Standing at the door of the metal container he has lived in for four years, Samir al-Ali has all but lost hope of ever seeing his home rebuilt in Lebanon's Nahr al-Bared refugee camp.
"Life is hard," said Ali, 65, a former resident of the Palestinian camp in north Lebanon which was levelled in 2007 as the army battled Al-Qaeda-inspired group Fatah al-Islam.
Ali, who goes by the nickname Abu Alaa, is among 31,000 refugees left homeless by the Nahr al-Bared war who are still waiting to see their camp rebuilt.
With a white moustache and deeply lined face, Ali looks older than his 65 years as he recounts the hardships the refugees have endured since the conflict.
"For four years now we have been living like rats in these so-called houses which are not even fit for animals," he said outside a row of containers with just tiny windows for ventilation.
The Lebanese state, Palestine Liberation Organisation and UN Relief and Works Agency for Palestine Refugees in the Near East (UNRWA) are overseeing the reconstruction, begun in 2009, of the destroyed camp.
But a year from the promised delivery date, thousands of refugees have yet to see their homes rebuilt as UNRWA grapples with a cash shortage and amid Lebanon's omnipresent political wrangling.
In the aftermath of the Nahr al-Bared battles, which killed 400 people, donor pledges poured in amid plans to rehabilitate the camp as a model for Lebanon's 12 destitute refugee camps.
But as of April 2011, UNRWA had handed over new houses to one of eight groups of displaced families, and only 40 percent of the funding needed to rebuild the camp had been met.
At a news conference in Beirut on Friday, UNRWA Commissioner-General Filippo Grandi confirmed that his group was still 207 million dollars short in its Nahr al-Bared budget.
Maya Majzoub, head of the Lebanese Palestinian Dialogue Committee, expects a mere 400 out of 6,000 families to return to their homes by September, but remains hopeful that the limited progress will secure more donors.
"I think that when donor countries see that their money has built a better life for the refugees, this will prove an incentive for them to continue their donations," Majzoub told AFP.
There are warnings that the deteriorating humanitarian situation of the refugees will only lead to disaster.
"If we add the crammed housing arrangements and lack of private space to unemployment and the absence of any prospects, the result is inevitably increased social ills like drug use and domestic violence," said social worker Hana Hatem.
"Classes are also held in metal containers, some of which hold more than 50 pupils at a time, who suffer hypothermia in winter and overheating in the summer.
"We regularly have cases of nosebleeds and even children who pass out."
The camp today is a ghost town: rats run through bullet-riddled abandoned concrete buildings the refugees once called home.
Near the cluster of metal containers where Abu Alaa lives is another group of houses, but these are made of stone. Ali Rahal sarcastically calls them Nahr al-Bared's "high-end sector."
"At least it offers some protection from fire in the summer and drowning when it rains," said the 60-year-old.
The recently retired construction worker said tight security within and outside the camp has also made life more difficult for Palestinians.
"When Fatah al-Islam surfaced in our camp, we were all rallying behind the Lebanese army," he told AFP. "But today, we need the Lebanese. We need them to help us restore our lives."
Lebanon houses between 250,000 and 300,000 Palestinian refugees crammed into 12 camps across the country, according to state and UN figures. The refugees are denied citizenship in Lebanon and are excluded from a number of professions.
By longstanding convention, the Lebanese army does not enter the camps, leaving security inside to Palestinian factions.
However, the masterplan for the new Nahr al-Bared includes for the first time a police station and an army base, and should in theory set a model for reform in the other camps.
In 2007, the army sealed off all entrances to Nahr al-Bared, and Palestinians are not allowed to access their homes without military permission. Journalists also need army permission to enter.
In Nahr al-Bared, residents wearily eyed the army minders with an AFP team inside the camp.
"We have all respect for the army and for army intelligence, but this situation cannot go on," said Palestinian Shadi Abu al-Ghosh. "We cannot breathe."
Marwan Abdel Aal, a Palestine Liberation Organisation official charged with overseeing the Nahr al-Bared case, echoed Ghosh's complaint, urging the army to grant refugees access to their original homes.
