![](\"https:\/\/www.beirut.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2023\/04\/30675.png\")
(Credit: AP Photo\/Bilal Hussein<\/small><\/small>)<\/i><\/p>\n
Security issues, long-standing political stagnation, lack of job opportunities, and a seemingly perpetual economic slump; any way you look at it, Lebanon has been put through the wringer for years. The explosion in Dahiyeh on January 2 – the latest in a string of deadly bombings across the capital, and the protracted and violent standoff in Tripoli (among others) are proof that the ordeal is far from over. <\/p>\n
When faced with this kind of rampant insecurity, people have different ways to cope. A lot has been said lately about our tendency as a nation to dismiss, to forget, to move on. But frustration is an ongoing issue and “heyda lebnen” seems to no longer be an acceptable excuse. So some people have decided to leave and look for greener pastures where they feel they have a better chance to find them. Not all of them leave Lebanon per se, but more often than not, their decision is born out of a certain feeling of hopelessness with the country, and a desire for change.<\/p>\n
(Credit: AP Photo\/Bilal Hussein<\/small><\/small>)<\/i><\/p>\n
Youmna, the young professional looking for a new start<\/big><\/big><\/b><\/p>\n
Youmna Chagoury has decided to go back to Benin. The small African country where she grew up is not really a model of peace and order, but the 27-year-old feels at home there. Her decision to leave is more of a personal choice: she’s looking for a professional change, and a fresh start. <\/p>\n
“I don’t think anyone leaves a country specifically, unless they truly hate it. People leave looking for a better job, a better salary, a better quality of life, which they feel their country can no longer provide,” she tells Beirut.com.<\/p>\n
But life in Lebanon has also started to annoy her. “Over the years, I’ve had several mini breaking points,” she says. “One of them is increased road rage. Lately, I’ve been unusually angry all the time. I can no longer stand being stuck in traffic in Beirut everyday. The way some Lebanese people behave on the road is very representative of how they are in life: bitter, angry, aggressive.”<\/p>\n
“There’s a moment in life when you realize that you’ve changed on a personal level, and you start to reflect on what made you change. Road rage may seem like a superficial excuse, but it’s a manifestation of a new side of me that I don’t like.”<\/p>\n
Youmna also says there’s a materialistic side to Lebanon that she doesn’t identify with. “I don’t think it’s my place to change the country. I would love to make certain things better, but at the end of the day, I feel like I’m living in a society that forces me to behave in a certain way.”<\/p>\n
Fida, the expatriate with dual citizenship<\/big><\/big><\/b> <\/p>\n
Fida Chaaban’s decision to leave is more explicit. Born and raised in Canada, she moved to Beirut three and a half years ago to help launch RagMag, a lifestyle magazine. She wasn’t entirely sure what to expect when she got here, and describes it as a “rude awakening.”<\/p>\n
“For me, the final breaking point was the bombing near the Iranian embassy [in November 2013]. I was already at the point where I’d had enough with the country, and writing yet another condolence message for the magazine was too much. It just wasn’t what I signed up for.”<\/p>\n
During her stay in Lebanon, Fida says things have gone from burning tires and blocking roads to gun fights, bombs, death, and mayhem. \u201cIt’s a state of civil unrest and chaos that I’d never seen before in my life.\u201d<\/p>\n
She also says she\u2019s exhausted by the \u201cconstant anger that permeates the air.\u201d \u201cI live in Hamra, so I hear people screaming at each other on a daily basis. I’ve seen fights break out in the middle of the street. The emotional toll that Lebanon takes on you is almost unbearable.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cEverybody keeps giving their ultimate best to just move on and pretend that things are “normal,”\u201d she adds. \u201cBut no matter what illusion you want to live under, this is not normal.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd I know a lot people want to leave but can’t, whether they can’t afford to or don’t have the right documentation. They’re kind of stuck. It’s unfortunate, and I don’t like to say “stuck,” like Lebanon is some kind of cage, but at times, I feel like it is. It’s like being trapped in a zone with no prospects, at the mercy of a handful of people. We are, as a country, being held hostage.\u201d<\/p>\n
But as an out-of-towner who\u2019s often encouraged non-Lebanese friends to come visit, Fida admits that the country is a great place to live in for a week or two. Tourists tend to get a kick out of the everyday frustrations, the lack of water, the sporadic electricity, and the slow Internet, which all make for funny anecdotes to tell back home. “But these people are not here when the going gets rough.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI’ve had a wonderful time here and I’ve met amazing people, but that’s no longer enough,\u201d she concludes. \u201cI wish I had it in me to stay, but Lebanon is no longer a feasible place to live.\u201d<\/p>\n
Abir, the fed-up activist<\/big><\/big><\/b> <\/p>\n