‘I’ve lost my home twice’: Sudanese women caught between two wars | Human Rights

Built in 1875 and modeled on the Chapelle Saint-Marc in Lyon, the church was originally intended to be the chapel of St Joseph University, which was opened by the French Jesuits as part of the “civilization mission” of the colonial era in France.

Its pale stone wall rises above Beirut’s busy street. Today, it remains under the leadership of the Jesuits, with Father Michael Petro leading the parish.

“It’s an interesting place, because it’s on the edge of Ashrafieh, a mostly Christian, francophone area, with a lot of wealthy Lebanese people living there. But they also have their domestic workers. From the beginning of the first wave of immigrants in the 70s, this place was known as their place,” he tells Al Jazeera.

Every Sunday, during peacetime, the stone parking lot is transformed into a cricket pitch. Indian and Pakistani migrant workers play softball cricket while families sit side-by-side sharing home-cooked meals, socializing with friends and enjoying one of their few days off work.

Today, the atmosphere is very different.

Instead of the hum of plastic bats and Bollywood music spilling into the churchyards, rows of mattresses line the floor, and clothes hang from rails. Men loiter on the plastic chairs around the church, scrolling through their phones. Women carry blankets and laundry in plastic bowls. Only children seem to be able to disrupt the mind, run among the adults and fill the space with laughter.

“When the war escalated, we immediately had large groups of Sudanese and South Sudanese people coming here,” says Mr. Michael. “They came because they were asking the community leaders what they could do, and they were told to come here, because it is the first time to trust them.”

“On the one hand, it’s very beautiful, because people thought they would be welcome here, and they were.”

However, the problem of being the first port of call for many refugees is becoming apparent.

Sales are limited, and conflicts sometimes arise among churchgoers. Father Michael says the congregation reached 250 people on just the second day of the war.

“We have converted more than 100 people in the last few days,” he says. “It’s a disaster.”

Mohammad says that daily life has become very difficult, especially since the arrival of their son.

“We don’t have enough clothes, especially when the baby is growing. Also, my wife’s diet is not good. Sometimes she gets constipated, and then the baby gets sick. We need a lot of protein and vegetables. Diet is very difficult.”

Living in crowded places, surrounded by uncertainty, has affected people’s health, says Rufaida.

“Because of the atmosphere and mental illness, small problems become big problems.” I told someone that we were up, but he wasn’t happy about it.

Both say they understand why anger sometimes dissipates. Most of the people who live in this church have fled the war, their houses were destroyed and they have been living in doubt for months or years.

Small problems become big problems.

in RUFAIDA, A SUDANESE WOMAN WAS DROPPED

Their gratitude was based on what happened when Rufaida sought help for pregnant women.

At the Karatina hospital, he is said to have been repeatedly ignored by doctors in favor of Lebanese patients. “We were there to get the papers for her to give birth in that hospital, but we were ignored, and the Lebanese were allowed to negotiate first,” says Mohammad.

After waiting for three hours, an employee from the Jesuit Refugee Service (JRS), who accompanied them to the hospital, intervened and helped ensure that they were seen.

Through the support provided by JRS and partner organizations, all of Rufaida’s pregnancy expenses were covered, including prenatal care, cesarean delivery and Ahmad’s vaccinations.

Rufaida said: “It gave me comfort and peace that I was able to do well in a safe environment.

Their experience is growing among Sudanese migrants in Lebanon, many of whom have found themselves uprooted several times – first by the war in Sudan and then by the conflict in Lebanon.

Rufaida’s story is not unusual. According to figures published by the International Organization for Migration (IOM) in August 2025, there are 164,097 migrants in Lebanon, of which 14,854 are Sudanese citizens.

That number represents only a fraction of the 4.4 million Sudanese who have fled their country since the civil war began in April 2023.

Others, like Rufaida, arrived on tourist permits. Others found work as concierges or domestic workers, with the help of kafala in Lebanon, which coordinates the migrant worker’s permit with the employer.

Human Rights Watch says the system is at its worst. a form of modern slavery.

About 3,800 Sudanese have also found refuge in Lebanon as refugees registered with the UN Refugee Agency.

For refugees in Lebanon, the UNHCR registration card can mean more than a piece of paper. It provides protection from imprisonment or deportation, can open access to help and education where support is available, and, for many, represents their best hope of one day settling in another country.

Among them is 30-year-old Roudaina Mustafa.