For many Syrian families living as refugees in Lebanon, the question of education is rarely simple. It is not just about finding a school, it is about whether a family can afford to have a child in one. When survival depends on every pair of hands, the classroom can feel like a luxury. At Jusoor, we don't look away from that reality. We build our programs around it.
This is the story of two boys who refused to let their circumstances have the final word and two approaches Jusoor takes to reach children who need to work from a young age to survive.
Selling Juice in the Afternoon
Yahya is ten years old. He lives in Jeb Jennine, in Lebanon's Bekaa Valley, with his eight siblings. The family is large, and the resources are few: of the nine children, only two are currently in school.
Every morning, Yahya walks to Jusoor's education center. He sits in class, learns his letters and numbers, and lights up the room. His teachers have noticed a genuine talent and passion for learning that shows up in everything he does, a brightness that refuses to be dimmed by circumstance. Every afternoon, Yahya goes to work. He stands with his father and two older brothers, selling fresh juice to passersby.
When asked what he wants to be when he grows up, Yahya does not hesitate: a doctor.
Jusoor's center in Jeb Jennine exists precisely for children like Yahya, children whose families cannot afford school fees or struggle to enrol in public schools because of their refugee status. Jusoor gave Yahya what he had been missing: an opportunity to learn and experience being a child.
The Boy Behind the Counter
Twelve-year-old Obeid's world, before Jusoor, was the four walls of his family's small fruit and vegetable shop. His family's financial circumstances and refugee status made formal schooling impossible, and so his days were spent carrying produce, arranging goods, and helping customers.
The turning point came when a neighbor told Obeid about Azima, Jusoor's online learning program, delivered through WhatsApp, and designed for children who cannot go to school. Obeid was given a simple smartphone and enrolled. He began working through literacy and numeracy lessons at his own pace, fitting them into the rhythms of his working day.
The changes came quickly and ran deep. Obeid can now read product labels, shop signs, and customer lists. He calculates prices accurately, gives correct change, and has taken on the responsibility of managing his father's basic accounts. The shy, quiet boy behind the counter became someone who moves through the shop with purpose and confidence.
He now dreams of continuing his education and one day owning his own business.
The Reality of Working Refugee Children
Yahya and Obeid, like many refugee children, share something essential: they are children whose potential was never in doubt, only their access. According to UNHCR, 75% of Syrian refugees in Lebanon live in extreme poverty, with 2017 figures pointing to 180,000 Syrian refugee children forced into child labor.
Their stories also reflect something Jusoor has learned over years of working with Syrian refugee communities in Lebanon: that for many families, school and work are not opposites. They coexist. A program that ignores that reality will never reach the children who need it most. Jusoor's in-person centers offer free education timed around the demands of family life. Azima takes the classroom directly to children for whom even a short journey to a center is a barrier.
Neither Yahya nor Obeid is a passive recipient of support. Both are contributing to their families, carrying real responsibilities, and showing up every day. What Jusoor offers them is not charity; it is the chance to add something to their lives that no one should have to go without: the belief that their future is still open.
Yahya wants to be a doctor. Obeid wants to build his own business. These are not small dreams for boys their age — they are declarations. And behind each one is a community of supporters, teachers, and peers who help to make them possible.
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