Dateline ACT

Lebanon 07/06

Qana—a place of sorrow

Kamleh, who like so many others fled her home in Qana, now faces an uncertain future. "Those who died were my neighbors, my friends," she says. And still the fear remains that Saida, a place of refuge for her and others, will be bombed too.

By Hege Opseth

Beirut, August 7, 2006—Images of the recent bombing of Qana keep playing out over the Arabic television channels available in Lebanon.

The images speak to the brutality of war—and the nightmarish reality of the people of Lebanon. For the tens of thousands of people who have sought relative safety in the town of Saida, news of Israeli leaflets being distributed, calling on people to evacuate, only serves to fuel their nightmares.

In one school in Saida, (where local ACT International Middle East Council of Churches has been distributing emergency relief parcels) more than 1,000 people have crammed into the classrooms. Water and sanitation is poor. Some people ask for fresh clothes, the ones they fled in, no longer fresh. Many just want to go home, but also knowing that for now, this is only a dream.

"I can’t sleep at night. All the time I dream of bombs," says 14-year old Hussein, Kamleh's son.

Kamleh explains how after days and days of bombardments, she decided to flee with her four children—a decision that proved to come just in time. "I had to leave for the sake of my children." The she heard the news of the bombing of Qana over a small radio.

"Our house was next to the big hit," she says. Kamleh doesn't speak much about the way she feels, except to say that for her, those who died in Qana, are martyrs.

Young Hussein adds that for him, the death of the children is the worst.

It is only a few weeks since he played football in the streets of Qana, in the discussing football strategies.

"We still play, here in the center," he says.

For the people seeking shelter here, as in the countless other places of refuge, their future is not clear. For now, they sleep on the concrete floors in the school. What remains of their homes, if anything, they simply don't know.

Some women enter into the classroom. Voices grow loud. Emotions start running high. They talk about Qana—their sorrow and pain visible. "We cannot forgive," some say.

"They have tried to kill us too many times," they say.

It is all about waiting out the situation. But eventually, they will return to their homes. That is vital say several people, even if it means sleeping on the rubble that used to be the homes they once loved.

"I want the mothers in Europe and elsewhere to feel our tragedy. We have lost our homes. We have nothing certain to return to. Our friends and neighbors have become martyrs," Kamleh says and then adds: "All we want is to go home. To live in peace."