When Israeli airstrikes began hitting Beirut’s southern suburbs early Monday, Sudanese refugee Ridina Muhammad had little choice but to flee her home on foot.
Eight months pregnant, the 32-year-old walked through dark streets with her husband and three children for hours before they eventually found a car that took them to St. Joseph Tabaris Parish — one of the few places accepting refugees and migrants.
The church has become a refuge for families displaced by the latest escalation between Israel and the Lebanese armed group Hezbollah.
About 300,000 people have been displaced across Lebanon this week following heavy Israeli strikes launched after rockets and drones were fired into Israel.
Only around 100,000 displaced people have been accommodated in government shelters, while others are staying with relatives or sleeping outside. Migrants and refugees say those shelters are often not accessible to them.
Muhammad said her family had previously been turned away from government facilities during the 2024 conflict between Israel and Hezbollah.
Her eldest daughter, now seven, stopped speaking for a period after that war.
This time the family faces even greater uncertainty. Their home was destroyed in the latest strikes, and Muhammad expects to give birth later this month.
“I don’t know if there’s a doctor or not, but I’m really scared,” she said. “I haven’t prepared any clothes for the baby or arranged a hospital, and I don’t know where to go.”
Limited resources and shelter space
Muhammad said she had registered with the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) but had not yet received assistance.
Dalal Harb, a spokesperson for UNHCR in Lebanon, said the agency had mobilized support but reaching everyone immediately was difficult because of the scale and speed of displacement. She added that UNHCR’s operation in Lebanon is currently only about 14% funded.
The Jesuit Refugee Service (JRS) has helped the church host displaced people before and is doing so again.
Michael Petro, JRS’s emergency shelter director, said the church reached capacity within the first day of strikes. Around 140 people from countries including South Sudan, Ethiopia and Bangladesh are currently sheltering there.
“There are many more people coming than there were in 2024, and we have fewer places to put them,” Petro said.
Migrants struggle to access shelters
Petro said he had been told weeks earlier that government shelters would also be open to migrants if fighting escalated.
But when the strikes began and Lebanese citizens themselves struggled to find shelter, that policy appeared to shift, he said.
“We’re hearing from hotlines and government officials that migrants are not welcome,” Petro said.
Lebanon’s social affairs minister, Haneen Sayyed, did not respond to requests for comment. Earlier in the week she said shelters in Beirut were already full.
For many refugees, returning to previous shelters is the only option they know.
Othman Yahyeh Dawood, a 41-year-old Sudanese refugee, placed his two young sons on his motorcycle and drove about 75 kilometres from the southern town of Nabatieh to the church in Beirut where they had sheltered during the 2024 conflict.
“I know the area is safe and there are people who will welcome us,” he said.
But the future remains uncertain.
“We don’t know where to go,” Dawood said. “There’s war in the south, war here in Beirut, war in Sudan, and nowhere else to go.”