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“In all of Lebanon—Dekwaneh, Jdeideh, Sabtiyeh, Karantina, al-Badawi, Nabaa, Tahwita, Furn el-Chebbak… there are now a hundred ‘nawaeer’; the ‘nawaeer” have multiplied.’ With these words, one tanker-truck owner sums up how the network of “nawaeer,”/ naoura, also known as water wheels, has expanded—the term he and his colleagues use for private water-filling stations that have become the backbone of a sector quenching the dry taps of the capital.

Tanker trucks roam Beirut’s streets like taxis, delivering water instead of passengers, while water—supposed to be a right for every citizen—is managed as a precious commodity controlled by a hidden network of traders. In the absence of the state and of transparency, the same question keeps surfacing: Who actually “owns” Beirut’s tap? And where do the tanker owners get their water?

With repeated cuts from official sources, the face of a service that once fell within the state’s remit has changed, turning into a private subscription run by phone. One Beirut resident told Daraj that their building now has what’s known as a “tanker subscription”: “We refill on a set day every Friday. We don’t even call the tanker owner: he comes on his own. It’s like the generator subscription.” Other residents confirm that they rely entirely on tanker water after canceling their subscription with the Beirut and Mount Lebanon Water Establishment.

Everyone Daraj spoke to agreed they had no idea where the tankers’ water comes from. “[Government] water isn’t coming; we fill from the tanker, but we don’t know where he gets it,” one Beirut resident said, adding, “Ask the building porter—maybe he knows.”

Under the slogan “Call me for water, I’ll answer,” written on one tanker, this parallel sector fills the gap between supply and demand for water coming from the Dbayeh station and Damour wells. Yet it remains governed by private interests and networks of influence that are hard to penetrate. And although Wells have become an essential part of daily life for residents of Beirut and its suburbs, the sector operates in the total absence of transparency standards, surrounding it with secrecy and ambiguity. Even the tanker drivers who deal with these wells daily admit how difficult it is to obtain any accurate information from their owners. One driver said, “No one will tell you anything; everyone is afraid for their own interests.” As for the naira owners themselves, they consider any question about them “an unethical line of inquiry.”

The sources from which tankers are filled vary: some draw from wells drilled near the sea, while others come from natural springs located higher up, away from the coast. In this context, a well owner explained in an interview with Daraj the difference between the two: “The area stretching from Nahr el-Mott to Jal el-Dib, Zalka, Nabaa, and even Damour is very close to the coastline. These aren’t running waters; they’re groundwater,” he said. “Because of the proximity to the sea and excessive well-drilling, the water has gradually mixed with salt water.” He continued, “We don’t fill from that. We have our own spring. The higher up you drill, the more the water comes from springs.” But as soon as he was asked additional questions about the sites where his tankers fill up, he abruptly ended the conversation, saying, “I’ve told you all I have. Anything more would mean you’re interrogating me and asking unethical questions. What are you—the Ministry of Energy—to be asking me this? Sorry, but what I’ve said is all I’ve got.”

Water is “Public Property”… But its Data Are A “State Secret”

Article 8 of Law No. 192/2020, amending Water Law 77/2018, stipulates that water is “public property and not subject to appropriation, ownership, or disposal in any form.” Public waters include groundwater—among them freshwater springs erupting offshore along the Lebanese coast—in addition to springs, wells, qanats (underground channels), irrigation ditches, water eyes, and other water sources designated for public use.

Under Decree No. 14438 issued on May 2, 1970, the Ministry of Energy and Water was granted the exclusive right to issue “notification receipts” (ʿilm w khabar) for drilling and operating artesian wells. Nevertheless, World Bank data indicate there are around 60,000 illegal wells in Greater Beirut and Mount Lebanon. In June 2025, the Minister of Energy and Water Joe Saddi sent a letter to the Directorate-General of Land Registration and Cadaster at the Ministry of Finance, attaching a list of 2,503 violating wells on Lebanese territory and requesting that notations be added to the property records of the affected parcels.

On September 9, 2025, Daraj submitted an official request (No. 2215/2025) to obtain information regarding licensed and unlicensed wells in various Lebanese regions.

For weeks, Daraj attempted to follow up on the request, yet communication with the ministry proved extremely difficult — reflecting a disregard for the principles of transparency and the public’s right to access information that should be open to citizens. Despite the expiry of the legally mandated 30-day period to issue either an approval or a reasoned rejection, Daraj has still not received any of the requested data, in clear violation of Access to Information Law No. 28/2017, as amended by Law No. 233/2021.

As of the publication of this investigation, a review of the websites of the four regional water establishments revealed marked differences in transparency and information disclosure. The Bekaa Water Establishment stated on its website that it has roughly 250 licensed wells within its territory. In contrast, the South Lebanon Water Establishment has suspended its website entirely, preventing access to any comparable information. The North Lebanon Water Establishment announced online that there are 120 licensed wells in its jurisdiction, while no similar data is available on the website of the Beirut and Mount Lebanon Water Establishment.

Tanker Trucks: The Key to the “naoura” Mystery

In the absence of any official map identifying groundwater well sites, and with no signage marking their locations, tanker trucks have become the only visible witness to their existence. Their daily movement exposes a parallel, unofficial distribution network that effectively controls groundwater while household taps run dry.

Near one “naoura” in Jdeideh, north of Beirut, fourteen large tanker trucks stand in line, as if testifying to a reality that contradicts the narrative of scarcity. This daily scene, replicated across Beirut and its suburbs, lays bare the true dysfunction in water management. The problem is not a “shortage of resources,” as is often claimed, but rather mismanagement, monopolized distribution, and a network operating outside state authority. Water is abundant underground and extracted extensively — yet it flows in the opposite direction of the public network, diverted instead to the black market, where it is sold as a private commodity rather than a public right. As one tanker owner told Daraj: “The smallest naoura produces between 100 and 120 trips a day — that’s roughly one million liters daily.”

