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The aftermath. How The Beirut Explosion has left scars on an already broken Lebanon.

By Dalar Mawad.

The 4th of August 2020 was an extremely hot and humid day in Lebanon.

I was stuck at home at my computer, working remotely because of the pandemic.

I was finishing my afternoon shift as a senior producer and correspondent for

Associated Press, covering Lebanon and the wider Middle East. I was at the mercy of an

unreliable internet connection, and enduring, like most Lebanese, the scorching heat and

recurrent power cuts. Lebanon's power outages date back to the 15 years of a war that ended

in 1990 and have still not been resolved to this day.

My house is about seven miles from Beirut, nestled on a hill that overlooks a small and

peaceful pine wood. Beirut and its surroundings had become a stifling concrete jungle,

and I was feeling lucky to have trees to look at and access to some outdoor space during

the long summer days. I had no plans to go to the city that day. At about 6pm, I went to the

kitchen to feed my cat, which was waiting for me in TheGuardian. It was our daily ritual.

As I opened the window and emptied the canned food into a bowl, I heard the familiar roar of

warplanes racing through our skies. Israeli warplanes have been violating Lebanese air

space for decades, but the jet fighters were exceptionally frequent that summer.

A minute later, a loud explosion rocked the house. The loudest I had ever heard in my life.

...