In Iraq's Summer, Residents of Kurdistan's Erbil Ache for Water

Boys cool off with water from a mobile tanker as summer temperatures soar in Iraq's northern autonomous Kurdish region © Safin HAMID / AFP
Boys cool off with water from a mobile tanker as summer temperatures soar in Iraq's northern autonomous Kurdish region © Safin HAMID / AFP
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In Iraq's Summer, Residents of Kurdistan's Erbil Ache for Water

Boys cool off with water from a mobile tanker as summer temperatures soar in Iraq's northern autonomous Kurdish region © Safin HAMID / AFP
Boys cool off with water from a mobile tanker as summer temperatures soar in Iraq's northern autonomous Kurdish region © Safin HAMID / AFP

The taps have run dry, and the wells are almost empty. In the capital of Iraq's autonomous Kurdistan region, 80-year-old Babir hasn't bathed in weeks and impatiently waits for trucked-in water deliveries.

"There is nothing worse than not having water," said Babir, who gave only his first name, in his modest house in Erbil's Darto suburb.

As in several other densely populated areas of Erbil and its suburbs, Babir and his neighbours rely on groundwater as their primary water source.

But for years, they have dreaded summer, when relentless drought, a lack of wells and power outages that bring pumps to a halt leave them cut off the supply of water.

Usually "we bathe once every fortnight," said Babir, dressed in traditional Kurdish sarwal trousers.

From the roof of his house, he shouted for a water truck as it drove up into the street, then hurried downstairs to request a refill for his home.

This time, the truck belonged to a local aid group. When such assistance is unavailable, the retiree has to pay from his meagre pension or rely on family for water and other essentials.

Over the years, residents of several districts have taken to the streets many times to demand solutions, but Babir said appeals to officials had fallen on deaf ears. He said he was considering moving "to a place with water."

-Dried wells

Iraq is known in Arabic as the Land of the Two Rivers, referring to the once mighty Tigris and Euphrates. But the rivers' water levels have plummeted and the UN classifies the country as one of the most impacted by some effects of climate change.

Authorities blame the drought as well as dams built upstream in neighbouring Türkiye and Iran.

Erbil relies on 1,240 wells dotted across the city alongside the Ifraz water station that draws from the upper Zab River, which has its source in Turkey and joins the Tigris in Iraq.

Its governor, Omed Khoshnaw, told reporters earlier this month that "more than 25 percent of wells have dried up this year," adding that Erbil should rely less on groundwater.

Amid the crisis, the city's local authorities say they have allocated 1.5 billion Iraqi dinars ($1.1 million) to help solve it, including by digging new wells and providing power via generators and the electricity grid.

Local official Nabz Abdul Hamid said that power outages have heavily impacted pumps for wells in residential areas.

"We have now provided an uninterrupted electricity supply to most of the wells," he told AFP, adding that officials were working to fix the broader problem including by improving the Ifraz plant supply.

- 'Radical solutions'

In the Darto district, one person skillfully manoeuvred the aid truck's hose as a torrent of water gushed into a tank.

A young girl waited to fill plastic bottles while other children joyfully splashed water on their faces, finding relief from the relentless heat.

But when it comes to washing, Surur Mohamad, 49, said that for anything more than basic clothes he goes to a nearby village where they have a steady water supply.

Trucked-in water from aid organisations "is not a solution," he said, adding that overcrowding has put further pressure on the water system while poor pipe infrastructure has exacerbated the problem.

"The government must find radical solutions as relying solely on wells" is no longer viable, especially considering the drought, he said.

His neighbour, Mahya Najm, said the lack of water had stopped her children and young families from visiting her.

"We cannot wash, cook or even receive guests," she said.

"We are in dire need of water. This is not a life," she added.



Lebanese on Edge amid Fears of All-Out Israel-Hezbollah War

A Middle East Airlines commercial aircraft flies near Beirut's southern suburbs as it approaches the airport runway on August 9, 2024. (AFP)
A Middle East Airlines commercial aircraft flies near Beirut's southern suburbs as it approaches the airport runway on August 9, 2024. (AFP)
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Lebanese on Edge amid Fears of All-Out Israel-Hezbollah War

A Middle East Airlines commercial aircraft flies near Beirut's southern suburbs as it approaches the airport runway on August 9, 2024. (AFP)
A Middle East Airlines commercial aircraft flies near Beirut's southern suburbs as it approaches the airport runway on August 9, 2024. (AFP)

Fears of a major escalation between Israel and Hezbollah have left many Lebanese on edge, exacerbating mental health problems and reviving traumas of past conflicts in the war-weary country.

