Picking Up the Pieces in Tyre
While many Lebanese have returned to the southern coastal city, many others never left it and are now describing having survived the relentless two-month Israeli bombing campaign there
In Tyre, the coastal city in southern Lebanon, no flowers bloom in November or early December. The bougainvillea provides the only splash of color on the city streets. Its orange, pink, and white pop out among the greenery, reminding passers-by that this is a Mediterranean city.
The grieving families in Tyre have no choice but to bring bougainvillea to their dead, as there are no other flowers for those who survived. In a vast field on the outskirts of the southern city, the disturbed earth, the long black robes of mourners, and the wailing of pure heartbreak indicate that beneath the dust are the bodies of loved ones, acquaintances, and strangers. Families cling to someone who tells them that there, in that improvised mass grave amid bombs that are still falling, are their relatives.
Women throw themselves against that patch of earth without any apparent marks. They dirty their black dresses with dust. They stir it, smell it, kiss it. They burst into tears. There, they have their children, grandchildren, nephews, and nieces, the blood of their blood. Young and old, entire families abandon themselves to sobbing and desolation for a forced loss they did not choose, a loss that has taken everything from them.
In this mass grave alone, the lifeless bodies of 175 people are deposited. Mothers take their time, caressing the dust and clinging to it. But there is no time for sadness, the men of their family tell them. The women wipe away their tears while being reminded there is no place for sorrow in victory. Even so, fathers also fix their gaze on the mound that hides the body of what was once their young son.
Many of these Lebanese lost their lives taking up arms with Hezbollah to fight against Israel. Other survivors from the rubble in Tyre here have been working as part of the civil defense, rescue, and emergency services. Some of the 175 dead were civilians, like the daughter of Mahmoud Faqih’s aunt.
We are from Aita el Shaab [a village on the border with Israel], and we came to Tyre seeking refuge because our village has been completely destroyed. Two days before the cease-fire, my aunt’s daughter was killed in an Israeli attack on the Lebanese army.
“We are from Aita el Shaab [a village on the border with Israel], and we came to Tyre seeking refuge because our village has been completely destroyed,” he told The Media Line. “Two days before the cease-fire, my aunt’s daughter was killed in an Israeli attack on the Lebanese army,” he added.
On Saturday afternoon, Mahmoud came with his three children and his wife to visit the piece of land where his cousin is waiting to be buried in her village.
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Meanwhile, less than a couple of kilometers away, in the heart of Tyre, life is bursting forth. There is absolutely no one sitting around. The population is out on the streets under a splendid Mediterranean sun, which brings a light breeze to the battered city. Some have no choice because the rubble they step on is all that remains of their homes. Many defy gravity to climb inside a building without walls to retrieve some of their belongings from their homes.
People here are so connected to the city, especially to their homes, that they couldn’t really leave Tyre. My family was always asking me to leave Tyre, but I have a role to play, a service to provide, and although I know it’s dangerous, many people need it.
“People here are so connected to the city, especially to their homes, that they couldn’t really leave Tyre,” said Mahmoud Latouf, a young nurse who has spent every single day of the war under Israeli bombs. “My family was always asking me to leave Tyre, but I have a role to play, a service to provide, and although I know it’s dangerous, many people need it,” he told The Media Line.
This young man from Tyre is a nurse and works for the Lebanon-based NGO Amel Association International, one of the few health organizations –“the only one,” he claims – that has stayed in the city during these two months of intense Israeli offensive, which has killed around 3,300 people across the country.
After the 2006 war [between Hezbollah and Israel, which lasted 34 days and killed just over 1,000 people], dozens of organizations came to Tyre to help, although only four bombs fell here.
“After the 2006 war [between Hezbollah and Israel, which lasted 34 days and killed just over 1,000 people], dozens of organizations came to Tyre to help, although only four bombs fell here,” Mona Shaker, director of the Amel Center in Tyre, told The Media Line.
According to Shaker, on the streets of Tyre, there are currently only civilians cleaning up the tens of thousands of shards of glass surrounding each demolished building. “I have lived through many wars, and I have continued to work: these may be the most difficult circumstances we have faced, as this war has been very hard and destructive, but we, the owners of this land, want to be strong, we want to return to life,” she said.
Her speech is repeatedly interrupted by workers from the Amel Center who, with masks over their mouths and gloves in hand, spend their first bomb-free Saturday cleaning the facilities. Mona instantly comes up with a solution for each problem that arises.
This war is possibly the worst of all wars.
“This war is possibly the worst of all wars,” Tyre resident Salwa Ibrahim Bitar told The Media Line. At 88 years old, she speaks with knowledge of the facts. In the half-century, she lived in her house and saw how wars passed through her street but never entered her home. Until the Israeli army arrived again recently and, with a simple bombing, reduced her house from four rooms to just one.
When the impact occurred in the middle of the night, three buildings fell on hers and destroyed the living room and three more rooms. “If I had slept in my room that night, I would not be here,” admitted Bitar’s daughter, Fatima Hakim. Something greater than her told her that night that she would rather sleep with her brothers and mother in a different room.
We have no money and no one to help us, much less to rebuild.
After spending 15 days in Beirut at her sister’s house, the Hakims have had no other option than to return to Tyre, their now smaller home. “We have no money and no one to help us, much less to rebuild,” said son Ahmed Hakim. The three of them currently sleep in a single room and have been able to keep the kitchen and a bathroom. Despite the poverty, they feel lucky because they can continue to tell the tale.
Not far away, dozens of their fellow citizens wait to be buried under the earth that’s been removed to create an improvised mass grave. Bougainvillea marks some of the bodies that have been recognized, visited, and loved. For other unidentified bodies, no one will come to see them because no relations are left alive or else. After all, no one knows they were killed.
On some of the mounds, the bougainvillea has already dried up. Just a handful of the plants are still fresh. It seems an attempt to bring back to life the bodies hidden under the earth. With nothing physical to offer, a woman sits in front of the mound of earth that her husband has indicated to her. “How do you know it is this one? 93?” she asks him, seeing no sign in the sand. “Because I know it,” he says.
She spends a good while on her knees reading the Koran to the loved one buried beneath her, oblivious to the world around her. A couple of mounds further on, an Opel tire identifies another dead person. There are still holes in the earth for more victims to be buried. Behind them, the bulldozer is still there, just in case the current cease-fire does not continue and there is no end to the war. The vast and flat land is ready to welcome all who will come.
