Bright dawn, uncertain future

A year after Israel's ignominious withdrawal from southern Lebanon, people are facing a different kind of struggle. Ranwa Yehia visits the liberated villages
Endless green pastures dotted with farmers vigorously plowing the fields, their tanned faces deeply concentrating on their daily routine, are a common sight in the liberated villages of south Lebanon. The bumpy, hole-dotted roads neglected during 22 years of occupation only interrupt the drive. It is easy to mistake the lack of activity for the quiet of post-liberation. But beyond the serene wadis and looming mountains, the homes of southern residents are filled with frustration and anxiety over an uncertain future.
On 25 May, Lebanese will celebrate the first anniversary of Israel's withdrawal from south Lebanon, when villagers tasted freedom for the first time in 22 years. But the new-found luxury of moving freely at any time of day or night, without fearing humiliation at every Israeli-backed South Lebanon Army (SLA) checkpoint or a stay in the notorious Khiam detention centre, has long worn off.
The people of south Lebanon now face a different kind of struggle: finding jobs to sustain a decent life and having access to adequate health services. Very little has been done in terms of development, be it in human conditions, infrastructure or services. A Lebanese government official blames the scarcity of development on United States pressure to prevent donor money from flowing to southern Lebanon. A UN development official says only a few modest projects are under way.
Faced with a daily struggle, the people feel they have been abandoned. All they want is a decent, simple life in the villages. Unfortunately, this modest demand seems far-fetched -- at least in the foreseeable future.
Villagers talk more freely about their daily routine than of their feelings about the danger presented by Hizbullah attacks on an Israeli military post in the Chebaa Farms, a disputed area which Lebanon considers occupied territory. Residents of Kfar Shouba, a Sunni village only 3km from the Chebaa Farms, do not even flinch at the intermittent sound of machine gun fire and heavy shelling coming from the Israeli position on Jabal Asal. In fact, this more closely resembles the sound of firecrackers in comparison to the pounding noise preceding the liberation.
When Hizbullah killed an Israeli soldier and wounded two others in the Chebaa Farms on 16 February, Israeli forces retaliated with heavy mortar and artillery fire in the vicinity of Kfar Shouba.
Ibrahim Diab's half-built home at the periphery of the village has a clear view of the Israeli post. The 65-year-old retired schoolteacher is building his home for the third time. During 22 years of occupation, Diab's home was targeted three times.
"I will keep rebuilding my house until the day I die and when I do, my children will continue," Diab says. He speaks with neither defiance nor provocation. To him, it is simple: "This is my land."
Like most villagers in the south, he wants peace and quiet. However, when asked to comment on the danger he faces when Hizbullah carries out attacks in the disputed Chebaa Farms area, Diab is defiant. "Hizbullah should continue fighting until all our land is liberated," he says.
None of the villagers interviewed by Al-Ahram Weekly spoke differently about the Hizbullah operations. But their insistence on peace and quiet indicated what they really felt.
A mere 8km away is the Christian and Druze village of Ibl Al-Saqi. Like many Christian villages in the occupation zone, the village flourished during 22 years of Israeli control, faring much better than most Muslim villages. Ibl Al-Saqi had an additional advantage in that it hosted the Norwegian battalion of the United Nations Interim Forces in Lebanon (UNIFIL). Norwegian soldiers spent a lot of money in the village, causing shops to proliferate and the only hotel in the area to be built. Following the Norwegians' departure three years ago, the local economy deteriorated, but was propped up by smuggling of untaxed goods from Israel. With the Israeli withdrawal, the economy of the entire zone came to a standstill.
In addition to the money provided by smuggling, SLA militiamen and those working in Israel had been spending their salaries in the area. Not only did that stop, but Lebanon's economic crisis also affected the area once it was re-linked to the central government.
According to a report published in February by Information International, a local think-tank, the end of the occupation stripped up to 10,000 individuals of their main source of revenue -- Israel.
