Khalil owned a flat in Dahieh, one of the southern suburbs of Beirut. Dahieh however isn't a small town. It was a city comprising almost a million residents who had homes, businesses, lives and whose children went to school in the area. Most of them have since fled the city, forcedly displaced. Some have been displaced to schools or community centres turned displacement centres. Some were able to flee to neighbouring suburbs within Beirut such as Hamra or into nearby mountain towns. Some have fled to towns within Lebanon such as Zahle, Tripoli and Saida. However this meant they have gone from owning their own flat to now having to rent a flat and rental prices are currently exorbitant. They're war prices and some property owners have no qualms in jacking those prices up. To add to their woes, what buisnesses and jobs they had prior to the war, they no longer do.

Khalil and his young family fled Dahieh about a month and a half ago, it appeared they did so in a haste. When they left Dahieh however, their flat was still in tact. I believe many former residents harboured hopes of returning to their homes in Dahieh once the war is over.

A few days ago I got a voice message from Khaliil saying, "Liz, my home... my home has been destroyed." During one of the many Israeli airstrikes, the sheer verocity and pressure of the blast actually resulted in the significant destruction of Khalil's flat. Windows and doors were blasted off their hinges, glass shards scattered all throughout the flat. One particularly large shard of glass jammed deeply into the back of their couch! Photo frames and paintings rocketed off shelves and hooks on the wall.

I followed in the dark as Khalil tried to save as much of their belongings as he could. We were trying to do so quickly and quietly so we didn't become targets of the Israeli onslaught. Their bed was still unmade, stacks of clothing left in cupboards, children's toys scattered all over another room, dirty dishes remai