The arrivals hall at Beirut International Airport. (Credit: Mohammad Yassine/L'Orient-Le Jour)
At the entrance of the arrivals hall at Beirut International Airport, a group of taxi drivers waited for clients, who are few and far between.
“Last summer and this one are completely different, especially with the flight cancellations,” said one taxi driver.
Usually crowded at this time of year, there are a few people at the airport exit to greet the few travelers.
In recent days, increasingly more embassies, including those of France, the United States and the United Kingdom, have been urging their citizens to leave Lebanon and advising against travel to the country, as the risk of regional escalation increased following last Tuesday’s Israeli strike on Beirut’s southern suburbs, which killed Fouad Shukur, a senior Hezbollah official, and the assassination the following day of Hamas political leader Ismail Haniyeh in Tehran.
However, not everyone seemed to heed these warnings. Despite the looming threat of a “total” war and the escalating clashes between Hezbollah and Israel, some expatriates and foreigners were still determined to come.
“Hey, you didn’t give me a kiss!” said Imad* to his sister Hiba, who has been living in Kuwait for three years. All summer long, Hiba had been postponing her vacation to Lebanon. The mother, who will spend her stay in Nabatiyeh, in the south of the country, even considered canceling once again. But ultimately, she decided to “leave it in God’s hands.”
“I don’t think anything will happen,” she said, trying to reassure herself even though she knows the country is on the brink of explosion. “At least I will be with my family.”
Ali shared the same sentiment, not having seen his family for ten years. With a backpack on his shoulder, he headed toward the exit after more than a day of layover in Antalya. This Syrian, who lives in Sweden — where the embassy in Lebanon has been relocated to Cyprus — is set to reunite with his relatives coming from Damascus. “I couldn’t miss this opportunity. For me, the situation is still calm,” said the 28-year-old. “And besides, Lebanon is paradise.”
Joseph, an expatriate in his 30s in Riyadh for nearly three years, also downplayed the risk of imminent conflict looming over the country.
“I was here two weeks ago. I love Lebanon, that’s all,” he said.
This time, his family advised him not to come, but to no avail. “I’ve gotten used to this instability now. All I want is to be with them. And if there is a war, we’ll find a way to escape together,” added the young man from Koura in northern Lebanon. Lea*, who lives in Dubai, echoed his sentiments. “If a war breaks out, I prefer to be here rather than far from my family.”
Natalie waited for her taxi. This mother, who left the country for Dubai after the 2020 Beirut port explosion, decided to return for a few days to pick up her two children who spent their vacation in Lebanon.
“I don’t want to risk leaving them here alone,” she said. “But I have mixed feelings: Part of me would have preferred to stay here with my family. We wonder what the best decision is.”
‘Everything is uncertain’
In the departure hall, the dilemma was the same, but the atmosphere was entirely different. Here, many were trying to leave the country, fearing the worst-case scenario.
Heavy-hearted, they faced the prospect of leaving their loved ones and friends. Not a single seat was available, and all eyes were fixed on the screens.
After arriving at the airport, Tania and her family had to turn back: Their flight to Amman had been canceled. They were supposed to spend the entire summer in Lebanon but decided to cut their vacation short after the embassy warnings. “Everything happening is frustrating. Everything is uncertain,” she said.
Others managed to leave. In the crowd, Mounia, accompanied by her two young daughters, said a final goodbye to her family.
“It’s difficult to leave them, but I’m afraid a war will break out and the airport will close while my husband is still in Canada,” explained the Lebanese-Canadian in her forties. Before passing through the first security gate, Rita* embraced her son one last time as he returned to Dubai. He was supposed to stay for ten more days. “He couldn’t risk staying ... May God help this country,” she said.
Outside the office of the national airline Middle East Airlines, two teenage girls waited for Salwa*, their mother, who had just booked them a flight to Riyadh. Salwa took two days off work to take them to their father. It was a decision she made after the July 30 strike on Beirut’s southern suburbs.
“I just want to keep my daughters safe ... I don’t want them to pay the price for these conflicts and suffer the same fate as my generation,” she said. While she knew her own return date, she had no idea when she will be able to see her children again.
*Names have been changed at the request of the interviewees.
This article was originally published in L'Orient-Le Jour and translated by Sahar Ghoussoub.