"The reason military security was necessary in the camp no longer stands," he said.
"The knife that was the threat is no more," added Abdel Aal of Fatah al-Islam.
Ali, who goes by the nickname Abu Alaa, is among 31,000 refugees left homeless by the Nahr al-Bared war who are still waiting to see their camp rebuilt.
With a white moustache and deeply lined face, Ali looks older than his 65 years as he recounts the hardships the refugees have endured since the conflict.
"For four years now we have been living like rats in these so-called houses which are not even fit for animals," he said outside a row of containers with just tiny windows for ventilation.
The Lebanese state, Palestine Liberation Organisation and UN Relief and Works Agency for Palestine Refugees in the Near East (UNRWA) are overseeing the reconstruction, begun in 2009, of the destroyed camp.
But a year from the promised delivery date, thousands of refugees have yet to see their homes rebuilt as UNRWA grapples with a cash shortage and amid Lebanon's omnipresent political wrangling.
In the aftermath of the Nahr al-Bared battles, which killed 400 people, donor pledges poured in amid plans to rehabilitate the camp as a model for Lebanon's 12 destitute refugee camps.
But as of April 2011, UNRWA had handed over new houses to one of eight groups of displaced families, and only 40 percent of the funding needed to rebuild the camp had been met.
At a news conference in Beirut on Friday, UNRWA Commissioner-General Filippo Grandi confirmed that his group was still 207 million dollars short in its Nahr al-Bared budget.
Maya Majzoub, head of the Lebanese Palestinian Dialogue Committee, expects a mere 400 out of 6,000 families to return to their homes by September, but remains hopeful that the limited progress will secure more donors.
"I think that when donor countries see that their money has built a better life for the refugees, this will prove an incentive for them to continue their donations," Majzoub told AFP.
There are warnings that the deteriorating humanitarian situation of the refugees will only lead to disaster.
"If we add the crammed housing arrangements and lack of private space to unemployment and the absence of any prospects, the result is inevitably increased social ills like drug use and domestic violence," said social worker Hana Hatem.
"Classes are also held in metal containers, some of which hold more than 50 pupils at a time, who suffer hypothermia in winter and overheating in the summer.
"We regularly have cases of nosebleeds and even children who pass out."
The camp today is a ghost town: rats run through bullet-riddled abandoned concrete buildings the refugees once called home.
Near the cluster of metal containers where Abu Alaa lives is another group of houses, but these are made of stone. Ali Rahal sarcastically calls them Nahr al-Bared's "high-end sector."
"At least it offers some protection from fire in the summer and drowning when it rains," said the 60-year-old.
The recently retired construction worker said tight security within and outside the camp has also made life more difficult for Palestinians.
"When Fatah al-Islam surfaced in our camp, we were all rallying behind the Lebanese army," he told AFP. "But today, we need the Lebanese. We need them to help us restore our lives."
Lebanon houses between 250,000 and 300,000 Palestinian refugees crammed into 12 camps across the country, according to state and UN figures. The refugees are denied citizenship in Lebanon and are excluded from a number of professions.
By longstanding convention, the Lebanese army does not enter the camps, leaving security inside to Palestinian factions.
However, the masterplan for the new Nahr al-Bared includes for the first time a police station and an army base, and should in theory set a model for reform in the other camps.
In 2007, the army sealed off all entrances to Nahr al-Bared, and Palestinians are not allowed to access their homes without military permission. Journalists also need army permission to enter.
In Nahr al-Bared, residents wearily eyed the army minders with an AFP team inside the camp.
"We have all respect for the army and for army intelligence, but this situation cannot go on," said Palestinian Shadi Abu al-Ghosh. "We cannot breathe."
Marwan Abdel Aal, a Palestine Liberation Organisation official charged with overseeing the Nahr al-Bared case, echoed Ghosh's complaint, urging the army to grant refugees access to their original homes.
"The reason military security was necessary in the camp no longer stands," he said.
"The knife that was the threat is no more," added Abdel Aal of Fatah al-Islam.
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