Turkish Citizens Fleeing Lebanon Mourn the Homes and Family Left Behind

Emergency teams and military personnel help people mostly Turkish nationals to disembark from a Turkish TCG Sancaktar military ship after being evacuated from Lebanon's capital Beirut to Türkiye, in Mersin port, southern Türkiye, early Friday, Oct. 11, 2024. (AP Photo/Emrah Gurel)
Emergency teams and military personnel help people mostly Turkish nationals to disembark from a Turkish TCG Sancaktar military ship after being evacuated from Lebanon's capital Beirut to Türkiye, in Mersin port, southern Türkiye, early Friday, Oct. 11, 2024. (AP Photo/Emrah Gurel)
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Turkish Citizens Fleeing Lebanon Mourn the Homes and Family Left Behind

Emergency teams and military personnel help people mostly Turkish nationals to disembark from a Turkish TCG Sancaktar military ship after being evacuated from Lebanon's capital Beirut to Türkiye, in Mersin port, southern Türkiye, early Friday, Oct. 11, 2024. (AP Photo/Emrah Gurel)
Emergency teams and military personnel help people mostly Turkish nationals to disembark from a Turkish TCG Sancaktar military ship after being evacuated from Lebanon's capital Beirut to Türkiye, in Mersin port, southern Türkiye, early Friday, Oct. 11, 2024. (AP Photo/Emrah Gurel)

Eyup Sabri Kirgiz gathered up his loved ones — both family and pets — and with a heavy heart left his beloved city of Beirut behind, after two weeks of deadly airstrikes that had traumatized his family.

The 50-year old Turkish engineer who moved to the Lebanese capital 21 years ago, was living in the Ein Rummaneh neighborhood, close to Beirut's southern suburbs, an area known as Dahiyeh that has been the target of heavy Israeli airstrikes amid an escalation of the war in the Middle East, this time between as Israel launched war on Lebanon.

“For the last two weeks or so, we had been feeling all those bombs as if they were exploding in the house,” said Kirgiz, who along with his Lebanese wife, two children and his mother-in-law was among hundreds of people who were evacuated from Lebanon on Thursday aboard two Turkish navy ships.

“There was no sleep or anything. We would just sit until the morning. You can only sleep when the drones go away. It is impossible to sleep with that drone sound anyway,” Kirgiz told The Associated Press on board the TCG Sancaktar. The AP was the only nongovernment media that was invited aboard the vessels to cover the evacuation operation.

It's been a year of war. Hezbollah launched rockets into Israel from Lebanon on Oct. 8, 2023, one day after the Hamas-led attack in southern Israel that led to the Israeli offensive in Gaza, and Israel and Hezbollah have been trading attacks since then. But since the fighting escalated in mid-September, more than 1,400 people have been killed in Lebanon and over a million displaced.

The almost 1,000 evacuees — mostly Turkish citizens and their foreign-born spouses — on board the TCG Sancaktar, and its sister landing vessel, the TCG Bayraktar, napped or sat on camp beds surrounded by the few belongings they could bring. Aid workers on board the vessels distributed sandwiches and refreshments during the 12-hour crossing to the Turkish Mediterranean port of Mersin.

Previous Turkish government figures put the number of people to be evacuated at close to 2,000. A security official, speaking on condition of anonymity in line with government rules, said some people who had expressed interest in leaving did not show up.

Kirgiz spent much of the journey tending to his dogs, Bella and Ammun — as well as their pet turtle, Coco, which he kept in a shoe-box — to ensure that they did not disturb slumbering fellow passengers.

The air was stuffy, making the journey uncomfortable at times.

A 75-year-old passenger on board the ship was evacuated by helicopter to northern Cyprus after he suffered a heart attack during the voyage. He later died in the hospital, the security official said.

Kirgiz, who describes himself as “the lover of Beirut” said he hopes to return there soon.

“I’ll see what the situation is like in a week or 10 days. I’ll wait for things to calm down a bit. After that, if I think it’s no longer dangerous, I’ll go back. Because I love this place so much. And after, (the plan) is to bring back the family and children,” Kirgiz said.

Turkish-born Dilber Taleb and her Lebanese-born husband Ahmad, who live in Australia, were on holiday in Lebanon when the conflict escalated. They were spending time with Ahmad's parents so that they could get to know their infant grandson, Khaldun.

Although their neighborhood was not targeted by the Israeli strikes, the couple grabbed the opportunity to leave Lebanon.

“You’re anxious every day. When you are under stress, you worry whether something will happen, whether they will block the road or bomb something. That’s why he wanted to leave Lebanon as soon as possible," said Dilber Taleb.

Her husband sounded tormented at having to leave his parents behind.

“My parents, they are only Lebanese (nationals), they’re not Turkish citizens or Australian citizens like us,” he said. “But I wish in the future I can take them with us, maybe to Türkiye or to Australia. Because we can’t stay living under this stress.”

Among other passengers on board the vessel was Goncagul Udigwe, her Nigerian husband Callistos and their 7-month-old daughter, Hilda. They had moved to Lebanon, where he ran his own business, just five months ago.

