
by Fatima Al Mahmoud thenationalnews.com — — In May 2021, my life changed when I made the decision to move from Lebanon to the UAE. It wasn’t an easy choice, but it was the obvious one. After an economic collapse, a pandemic and one of the largest non-nuclear explosions in history, there was only so much more I could take. I began interviewing for my current job at The National immediately after the Beirut blast. Aside from wanting to join an esteemed news organisation, I also really wanted a way out of Lebanon. I remember the editors sensing my despair when my internet completely failed me during our second-stage interview. I made it absolutely clear that I wanted to relocate. Of course I dreaded having to leave my family behind to pursue my career. In fact, it’s one of the toughest things I’ve had to do, but one thing brought me solace — I’d think to myself, they can always come visit. Little did I know, I couldn’t have been more wrong.
The plan was for me to move, get my residency and find a house before brining my mother over to help me get settled in. She was meant to help me furnish the apartment from scratch, teach me a few recipes and maybe even cook a few of my favourite meals that I can keep frozen for when I’m craving a taste of home. But for more than a year now, she has been on an endless waiting list to get her Lebanese passport renewed, and the end is far from near. A lack of funds has crippled Lebanon’s public sector and made it increasingly difficult for people to obtain new travel documents. The earliest available appointment on the General Security’s website is in 2024, with thousands of people waiting for their turn after the demand for a passport surged over the past two years. Many are calling my home country an “open-air prison”. Somehow it feels fitting. Lebanon’s inability to issue passports is only one outcome of decades of corruption and mismanagement.








