Wordsmith Lane

Cosmopolitan Australia: I was trapped in Lebanon while it was being bombed…

Published in Cosmopolitan, October 2006. Copyright, Sarah Ayoub & Cosmopolitan Australia, 2006

Sarah Ayoub, 20, was caught up in the bombings of Lebanon in July. Here the journalism student from Greenacre, NSW, tells of her terrifying ordeal stuck in the war zone.

My dad’s family emigrated to Australia from Lebanon in the 1970s but he married my mum back there in Lebanon in 1985, before they both escaped the land that was being torn apart by civil war. Here, they started a new life and their own family – me, my two sisters and brother.  The war ended in 1990, and though I’d visited once before when I was just nine, it had been so long since my mother had seen her family that my whole family booked a six-week trip this July.

I was looking forward to revisiting the place my parents spoke about in their childhood memories.  Beirut was a bit of a shock, and far more liberal than I expected. The girls wore see-through tops and stayed out till 5am. Compared to that, my 1am curfew back home seemed strict. And at the beach one day, a lifeguard wouldn’t let me go into the water in my board shorts, saying, ‘You’ll have to take them off.’ I had to swim in just my bikini!

I stayed with my grandparents in Khaf-El-Malloul, about 90km north of the city, and loved catching up with my extended family of aunts, uncles and cousins. I also soaked up the culture in the small village that my family had lived in for generations!  But that changed dramatically as I awoke on the morning of July 13th to a call on my mobile from a friend back home. ‘Are you safe?’ he asked. “Why?” I asked. “Beirut airport’s just been bombed.”

At first I thought it might be a terrorist attack. I was so worried and scared. But as the day wore on and we saw the TV news, we realised it was more serious. People were rushing out and withdrawing their life savings from banks and my grandad, who runs a grocery shop, sold out of 15kilo bags of flour within hours. My relatives said they were used to bombings. But I wasn’t having any of it; my plane was supposed to fly out in two weeks, and my dad, who was leaving a little earlier for work, was due out within days. How would we escape if we were stuck in a war zone? By the third day I realised we were trapped. Roads were damaged and people heading out for work would turn back for fear of attack or because roads were impassable. Israeli airplanes would drop leaflets warning civilians of planned attacks, or they’d call the airport before they were planning to bomb a certain area.

The next two weeks were the most stressful I’ve ever experienced. My face broke out in spots and I could hardly eat. I spent ages in internet cafes, scouring Australian websites for news. The Lebanese TV stations don’t have censorship and would show bloody images of amputated limbs and horrific injuries. How scary would that be for a young child to see every day?The Israelis were targeting Hezbollah (Lebanese political party) and bombed major roads to try and secure them in one spot. At first, not all Beirut airport’s runways were damaged, but as the bombing intensified, we could go hardly anywhere.

Looking back I was probably quite rude to my relatives because I couldn’t wait to get out and leave it all behind, without really considering how they might feel. But mum assured me they’d understand we were feeling stressed.We tried to carry on as normally as we could but the atmosphere was one of panic. Phone lines went down and communication was rendered practically impossible. My family’s Catholic and one evening we were celebrating a saint’s feast day in the street and letting off fire crackers. Next thing we knew, we saw about 4 Israeli planes flew really low right over us. We stopped abruptly, my mother screamed for us to get inside.

Every day I prayed at the village church for a peaceful end to the war. My dad’s flight was rescheduled to leave from Damascus instead of Beirut, but the travel agencies wouldn’t let us change our tickets so we could all travel together. Dad hired a driver to take him on the six-hour trip to the airport. I cried so much when he left, worried that he’d be stopped at the border or that the road would be bombed. Thankfully he flew back and arrived in Sydney safely.

By this time friends and family in Sydney kept calling the department of Foreign Affairs seeking an avenue out for us. After dad left, they managed to get more planes in to help evacuate people and we were allowed to move our ticket dates forward by five days. We booked a car to take us to Damascus airport and spent the next three days just waiting and praying nothing bad would happen in the interim.

Two days before we were scheduled to leave, The Australian embassy in Beirut called my mum, saying that we could leave Beirut by boat. But my mother was adamant to stick to our original plan. “We’re going to go to Syria because it’s a dangerous road to the port,” she told us. “It’s first come first served, so there’s no guarantee we’d even get on the boat.”

On July 22, two days before we left, I felt two bombs for the first time. We were sitting on the verandah of my cousin’s home, having cake for her 21st birthday when, at about 4pm, we heard this big boom. It must have been about 20 km away but it felt so close. I shook in my chair and we all screamed and rushed for cover. Mum was at my grandparents’ place up the road so I ran over to find her standing in the road. “Where are my kids?’ she kept yelling.  The Israelis had bombed Aito Tower, a telephone tower about 20k from our house and I saw the thick dark fog of smoke in the distance. Within ten minutes we were all rounded up safely but then we rushed to pack our suitcases.  Mum was placated by my uncles, and we ended up leaving on 24th as planned.

When we passed the Syrian border, I felt as if a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders, but we had to wait at Damascus airport for 20 hours. I stayed awake the entire time, too afraid to sleep and trying to keep my siblings’ spirits up by talking about Krispy Kreme doughnuts or Oporto chicken. We just craved the familiarity of home.

Arriving in Sydney felt ecstatic and as we were greeted by dad and enveloped in the arms of our family, I cried with relief, safe at last. Mum is calling her family every few days to see how they are. We’re still really worried of course, but having survived this is the best feeling. I just pray that the people still there are safe and this war ends quickly.