No way back for a child to a country that was once at peace

LEBANON I miss you. I miss your children’s beautiful, innocent, smiling faces as they dive from the Corniche in Beirut into the sparkling Mediterranean beneath.

I miss the hustle and bustle of Beirut as I swear at the taxi drivers in their battered old Mercs for slowing my journey to a snail’s pace.

I miss the adoration you have for my blonde, blue-eyed little girl. I know she misses all your kisses. Today, she told me she wants to go back to her house in Lebanon. I was so sad to tell her she can’t go yet.

I watched in disbelief as missiles dropped from jets and hit the streets below. I thought I was watching a blockbuster Hollywood movie.

I saw the smoke and, seconds later, heard the massive explosions that hit buildings which minutes before had been homes and livelihoods. This was far too real to be a movie.

The awful realisation dawned that I was witnessing the beginning of a war that was going to be every bit — if not more — bloody than the last one you suffered. It was too much to bear.

The F16s roared over my head for hours, the explosions felt like they were in the building next to me. All I could think of was that my life and my little girl’s life were about to end. I thought to myself, this is terrorism. A life was being taken with every short, terrified breath I took. I was one of the lucky ones who could eventually flee the fear and constant bombardment.

So many hearts that were beating strong three weeks ago when I was there have now been stopped. Bodies are no longer warm but stiff and cold in mass graves, not given the chance of a decent burial. Babies not even given their right to live, their helpless little bodies taken prematurely from this world to the next, some without even a name.

And they continue to apologise, but their apologies come too late for those who have perished at their mercy. They have so much blood on their hands, so much to answer for, but the world isn’t demanding that they stop. Those who can stop them are looking on, allowing these atrocities to continue.

They blame their enemy for hiding behind women and children, yet they are the ones dropping the missiles and firing the guns. How many more ‘accidents’ are they going to claim?

I feel such anguish when I hear the pleas of the people of Lebanon to stop this brutal campaign of carnage. I see the babies and children lying lifeless in the arms of the Red Cross workers who are trying so hard to save as many lives as they can.

What hope do they have when their efforts are being hampered by the continuous shelling and bombing of the south? Food and medicines are denied to those in so much need.

When I close my eyes I can hear laughter and fun. I see little children so many times at Qana and Sour running around the dusty ground playing with just a ball or a bicycle, but so happy.

I often thought as I looked at them that they are happier than we can ever be — they are not consumed by the material aspects of life in the west.

I see their parents and grandparents sitting on plastic chairs on the street or on their balconies, smoking narguila and watching the world go by so relaxed and content.

What is their neighbour doing but paving new paths for further so-called terrorist groups needed to protect them from outside forces. This is a recipe for perpetual conflict.

So many innocent lives taken in return for two kidnapped soldiers.

Why didn’t they negotiate before taking 800 lives and displacing a quarter of the population of this tiny country? Where have the people to go?

They tell them to leave and attack them when they obey. So they stay in the hope it will end and their enemy will leave them in peace.

But as they wait huddled together in fear, the drones and the F16s continue to cross the border, armed with missiles designed to kill and maim.

How can they ever forgive or hope that the road from Beirut to Tel Aviv will be opened and that they can go to Nahariya for a day trip?

And who have they to turn to? They blame the west for not coming to their aid. I can understand this, but please know that there are so many of us praying it will stop.

I have shed so many tears for them, but I wish I could do more. I wish I could scream at their persecutors to stop the suffering and the pain.

The country they were so proud of, the country that was just getting back on its feet, has been ripped apart, torn from the seams.

It will take a long time to get it back together but even longer to renew the spirit of the Lebanese people.

I am waiting here impatiently to return to their country and its people whom I’ve come to love over the last year.

I want once again to see the beautiful, smiling faces, to feel their warmth and wonderful hospitality.

I want once again to walk the streets of Beirut and the golden sandy beach at Sour among a people at peace and no longer in fear of their lives. Lebanon, I miss you and look forward to the day when we can be reunited.

Eilish Moloney

Loughatalia

Midleton

Co Cork