', 'You're Black' and 'You should go back to your country'." Dar al-Ahlam did not respond to requests for comment at the time of publication. The effects of the war have lingered in other ways, too. Tebyan struggled during the 2024 conflict, Roudaina says, and remains highly sensitive to loud noises.
"She used to scream and cry loudly whenever there was a bomb nearby, and now, if there is ever a loud noise, it triggers screaming and panic.” Roudaina recounts this matter-of-factly, as though years of conflict and displacement have made such stories painfully familiar. Like Rufaida, she gave birth while sheltering at St Joseph's. One night in April, her water broke at 5am in the dormitory she shared with dozens of other women. The costs of her pregnancy were covered by the church and an NGO called Assameh. But the family’s legal problems remained. Despite being registered as a refugee, Roudaina says her legal status in Lebanon remains precarious because her Sudanese passport has expired. She claims the Sudanese embassy has refused to renew it. She fears deportation more than anything. Returning to Sudan is not an option, she says. Her husband refused military conscription in 2008, was subsequently imprisoned and later escaped custody. Going back, she believes, would place him in serious danger. The lack of documentation has also affected her children. "None of my children, except Tebyan, have up-to-date documents, so I cannot enrol them in public schools," she says. For many refugee families in Lebanon, access to education is often shaped as much by paperwork as by the availability of school places.
The BriefWire