Last year, Kamal took his eldest son, Hassan, to meet a people smuggler. Kamal had made up his mind: he had to find a way to get his son, who was 21, out of Shatila refugee camp in southern Beirut, where three generations of his family had now spent their whole lives. “I wanted him to leave not because of the financial situation – thank God we are doing OK – but I sent him away to escape life in this camp,” Kamal told me recently. “There is no future here for the young.”
Kamal, a man in his late 40s, with broad shoulders, an angular jaw and dark curly hair, is a marginally well-to-do businessman within the impoverished confines of Shatila. He owns a small shop that sells mobile phones and cosmetics. Even so, to come up with the $5,000 demanded by the smuggler, he had to borrow a hefty sum, in addition to spending all his savings. Recounting the story, Kamal spoke quickly, jamming sentences together. His face was gaunt and dark circles framed his eyes. He looked exhausted.
