Abbas

Thirty-six-year-old nature enthusiast from the south Lebanon town of Jebchit, who lives with his beloved dog Cozax.

“While I was displaced, I saw people giving their energy, money, and effort to help other displaced people. Meeting them was the best thing for me.”

I’m from the town of Jebchit, in south Lebanon. But I don’t feel like I truly belong there. I don’t even consider this country to be my homeland anymore. I live on one floor of my family’s building with my dog, Cozax, who is four and a half years old. I don’t have kids, and Cozax is like my son. For me, home is inside those four walls. I like being on my own there, in my safe place where no one can bother me.

I started to feel like I didn’t belong during the revolution, the anti-government protests that broke out in October 2019. I always felt like an outcast here, different, but that’s when it became more apparent. People in my community criticised me for participating in the demonstrations.

There are still some places where I feel refreshed. Like this one hill overlooks Nabatieh. You can see the whole city from there. It’s a beautiful place in the middle of nature, with no people.

I was at work – I install fibre-optic cables for my family’s internet business – when the bombing started at dawn on 23 September 2024. There had already been skirmishes for a year in Lebanon, but nothing like this. People started to leave the area right away.

When it started, I called a relative who lives in Hrar, a village in the north. He found some homes where the rest of my family could stay. I sent my parents, my aunt, and others there. They insisted that I follow immediately, but instead I went back home. I didn’t want to leave, because my parents and some other relatives have a problem with Cozax. From a religious perspective, they consider him impure.

There were a lot of bombings on the road that night. I spent 45 minutes in one spot, using the light from my phone to move rocks and a tree so I could get through. Everything around me was engulfed in flames. With all the bombings in the mountains around me, it felt like a scene from a movie.

All I cared about was getting home. When I finally got there, Cozax was waiting for me. It was such a relief to see him, because when I leave home in the morning, I unleash him. He goes to the mountains, the valleys, and comes back when he wants.

When I opened the door, he went straight to this one corner in my house, behind the sofa and under a counter. He almost never left that spot for the next six or seven days. I’ll never forget the look in his eyes. He was so scared.

For the next week or so, the village was almost empty. I went out to buy food, but at first nothing was open. After a few days, a shop re-opened, and I lived on bread and canned food. I tried to only leave the house when the war planes calmed down a bit, but hardly an hour would go by without the sound of a bombing. There were drones buzzing day and night.

Throughout this time, I was in constant contact with my parents. Every hour. Finally, it got to the point where my parents wouldn’t leave me alone, so I decided to go.

I took my hard drives where I have all my work, my life, and all my data. I took a laptop. I also took some books, a mattress, passport, degree certificates, and clothes. I put Cozax in the open back of my car, because that’s where he’s most comfortable.

I drove at night, and the roads were empty. I drove to Beirut first, and I met a friend who has a dog named Hera. She’s the same age as Cozax, and the dogs hadn’t seen each other in months. They wouldn’t sit still! We went to Martyrs Square, a public space in the centre of Beirut, parked our cars, and slept a few hours with the doors open and the dogs beside us.

I left again at around 6am to drive north to Hrar. It’s around 1,200 metres above sea level, up in the mountains. It’s always above the clouds. It’s all uphill. If you want to walk to the main square, you have to climb up. The people there are friendly.

My parents know that Cozax is sweet, kind, and peaceful, and they love him. But if my relatives play with him, they still make them take a shower. So I made a deal with them that Cozax wouldn't enter the house.

A few days after I arrived, I met a group of people from Hrar who were helping the displaced, offering aid and support. They said they were independent; not connected to any individual or party. I really liked the idea… so I started volunteering with them.

I got into a new routine. Every morning, I would wake up early, take Cozax for a walk, play with him, and feed him. I introduced Cozax to my cousin and his son. All the kids liked him, and they would take care of him while I was away.

I’d drink my coffee somewhere with a nice view, then go to the centre we set up for displaced people. I designed a programme to organise the data on what every family needed, and what they were getting. Once we had that set up, various aid groups and political parties started to come to us. At one point, some people needed mattresses, and they had to wait a week. It was really cold in the village, so cold you wouldn’t believe, and people needed blankets.

I saw a lot of suffering. I was so lucky because of our family there. They were incredibly kind. They would do anything to help us.

My time in Hrar ended up changing me. I met all sorts of new and different people. We went out exploring together. There is lots of beautiful nature there. They showed us mushrooms, which they knew by name. They showed us trees, which they knew by name. We had Cozax and a horse with us. The atmosphere was so nice.

I met a woman there, too. She’s from the area. We didn’t end up continuing the relationship, but I don’t regret meeting her. She’s so beautiful, and similar to me in how she thinks.

People started going back as soon as the ceasefire came into effect, in November 2024. I waited a little while because I had just rented a room in the village. I put a lot of effort into redoing it and I wanted to stay there. I had also just had a big fight with my parents about Cozax.

During the war, the atmosphere was so tense that it seemed like everyone had a problem with someone. For some people, the problem was me and Cozax.

But after about 5 or 6 days, my father begged me to come back. He was mentally exhausted. I’m the only one who installs cables for the family business. They needed me, and I felt a sense of responsibility.

I saw a lot of destruction before I left the south, but when I got back, the souk in Nabatieh – the old market – was gone. I knew it was gone, but it was different to see it. I found my house as I left it. So I didn’t go through the same struggles as others.

I’m back at work now, for two months straight without a day off. But there is an atmosphere of sadness here. My aunt lost so many people from her village, and relatives. Not just her; every displaced person lost someone. I lost old friends and relatives. People who didn’t lose someone lost their homes. People who didn’t lose their homes lost their livelihoods and their jobs. Everyone has lost something. Of course, not all losses are the same. I know someone who lost his entire family. He’s the sole survivor. Everyone is grieving, and at the same time trying to get back to normal life.

Since I’ve come back, I’ve been working so much that I don’t see Cozax as much. But he likes to wander the valleys; he likes his life here. So I'm not worried about him. I know he's safe and sound.

I still don’t feel truly that I belong to this place. Maybe I’m the problem. During the revolution, I gave a lot of my energy, time, and soul for the sake of this country. While I was displaced, I saw people giving their energy, money, and efforts to help other displaced people. I met good people there. So while I used to say that I didn’t want to leave my four walls in Jebchit, now I say it’s good I left. In a way, leaving brought me back to life.

There’s a saying by Imam Ali which has always stayed with me: “No town has a greater right to you than any other. The best place for you is the one that can take you.”

During the revolution, I gave a lot of my energy, time, and soul for the sake of this country. While I was displaced, I saw people giving their energy, money, and efforts to help other displaced people. I met good people there.