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The Lebanese Republic: ‘They Would Shake, Weep and Step Back from the Windows’

A Young Educator, 24

I recently began instructing at a school in the valley area when war broke out in the autumn of 2024. In a matter of days, an airstrike destroyed my residence. Initially we were eating lunch, the next the building were falling down around us and onto my automobile outside. It took me several years saving for that Honda Civic, so when I saw it destroyed, I became emotional in tears.

Our household, similar to other families, were had to evacuate to a reduced accommodation. The school quickly moved classes to virtual sessions to guarantee the evacuated could attend. I was teaching the French language to grades 5 and 6 with about 35 students in each group. Their faces would appear intermittently on the screen, cutting out when the internet was unstable.

Being present was mandatory, but many of the young ones found it challenging to pay attention. After one especially intense airstrike, a mother turned on her child’s microphone and started yelling at me: “What is the point? They cannot in a condition to learn. They need to rest.” There was nothing I could say to comfort her.

As soon as the halt in hostilities was reported, people went back to what was still standing of their houses. My family covered our structure with plastic sheets, trying to keep out the chill, while I started traveling to the institution again. In-person classes continued, but the environment had altered completely.

Despite the pause, bombings continued to occasionally target the area, forcing the children to live in a ongoing condition of apprehension. Loud disruptions – like a door slamming or an something hitting the floor – triggered the children. They would tremble, become tearful and retreat from the glass, fearful a projectile might land and damage the glass. When remote devices hovered overhead, they declined to sit near the windows at all.

Sketching dwellings that had been damaged helped them see that something damaged can also be rebuilt

I remember one day, after a sudden sound occurred, a child started sobbing. He shouted at me, “I cannot bear to die in this place. I need to die next to my parents.” Another child started crying when the word “father” came up in the lesson – he had mourned his father during an incident.

In those moments, I paused French aside to address their mental health. We had no budget for professional development, so I used my teacher training and my own study about mental health.

One activity involved the students creating images of the dwellings that had been destroyed. I then asked them to illustrate them rebuilt, surrounded with nature, colour and family. It allowed them see that something gone can also be repaired.

On occasion I used simple “introductory” questions to help them share. If they were not ready to speak openly, I created narratives and asked my students to conclude them, so they could share their thoughts through another persona. For the most challenging cases, we collaborated with a counselor.

When the academic term finished in mid-year, many of the children were still deeply impacted. They kept saying me they could not see a tomorrow away from the violence, which made them question whether education was worth anything at all. Our next academic session commences in a near future, so I have just been praying that they were able to recover and recover during the summer break.

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The Republic of Niger: ‘I Encounter Students Who Often Journey for Hours … on an Without Food’

A Teacher, Twenties

Every day I walk through the weathered gates of the academy, where the book room, digital space and science room remain closed for inadequate equipment. Since overseas aid stopped two years ago, my colleagues and I combine money to buy basic supplies. In the sandy courtyard, where students gather at 8am every morning, the banner flies at the top of a pole.

Since a coup in mid-2023, this symbol is all that remains of state investment in our academy, where we host nearly a hundred pupils per session. Some sit several to a table, while the majority sit on the floor.

At the secondary school, pupils come from across the Zinder region. Last year, at the start of the educational period, we welcomed more than numerous children evacuated from the neighboring country, fleeing conflict. Many have stayed quiet since arriving, affected after seeing family members abducted and caregivers harmed in repeated attacks. Others, especially boys, were recruited by militants, which prospers on illiteracy.

Last year, according to reports, nearly many schools remained closed in Niger. Some impacted institutions are in regions close to neighboring areas, but there are others in Tillabéri and Tahoua, bordering Mali, where refugees are fleeing the spread of militants in the east of the country.

Regularly, we try to turn our educational environments into protected areas. We built makeshift shelters we call “shelters” in the school courtyard to teach the new pupils.

Young women’s attrition numbers are concerning, worsened by hostility, rape and widespread underage unions.

I want to say they are safe at this institution, that they can educate themselves here without worry – especially the young women. They are the future of our country

Last year one of my students, a student, 13, stopped coming to class to get married. I went to see her household. With a incapacitated father and a mother caring for her multiple dependents by selling local food, Barkatou represents the main economic resource for her parents.

I explained to them the role of school and the importance of their daughter’s future for the prosperity of the family.

Other children like her do not even have a shelter over them. Many get by by asking for help with containers before returning to abandoned houses.

However, every morning I meet children who sometimes walk for hours, often on an hungry, to reach classes. Their bravery and resilience give me the will to keep educating.

It was also what gave me the confidence to convince her parents and her husband so that this year, after a year out of school, she rejoined to class. I saw her happiness when she came back, {proud|ple