Fear is a constant companion: My Eid in Lebanon war zone

Ashraf Wani's firsthand account from the frontlines amid the conflict between Israel and Hezbollah in Lebanon. He narrates the relentless challenges amid heavy shelling in Lebanon, which has already registered over 1,000 deaths.

The first thing you learn in a war zone is that silence is never really silence. It hums beneath your skin — tense, waiting to be shattered. For 15 days, that hum became the backdrop of my life as I reported from the frontlines of the conflict between Israel and Hezbollah in Lebanon.

Every morning began the same way: checking if the night had spared us. Messages from colleagues, missed calls from family, and alerts of fresh strikes. Then came the ritual of preparation — helmet, flak jacket, microphone, camera — tools that felt both essential and painfully insufficient.

Television demands immediacy. It does not wait for safety, nor does it tolerate hesitation. When the shelling started, we didn't run away — we moved closer, calculating angles, framing destruction, chasing signals strong enough to broadcast the reality to the outside world. The irony was never lost on me: while others sought shelter, we searched for clarity.

The challenges were relentless. Connectivity would collapse just as we were about to go live. Roads we used an hour earlier would become inaccessible, reduced to rubble or declared too dangerous after fresh strikes. Sometimes we broadcast from rooftops, other times from basements, adjusting not just for signal strength but for survival.

There were moments when journalism felt secondary to instinct. The whistle of incoming fire does not give you time to think about editorial priorities. It forces a raw, immediate decision: stay and report, or move and live. Yet, somehow, the camera kept rolling. Because the story — the truth — was unfolding in real time, and the world needed to see it. For Ashraf Wani, the real fear came from witnessing the human cost

Fear was a constant companion, but it evolved. At first, it was sharp and paralysing. Later, it became quieter, almost functional — guiding decisions, sharpening awareness. The real fear came from witnessing the human cost. Families were displaced overnight. Children are learning the language of war too early. Faces that carried shock, grief, and a resilience that words could barely capture.