Fatmeh is one of hundreds of thousands of children who have fled Syria with their families. In Lebanon, she works in the fields up to 14 hours a day, clinging to her dream of going to college.
Protesters from a group that's translated as either "You Stink" or "You Reek" criticized the bid for being too expensive and the government for being too corrupt.
In a country with a stunning coastline, a lack of governance has allowed private developers to gobble up prime seaside real estate and shunt aside ordinary Lebanese who depend on public beaches.
Members of a Syrian indie rock band escaped their country's bloodshed and have become a mainstay of Beirut's music scene. "In spite of all the deaths," the band sings, "you are still alive."
Beirut's streets are piled with two weeks' worth of uncollected trash. To many Lebanese, it's no surprise. The country has been without a president for more than a year.
Tensions are rising between the flood of refugees and the Lebanese, who fear that the camps will become a drain on the country's resources. "We don't have anyplace to go," is one Syrian's cry.
Herbs like za'atar and sumac have long been stars of Lebanese cuisine. Now they're moving out of the kitchen and into beers and cocktails, infusing them with a patriotic taste.
The Pakistani education activist, who was shot in the head in 2012 by a Taliban gunman, marked her birthday with refugees in Lebanon. She warned that the world is "failing ... Syria's children."