Anger and grief in south Lebanon city almost deserted after Israeli strikes
Orla Guerin - Reporting fromTyre, southern Lebanon
Goktay Koraltan
An elderly Lebanese man walks in front of a building brought down by a recent Israeli air strike
Conversations in Tyre in southern Lebanon happen in a hurry now. It’s not wise to linger on the streets, and there are fewer and fewer people to talk to.
Chats can be cut short by the rumble of Israeli bombing, or the sound of outgoing rocket fire by Hezbollah – which can attract incoming fire.
Israeli drones buzz overhead.
You drive fast, but don’t speed, knowing there are eyes in the sky. Mostly you are the only car on an empty road – which can make you a target.
That knowledge is always with us, like the body armour we now wear.
But civilians here have no armour plating to shield them, and many Lebanese no longer have a roof over their heads. More than one million have been forced to flee, according to the Prime Minister, Najib Mikati.
Goktay Koraltan
A vehicle crushed under rubble after Israeli air strikes in Tyre
War has created a vacuum here – sucking the life out of this ancient city proud of its Roman ruins, and golden sandy beach.
Streets are empty, and shops shuttered. The seashore is deserted. Windows rattle with Israeli air strikes.
The local civil defence headquarters lies abandoned – rescue teams were forced to evacuate – to save themselves after they got a telephone warning from Israel.
Israeli strikes are getting louder and closer to our hotel – in recent days several strikes on the hills opposite us appear to involve some of Israel’s most destructive bombs, weighing in at 1000lb.
And then there is the Hezbollah factor. Even as the armed group is trying to hold off invading Israeli troops on Lebanese soil, it is controlling the international media in the city of Tyre. It limits our movements, though it has no control over what we write or broadcast.
In hospitals, doctors look weary and overwhelmed. Many no longer go home because it is too dangerous to travel.
Instead, they tend to patients like nine-year-old Mariam, whose left leg is in a cast, and whose arm is heavily bandaged. She lies sleeping in a bed in Hiram Hospital, dark hair framing her face.
Goktay Koraltan
Nine-year-old Mariam lies asleep in a hospital bed with a her left leg in a cast and arm heavily bandaged
“She came in as part of a family of nine,” said Dr Salman Aidibi, the hospital CEO.
“Five of them were also treated. We operated on Mariam, and she is doing much better. We hope to send her home today. Most casualties are given first aid here and stabilised before being sent to other centres, because this hospital is on the front line.”
He says the hospital receives about 30-35 injured women and children a day, and it is taking its toll on staff.
“We need to be positive while we’re working,” he said. “It’s when we stop and contemplate, remember, that’s when we get emotional.”
Asked about what may lie ahead his response comes with a sigh. “We are in a war,” he says. “A destructive war on Lebanon. We hope for peace, but we are prepared for all eventualities.”
Also prepared for the worst is Hassan Manna. He’s staying put in Tyre as war tightens its grip. And he is staying open for business at the small coffee shop he has run for the past 14 years. Locals still pass by for a chat and some reassurance in the form of small plastic cups of sweet coffee.