"We received so much information that it was hard to process," said Rayane Kdouh, 26, reflecting on the days leading up to her family’s hasty evacuation from their home. Her village, al-Souwaneh, in the Marjayoun district, was "bombed in the very first hours of the war," she recalled. A first-year master's student in information and communication science at the Lebanese University, Kdouh struggles to grasp the full extent and severity of her reality amid the ongoing war. "Destroyed houses, blocked roads, lost acquaintances and heavy threats hanging over civilians," she summarized.

"It's hard to leave your home without knowing where to go ... It’s very heavy." The young woman now settled in her married sister's house in Jiyyeh, in the Chouf district, with her mother and siblings. "At first, we didn’t take the evacuation order seriously. I had to leave behind my memories, my childhood photos, my clothes ... The bombings started right after," she explained.

Kdouh and her family spent 16 and a half hours on the road for a journey that usually takes about 75 minutes. "I didn’t even think to take a piece of food," she added. "I cried without thinking. I cried a lot. A multitude of emotions overwhelmed me throughout the journey." Today, her family is scattered. "There are seven of us. My mother, my sisters, and I live in Jiyeh. My father and brother live together," she said, offering no further details.

Another significant change in her life is the loss of her job. "I used to teach students after school. Today, it’s almost impossible to continue my work," she lamented, noting "the lack of easy access to education in these circumstances" for many students, especially in targeted areas where schools have become shelters for the displaced. "I’m not worried about myself," she confessed. "What matters to me is the safety of my family members." She attributes the war's responsibility to the Israeli state, saying, "We don’t need glasses to see the truth. We know it by heart."

Rayane Kdouh. (Credot: Ikbal Kdouh)

I fear for the lives of my loved ones

Nour Harb, a first-year interior design student at the Lebanese International University, also shared her fears for the safety of her loved ones. "I was with my 16-year-old brother in our village in Kherbet Selm," in southern Lebanon's Marjayoun district. "My parents weren’t with us; they were traveling," the 20-year-old confided. "It’s distressing. The violence is unprecedented." Harb expressed deep concern for the psychological well-being of children in Lebanon. "I'm worried about the mental health of every child experiencing this war and losing family members," she said.

Though separated from her family and haunted by the horrors of war, Harb, who now lives with relatives in Bshamoun, in the Aley district, believes that "this crisis" has made her "stronger." Previously employed at a beauty center, she now finds herself without income but remains hopeful. "It’s impossible [to study] at the moment," she confided, adding that she dreams of returning to university. Nevertheless, she maintains a positive outlook: "I hope Lebanon remains strong and overcomes this ordeal."

Nour Harb. (Credit: Oumama Harb)

We will rebuild our homes, we will return to our lands

"I come from a southern Lebanese village called Safad al-Batikh in Nabatieh [district]," says Sarah Zeineddine, who fled with her aunts and uncle to Baabda, in the Baabda district. A first-year master's student in psychology at the Lebanese University's Hadath campus in Beirut's southern suburbs, she reflected, "We weren't prepared. I rushed off with my aunts without clothes, money or anything." Still, the 21-year-old strives to be strong and positive. "We will overcome this distress," she asserted.

Recalling warm memories from before the war, Zeineddine said, "Our home was warm before we were separated. Now everything has changed. I live in Baabda, while my parents are elsewhere." "As a psychology student, I prepared myself mentally while helping those around me to accept the circumstances and events ... We've been living in war for 12 months, and during that time I never stopped attending my classes or going to college," she added.

Unfortunately, that is no longer the case. "As soon as the university reopens, I'll return to my routine and move forward with my life," she said, before confiding, "What really hurts is returning home and realizing the loss of a loved one..." For her, the hardest part remains "mourning without being able to participate in a funeral rite." Yet she concludes on a hopeful note: "The people of the South are resilient. They will get through this. We will rebuild our homes and return to our land."

This article originally appeared in French in L'Orient Le-Jour.