BEIRUT, Dec. 18 (Xinhua) -- In this village near the southern city of Nabatieh, Perla Shalhoub's hands are blackened with grease and machine oil. At 25, she spends her days bent over the open maw of a sedan, the metallic cadence of a wrench echoing through her workshop.
"I've always loved engines," Shalhoub said, her eyes fixed on a manifold. "It's not about strength. It's about knowledge and care."
Shalhoub's expertise is evident in the practiced precision with which she adjusts a brake line or consults a tablet for diagnostics. But in a conservative corner of Lebanon, her reputation was hard-won. When she first opened shop, customers frequently asked to speak to a male colleague. Today, through a mix of grit and technical consistency, she has recalibrated local expectations of what a mechanic looks like.
Lebanon is currently weathering one of the worst financial collapses in modern history. As the middle class vanishes and the local currency loses its grip on reality, the struggle for survival has pushed women into sectors long considered the exclusive domain of men.
Yet the path remains uphill. According to United Nations data, while women comprise more than half of Lebanon's working-age population, their participation in the labor market has withered to just 22.2 percent, compared with 66.2 percent for men.
A few miles northeast, in the Beirut suburb of Dora, Cynthia Lyane, 37, maneuvers a vehicle into a cramped workshop with the casual ease of someone who lives behind the wheel. Lyane is Lebanon's first female drifting champion and now serves as an automotive consultant.
"I fell in love with cars at 13," Lyane said. "When competitions finally opened to women, I started racing. People hesitate at first, but once they see the depth of my knowledge, that hesitation turns to trust."
The revolution is not limited to the garage. On the congested, sun-bleached streets of Beirut, Hanan Chehab, 54, weaves through a gridlock of idling SUVs on her motorcycle. She operates a "moto-taxi" service exclusively for women, providing a swift alternative to the city's crumbling public transit.
"People told me I would cause accidents simply because I'm a woman," Chehab said, her grip firm on the handlebars. "Some mocked me online for wearing a veil while riding. I ignore them. I can get my clients through traffic in 20 minutes while a car sits for two hours. I serve them from the heart."
While these women are driven by individual grit, sociologists see a broader structural shift. Karima Chebbo, a gender researcher, noted that their visibility is a direct challenge to the "gendered" nature of decision-making and manual labor.
"Every woman entering a male-dominated field is challenging a fundamental stereotype," she said. "They are proving that focus, multitasking, and decision-making are not gendered traits."
Batoul Yahfoufi, a rural development expert, on the other hand, believes that what began as a desperate hedge against a broken economy may be turning into a permanent cultural shift.
"Economic necessity pushed women into these sectors, but decades of education have made it socially possible," Yahfoufi said. "Families are starting to support daughters in careers once seen as unconventional. This is a transformation of the Lebanese identity."
Progress, however, remains uneven. Joumana Merhi, director of the Arab Institute for Human Rights in Lebanon, noted that many still see women in these roles as stepping outside their socially assigned positions.
"They are often accused of imitating men," she said. "Yet their success is slowly reshaping public opinion. These trends are not temporary. They will expand and gradually alter Lebanon's cultural landscape."