In another Beirut neighborhood, the same scene repeats: four tanker trucks queued in front of a water naoura, waiting their turn. When we attempted to inquire about the owners of the property, the reply came cautiously: “Who are you? Do you have tankers and want to fill them? Here’s the landowner’s number — call him.”

We asked, “What’s required?” He responded: “I have a spring on the site, but no tankers come to fill from me.”

When confronted with the fact that a driver had given us his number directly, he replied: “Sometimes they fill… I don’t know how often. I need to ask the caretakers.”

Daraj was unable to verify the legal status of the wells in question because the Ministry of Energy and Water refused to provide the requested data within the legally mandated deadline.

The Inheritance of Water

The water file reflects the structure of Lebanon’s political system, built on alliances between families and local authorities and on the division of resources among networks of influence. Just as families and political patrons divided up municipalities, tanker-truck and naoura owners divide and distribute water within their zones of control. The state’s abdication of its responsibilities in favor of the black market represents another form of clientelism: naoura and tanker owners jointly determine when water is distributed, at what price, and who receives priority.

An employee at one naoura said he only sells water to specific tanker clients: “Our work increases in summer. In winter it slows down, so those who serve us in winter, we serve them in summer,” he said, explaining the operating mechanism:
“At 7 a.m., I shut down the naoura. Whether there is water or not, I shut it down so it doesn’t run dry.”

In the absence of oversight and accountability, water has fallen under the rule of “the tanker families,” turning a basic right into a privilege subject to influence — shifting from public property to an inherited resource divided among local networks. Tanker trucks are now known by family names: Takkoush, Boustani, Sfeir, Nasr, Amhaz, Mawla, Andraos, Rashkidi, Murr, and others.

These trucks line streets and squeeze into small side lots — some branded with company names and phone numbers, others with no markings at all — waiting for the next call to deliver “underground water delivery,” while the state stacks up dam projects that never fill.

A Zone for Every Naoura and a Naoura for Every Sphere of Influence

Tanker owners agree that the number of wells has increased significantly in recent years. They now stretch from Antelias, Dekwaneh, and Jdeideh north of Beirut, to Hazmieh, Furn el-Chebbak, and Tahwita to the east, to Karantina, Mar Mikhael, Achrafieh, and Jisr el-Basha in the center, and as far as Choueifat and Kfarchima to the south and southeast.

One tanker owner told Daraj: “In Dekwaneh street there are around 12 wells, in Jdeideh around 10, in Furn el-Chebbak heading from Souk el-Ahad to the municipal stadium, near Université La Sagesse, there are two wells. In Tahwita there are three to four, and in Karantina near the fish market there’s one, and another opposite the Porsche dealership.”

Another said: “In Dekwaneh’s industrial zone there’s a large water wheel. Across from Aoun charcuterie there’s one. And in Antelias, Naba’ el-Fawar. That’s the biggest naoura in Lebanon.”

These wells are known by their owners’ names, effectively becoming “brands” in the parallel water market. “Most tanker trucks have their own naoura,” one owner explained, revealing a layered local power network run through informal territorial arrangements.

Despite the apparent chaos in this extralegal sector, there is an unwritten system governing relations between naoura owners and tanker drivers. Each naoura serves a specific area and its designated clients. A tanker driver told Daraj: “There are many sources, but they don’t fill for everyone. Each fills for his customers. If you’re from Jdeideh, the Dekwaneh people won’t fill for you — they’ll say you’re not their client.”
“As a regular client, I pay $17 per load. If I’m not a client — $25 or $30. During the crisis it reached $40.”

This “geographic-clientelist” distribution reveals an internal structure parallel to the state: prices and services defined by influence and patronage — yet still entirely informal and unregulated, fueling continued chaos in Lebanon’s water sector.

Environmental Impact Assessments: A Law Sitting in Ministry Drawers

Annex 2 of Decree 8633/2012 specifies the types of projects requiring a preliminary environmental report, while Annex 8 lists projects requiring a full Environmental Impact Assessment, including wastewater, irrigation, and drinking water projects.

However, under the 2020 licensing procedure for well-drilling permits (ʿilm w khabar), the requirement for permitting deep wells (over 150 meters) is limited to a technical report by one of three Ministry-approved auditing firms — BTD, ELARD, or APAVE Lebanon — with no requirement for environmental data. As a result, wells can be licensed and operated without any oversight of their impact on groundwater or public health.

Permit applications for non-artesian wells deeper than 150 meters are divided into categories—agricultural, residential, industrial, tourism, and other. However, these applications do not require any information related to environmental impact assessment, allowing wells to be licensed and operated without any oversight of their effect on groundwater or public health.

Former Environment Minister Nasser Yassin confirmed to Daraj that during his tenure, “no party submitted a request for an environmental impact assessment as a condition for obtaining a well-drilling permit from the Ministry of Energy and Water,”
despite clear laws requiring it.

The former head of the tanker owners’ syndicate and current head of the Beirut and Mount Lebanon Water Establishment told Daraj the utility is willing to cooperate if sources of tanker supply are disclosed: “We cooperate with citizens and the authorities. If you give us addresses, I’ll be grateful. We’ll take the necessary measures.”

But he added that the utility only intervenes when tankers draw from its water: “If a tanker is taking from us, then he’s stealing. And if the water stayed with us, it would reach you.”

Thirst is not fate; but the result of a system that steers water between the underground and household tanks, turning it from a public right into a profitable commodity blessed by a state that withholds information just as it withholds water.