An abandoned wheat field in Rayak, and in the background, the Anti-Lebanon mountain range, on July 2, 2025. (Credit: Ali Baalbacki/L'Orient-Le Jour)
Under a blazing sun and temperatures topping 30 degrees Celsius, workers in brightly colored clothes stoop to pull potatoes from the dry soil of Rayak, in Lebanon’s central Bekaa Valley. The once-green meadows of the region have turned brown this year. While Hamza Moussawi’s potatoes were narrowly saved, his wheat crops were not.
“We had to sacrifice our wheat this year,” says the farmer, pointing to a barren field where irrigation pipes lie empty. “The potato costs us much more than we sell it for, given all the money we spend on irrigation,” he tells L’Orient-Le Jour. Moussawi estimates the cost of production at about $350 per ton, while potatoes sell for only $200 to $225.
What is happening on Moussawi’s land reflects a broader crisis facing thousands of farmers in the Bekaa and across Lebanon’s agricultural plains after an exceptionally dry winter. According to Meteo-Liban data, just 268.4 millimeters of rain fell in Zahle this past winter, compared to 741.8 mm the year before. The 30-year seasonal average is 668 mm. Snowfall, a crucial water source, was also scarce.
“The 100-meter-deep wells that farmers usually rely on are mostly dry. You now have to dig down 200, 300, even 400 meters to find water,” says Ibrahim Tarshishi, head of the National Farmers’ Union and himself a farmer and landowner in Rayak.
Only a fortunate few can afford to dig that deep. Surface water is also at a historic low, forcing farmers to pump water at higher energy costs — or buy it outright. As a result, irrigation expenses have soared.
“This year, the irrigation cost jumped from about 7 percent of production to nearly 30 percent. That’s catastrophic,” Tarshishi says.
The Bekaa’s farmers, already battered by years of economic collapse and now the repercussions of the war between Hezbollah and Israel, are facing yet another existential threat. “Roughly 15 percent of farmers had to abandon their crops, which is like suicide for a farmer. And at least 50 percent couldn’t irrigate properly, suffering serious production losses,” Tarshishi says.
Back on the ground, Moussawi admits this year’s potato harvest came early, with many crops failing to fully mature. He points to fields where brown stalks wither under the sun, overrun by pests that appear during dry spells.
“We call them thirst parasites,” he says.
Tarshishi adds that this year’s wheat crop was “five times smaller” than usual. “And what we did manage to salvage had to be irrigated four times during winter — compared to just once in normal years,” he says. “Just 20 to 40 minutes of steady rainfall would have soaked the wheat roots and saved the harvest, but we didn’t even get that this winter.”
Lebanon also experienced extreme weather swings — sandstorms, early heat waves that triggered premature budding in fruit trees, followed by sudden cold snaps that destroyed the fruit. “This is climate change, day to day,” says Tarshishi. But with a farmer’s stoicism, he adds, “It could be worse. We don’t know what God has in store for us.”
“So they want to finish us off?”
As if the drought weren’t enough, new government-imposed fuel taxes are pushing many over the edge. A recent increase on diesel, intended to fund pay raises for military personnel, has made pumping water even more expensive.
“Instead of declaring an agricultural emergency, they hit us with this? It’s eating away the last bit of profit we had. So they want to finish us off?” says Moussawi.
Tarshishi gestures toward solar panels on his land. “With all this sun, we could run our irrigation systems without diesel. But now, with the drought, we have to pump water 24 hours a day — including at night — so we’re back to using diesel generators,” he explains.
And the cost is ultimately passed down to consumers. “Take cherries — they’ve been decimated this year. You’ll find them in stores at $10 to $15 per kilo. Five-star fruit, what else can I say?” Tarshishi quips.
Solutions exist, but political will doesn’t
Tarshishi says viable solutions are within reach. He calls for the construction of hill reservoirs to better manage water and renewed efforts to combat smuggling along Lebanon’s porous border with Syria.
“Lebanese produce is still superior in quality to smuggled goods,” he says. “We take care of our land and only irrigate with clean water — even if it’s scarce.”
For now, however, Lebanon’s farmers are left to fend for themselves.
“Every day, we wonder what new disaster will hit us,” says Moussawi, wiping sweat from his brow. “We’re holding on because it’s our land, and we don’t want to leave it. But until when?”