One 29-year-old woman, who lives near the southern city of Sidon, said she dreaded the thunderous, explosive boom of Israeli jets regularly breaking the sound barrier.

"I feel the house will fall down on top of me... Sometimes I freeze... or start crying," said the woman, a contract worker for a non-governmental organization.

She was 11 years old when Israel and Lebanese armed group Hezbollah went to war in the summer of 2006, and said bombs fell near her house.

"Sometimes, unconsciously, you remember it," said the woman, requesting anonymity in a country where mental health issues are often stigmatized.

"These sounds give you flashbacks -- sometimes you feel you're back at that time," she said.

Since Hamas's October 7 attack on Israel sparked the Gaza war, Hezbollah has traded near daily cross-border fire with the Israeli army in support of the Palestinian armed group, sending tensions soaring.

Lebanon has been on a knife's edge since a strike on Beirut's southern suburbs last week killed Hezbollah's top military commander, just hours before the assassination, blamed on Israel, of Hamas's political leader Ismail Haniyeh in Tehran.

Iran and Hezbollah have vowed revenge, amid fears that retaliatory attacks could spiral into all-out war, with airlines suspending flights to Lebanon and countries imploring foreign nationals to leave.

- Panic attacks -

"I already had been suffering from anxiety and depression... but my mental health has deteriorated" since October, said the woman, who can no longer afford therapy because her work has slowed due to the hostilities.

"You feel afraid for the future", she said.

Before the 2006 Israel-Hezbollah war, Lebanon endured a grueling 1975-1990 civil conflict in which Israel invaded the south and in 1982 besieged Beirut.

The current cross-border violence has killed more than 560 people in Lebanon, most of them fighters but also including at least 116 civilians, according to an AFP tally.

On the Israeli side, including in the annexed Golan Heights, 22 soldiers and 26 civilians have been killed, according to army figures.

Laila Farhood, professor of psychiatry and mental health at the American University of Beirut, said "cumulative trauma" has left many Lebanese with stress, anxiety, depression and post-traumatic stress disorder.

"Individuals transmit their anxieties to their children as cross-generational trauma," she told AFP.

"What is happening now triggers previous traumas," causing some people to have panic attacks, said Farhood, who specializes in war trauma and its impact on Lebanese civilians.

On Tuesday, Israeli jets broke the sound barrier over central Beirut, causing intense sonic booms that rattled windows and nerves, just two days after the anniversary of a catastrophic blast at Beirut's port in 2020.

"I had my first panic attack," said Charbel Chaaya, 23, who studies law in France and is living with his family near Beirut.

"I couldn't breathe, my legs felt numb... in that very first moment, you don't know what the sound is -- just like what happened on August 4," he said.

- 'Uncertainty' -

Layal Hamze from Embrace, a non-profit organization that runs a mental health center and suicide prevention hotline, said people in Lebanon now are "more susceptible to any sound".

"Baseline, the adrenaline is already high. It's a stressful situation," said Hamze, a clinical psychologist.

"It's not only the Beirut blast," Hamze added.

"The natural or automatic response" is to be frightened, she said, and while "maybe the older generation... are a bit more used to" such sounds, they could trigger "the collective trauma".

Some on social media have urged people to stop letting off fireworks -- a ubiquitous practice for celebrations -- while humorous skits making light of difficulties like flight cancellations have also circulated.

With coping mechanisms varying greatly, some people are "going partying", while others "are reaching out to the community more", which helps them feel they are not alone, Hamze said.

Dancer Andrea Fahed, 28, whose flat was damaged in the port blast, said she panicked when she heard this week's sonic booms.

She said she felt "lucky" to be a dancer, because with her community "we laugh together, we move together... you let go of a lot of things".

But she said the "uncertainty" was a constant struggle, and now leaves her windows open, fearing another blast could shatter everything.

"Anything can happen," Fahed said.

"If it's happening with that intensity in Gaza, why wouldn't it come here?"