There is no flor in season that blooms in November. And much less at the beginning of December. The only touch of color on the streets of the coastal city of Numbersouth of Lebanonthey give it buganvillas. Oranges, pinks and whites stand out among the greenery to remind passersby that this is a Mediterranean city. In Tyre, grieving families have no choice but to bring bougainvillea to their deceased. No flowers for those who follow no graves. In a vast area on the outskirts of the southern city, the disturbed earth, the long black clothes and the cries of pure tearing indicate that beneath the dust are the bodies of known and unknown people. Families cling to someone who tells them that there, in that improvised mass grave while the bombs were still falling, there is his relative.
The women throw themselves against that piece of land without apparent marks. They dirty their black dresses with dust. They stir it, they smell it, they kiss it. They burst into tears. They have their children, grandchildren, nephews down there. Blood of his blood. Young and old, entire families abandon themselves to sobbing and desolation over a forced loss that they did not choose, that has taken everything away from them. Only in this common grave are the lifeless bodies of 175 personas. They take their time, patting the dust and clinging to it. But there is no time for sadness, the men in their family tell them. They wipe away their tears, while reminding them that there is no place for sorrow in victory. Even so, they also stare at the mound that hides the body of their young son.
Many lost their lives taking up arms Hezbollah to win the Israel. Others, recovering survivors from the rubble as civil defense and rescue and emergency services workers. Some of the 175 fatalities were civilians, such as the daughter of Mahmoud Faqih’s aunt. “We are from Aita el Shaab [un pueblo de la frontera con Israel] and we came to Tire for refuge because our people have been completely destroyed”, he explains to this newspaper. “Two days before the ceasefire, my aunt’s daughter died in an Israeli attack against the Lebanese Army,” he adds. This Saturday afternoon Mahmoud came with his three children and his wife to visit the piece of land where she lies waiting to be buried in her town. Israeli troops are still there.
Without any help
A little less than a couple of kilometers from there, in the heart of the city From Tyre, life springs forth. There is absolutely no one with crossed arms. Under a splendid Mediterranean sun, which brings spring air to the battered city, the population is thrown into the streets. Some have no choice, because debris that they step on are the little that remains of their houses. Many defy gravity to climb inside a building without walls with the intention of recovering some belongings from their homes. “The people here are so connected to the cityespecially with their houses, which in reality could not leave Tyre,” he acknowledges. Mahmoud Latoufa young nurse who has spent each and every day of the war under Israeli bombs.
“My family kept asking me to leave Tyre, but I have a role to play, a service to provide and, although I know it is dangerous, many people need it,” Latouf explains to EL PERIÓDICO. This young man from Tire is a nurse and works in the Amel associationone of the few organizations – “the only one!” he says – that has stayed in the city during these two months of intense Israeli offensive, which has killed around 3.300 personas throughout the country. “After the 2006 war [entre Hizbulá e Israel, que duró 34 días y mató a poco más de 1.000 personas]dozens of organizations came to Tire to help, although only four bombs fell here,” he says. Mona Shakerdirector of the Amel center in Tyre, to this newspaper.
But now, in the streets there is only civilians cleaning the tens of thousands of pieces of glass that surround each collapsed building. “I have lived through many wars and have continued to work: these may be the most difficult circumstances we have faced, since 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,” Shaker defends, full of hope. His speech is interrupted repeatedly by workers from the Amel center who, with masks on their mouths and gloves in hand, spend their first Saturday without bombs cleaning the facilities. For every problem that arises, Mona comes up with a solution instantly.
“The worst of all wars”
“This war is possibly the worst of all wars,” he acknowledges. Salwa Ibrahim Bitar to EL PERIÓDICO. With his 88 yearsspeak with knowledge of the facts. In the half century that he has lived in his house, he has seen how wars passed through his street, but never entered inside. Until it came, again, the Israeli army and, with a simple bombing, reduced his house from four rooms to just one. When the impact occurred in the middle of the night, three buildings fell on top of theirs, taking the living room and three more rooms with them. “If I had slept in my room that night I wouldn’t be here,” admits her daughter. Fatima Hakim. Something greater than her told her that night that it was better to sleep with her brothers and her mother.
After spending 15 days in Beirut at their sister’s house, the Hakims have had no choice but to return home to their new, small home. “we don’t have money nor anyone to help us, much less to rebuild,” says the son Ahmed Hakim. Now, the three of them sleep in a single room, and have been able to keep the kitchen and a bathroom. Despite their poverty, they feel lucky, because they can continue to tell it. Not far from there, dozens of his fellow citizens wait buried under the earth removed to create a improvised mass grave. Bougainvilleas mark some of the bodies that have been recognized, visited and loved. For others, no one will come to see them because there is no one left. Or because no one knows they are there.
On some of the mounds, the bougainvilleas have already drying. In just a handful of them, they are still fresh. It seems an attempt to return to life, to freshness, the bodies that the earth hides. With nothing physical to contribute, a woman sits in front of the mound of earth that her husband has indicated to her. “How do you know what this is? 93?” he asks when he doesn’t see any signs in the sand. “Because I know,” he says. She spends a good time on her knees reading him the Koranoblivious to the world around her. A couple of mounds away, a tire with the Opel logo identifies another dead man. There are still holes in the ground for those to come. Behind them, the excavator still there in case this really is a ceasefire and not the end of permanent war. The land, vast and flat, is ready to welcome all who will come.