The family decided to leave Lebanon because they feared it would turn into “another Gaza,” she said as the family waited to board the ship in Beirut. Speaking again to AP journalists as she disembarked in Mersin, she felt a rush of relief.

“Right now I am extremely happy that we are reunited (with Türkiye) safe and sound. I am in my own land, I feel safe, I feel at peace."

Udigwe continued: “But of course, I feel very sorry for those who have to stay there (in Lebanon) because they are not in a good situation at all. They sleep on the sidewalks, in cars. So it’s very difficult. I’ve never seen anything like this before. I’ve never experienced anything like this in my own country.”

The ships arrived back in Türkiye late Thursday and early Friday. The exhausted passengers were bused to another area of the port to pass through immigration checks.

The two ships were part of a convoy of six-vessels that departed Mersin on Wednesday, carrying some 300 tons of humanitarian aid to Lebanon, including food, tents and blankets. AP journalists on board the Sancaktar could hear the sound of drones flying above the ships, while the aid was being unloaded and the evacuees were boarding.



War Piles Yet More Trauma on Lebanon's Exhausted People

'People just can't anymore,' said Rami Bou Khalil, head of psychiatry at Beirut's Hotel Dieu hospital - AFP
'People just can't anymore,' said Rami Bou Khalil, head of psychiatry at Beirut's Hotel Dieu hospital - AFP
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War Piles Yet More Trauma on Lebanon's Exhausted People

'People just can't anymore,' said Rami Bou Khalil, head of psychiatry at Beirut's Hotel Dieu hospital - AFP
'People just can't anymore,' said Rami Bou Khalil, head of psychiatry at Beirut's Hotel Dieu hospital - AFP

Ask a Lebanese person how they are, and you're likely to be met with a heavy pause or a pained smile. Years of crisis have drained them, and now Israeli air strikes are pushing many to breaking point.

Cartoonist Bernard Hage, who draws under the name Art of Boo, summed it up a few weeks ago with a layer cake.

These layers are "Financial Collapse", "Pandemic", the 2020 "Beirut Port Explosion", "Political Deadlock" and "Mass Depression".

"War" is now the cherry on top.

Carine Nakhle, a supervisor at suicide helpline Embrace, says the trauma is never-ending.

"The Lebanese population is not OK," she said, AFP reported.

The hotline's some 120 operators take shifts around the clock all week to field calls from people in distress.

Calls have increased to some 50 a day since Israel increased its airstrikes against Lebanon on September 23.

The callers are "people who are in shock, people who are panicking", Nakhle said.

"Many of them have been calling us from areas where they are being bombed or from shelters."

Israel's bombardment of Lebanon, mostly in the south and in Beirut's southern suburbs, has killed more than 1,100 people and displaced upwards of a million in less than two weeks.

Tens of thousands have found refuge in central Beirut, whose streets now throng with homeless people and where the traffic is even more swollen than usual.

- 'Huge injustice' -

Every night, airstrikes on the southern suburbs force people to flee their homes, as huge blasts rattle windows and spew clouds of debris skywards.

Ringing out across Beirut, the explosions awaken terrible memories: of the massive 2020 Beirut port blast that decimated large parts of the city; of the last war between Israel and Hezbollah in 2006; and of the 1975-1990 civil war.

This latest affliction comes on the back of years of the worst financial crisis in Lebanon's history that has plunged much of its middle class into poverty.

Rita Barotta, 45, lives near the relatively quiet Christian-majority town of Jounieh north of Beirut.

She says she cannot hear the airstrikes, but also that she no longer has the words "to describe what is happening" to Lebanon.

"I no longer know what being me 15 days ago looked like," said the university lecturer in communications, who has thrown herself into helping the displaced.

"Eating, sleeping, looking after my plants -- none of that's left. I'm another me. The only thing that exists now for me is how I can help."

Networking on her phone, Barotta spends her days trying to find shelter or medicine for those in need.

"If I stop for even five minutes, I feel totally empty," she said.

Barotta almost lost her mother in the Beirut port explosion, and says that keeping busy is the only way for her not to feel "overwhelmed and petrified".

"What is happening today is not just a new trauma, it's a sense of huge injustice. Why are we being put through all this?"

- 'Just can't anymore' -

A 2022 study before the war by Lebanese non-governmental organization IDRAAC found that at least a third of Lebanese battled with mental health problems.

Rami Bou Khalil, head of psychiatry at Beirut's Hotel Dieu hospital, said all Lebanese were struggling in one way or another.

"Lebanese have a great capacity for resilience," he said, citing support from family, community and religion.

"But there is this accumulation of stress that is making the glass overflow."

"For years, we have been drawing on our physical, psychological and financial resources. People just can't anymore," he said.

He said he worries because some people who should be hospitalized cannot afford it, and others are relapsing "because they can no longer take a hit".

Many more people were relying on sleeping pills.

"People want to sleep," he said, and swallowing pills is easier when you have neither the time nor the money to be treated.

Nakhle, from Embrace, said many people sought help from non-governmental organizations as they could not afford the $100 consultation fee for a therapist at a private clinic.

At the charity's health centre, the waiting list for an appointment is four to five months long.