"We are suffering from an economic crisis nationwide and not only in the south. The only difference is that people in the south had higher expectations after the liberation," says Qabalan Qabalan, president of the Council of the South, a government body responsible for development.
Imad Shamadi, 29, is one of the lucky people in Ibl Al-Saqi: he has a job. Until two years ago, Shamadi worked in construction. He made good money but there were constant risks when commuting between villages, especially roadside bombs planted by Hizbullah intended for Israeli soldiers and their SLA militiamen.
Shamadi found a job at the Dana Hotel in his village two years ago. His $250 monthly salary barely covers living expenses for him, his wife and their 14-month-old son. But it is one of the rare jobs where he has security.
While Shamadi has a secure job, others are less fortunate. In the only sandwich shop in the village, several young men sit listlessly at the bar. Shamadi, recognising them, said all were jobless and spent most of their time either at home or at the bar.
Information International estimates only 5,500 people have returned to their villages following the liberation. Before the occupation, the area counted between 250,000 and 350,000 inhabitants. Their number went down to 77,000 during the occupation. According to the Information International report, few have returned "largely because of the lack of incentives or the complications that accompany any relocation."
The report notes, however, that more than half of the younger generation (aged 15-24) is inclined to leave Lebanon altogether. Mohamad Mukalled, senior humanitarian affairs officer at the United Nations Development Programme (UNDP), admits that most of the returnees were older people, who want to spend the rest of their lives in their hometowns.
The UNDP has a four-part programme to boost social and economic sectors, work on bringing back the younger generation to the south and reintegrate former detainees. Since Mukalled's arrival last September, however, the UNDP and the Council for Development and Reconstruction have allocated only $2 million to the area's development. "This money is being used to begin small businesses in villages. Our main aim is to have the villagers involved in development," he said.
A lack of health services is a major cause of alarm for southerners. People remark sarcastically that health services were much better during the occupation. Shamadi's sister will soon give birth to her second child, but the closest hospital is more than an hour and a half away, in Nabatieh. She expects to deliver on the way, hoping there will be no complications.
Zeinab Mustafa, 76, from the Shi'ite village of Houla, broke her right arm five months ago. As she was able to endure the pain, Mustafa decided to go to a farmer in her village who fixes the bones of cows and sheep. "I make do with what is there," says Mustafa, who earns a living working in the fields.
When Mustafa broke her second arm, a neighbour drove her to Nabatieh. Both arms hurt her now, making it difficult to earn her daily bread.
Marjayoun Hospital, near SLA headquarters, provided medical services for the whole zone during the occupation. After the liberation, the hospital was deserted. It now offers only first aid and simple procedures.
Under the current desperate conditions, the people in the south have problems enough, but they are compounded by another concern which has emerged recently.
On 19 April, Ali Yaaqoub's car burst into flames while he, his wife and two children were asleep in their house in Houla. Two other cars were exploded in the same village a week earlier. All were owned by people sentenced to a few months in prison for low-level collaboration with the SLA. Yaaqoub served two months for working in Israeli. A note left near his destroyed car warned that he had five days to leave the village or else he would receive the same treatment given his car.
On the morning of 24 April, residents of Marjayoun found leaflets strewn in the streets. Signed by the "Revolutionary Cells for Justice Against Collaborators," the leaflet warned prisoners due to be released not to return to their villages. "If they return to their villages, even after a while, the door of hell will open before them and their families."
Thousands of SLA collaborators handed themselves over to the Lebanese army immediately after the liberation. Most of them received sentences of between six months and one year. Those who held high ranks within the SLA, fearing life imprisonment or the death sentence, fled to Israel with their families.
Hundreds are expected to end their one-year term shortly. The leaflets have caused heightened tension in the liberated villages.
Four days after his car was exploded, Yaaqoub was still plowing his tobacco field. Undeterred, he had no intention to leave. A few days later, however, he received more threats and left his village to stay with an aunt in Beirut. His wife and children remain at his brother's house in Houla.
Yaaqoub wants to apply for political asylum. He is worried about the fate of his family. "No one can help me. What do I do now?" he asks desperately.
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