Alia, 10 years old, took refuge in the most famous nightclub in Beirut | Conflict in the Middle East

Alia is a minor celebrity these days at Skybar, one of Beirut’s trendiest nightclubs.

At the age of 10, this little brunette with sparkling black eyes wanders through the corridors of the nightclub as if she were the master of the place. She greets employees by their first name. They greet her with hers.

However, Alia is just one child among many others who found refuge, with their parents, in this imposing cylindrical building, renowned for its fiery nights.

Indeed, the Skybar, located on the seafront, opposite the city center, was transformed overnight into an improvised refuge for some 450 people who were displaced by the war waged by Israel, including 120 children .

While Alia’s friends play ball or cat and mouse in the asphalt courtyard, the little girl wants to show me around. Son Skybar.

The little guide takes my hand and leads me into the den of the nightclub. Come with meshe says to me, almost like an order.

We cross the few steps before entering a huge room entirely painted black and illuminated by very cold white lighting.

It’s the dance floor.

Alia doesn’t know it, but just a few weeks ago, the concrete floor we just crossed was still shaking under the feet of some 1,000 revelers hypnotized by light and laser shows.

Today, this same floor is lined with makeshift mattresses.

This is where most people sleep at nightAlia explains to me, pointing towards makeshift alcoves formed from couches and high tables once used by night owls to place their drinks.

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The bar, at the very back of the room, no longer serves cocktails. Exit bottles of champagne. Time for bottles.

Alia and I rush down the stairs to a mezzanine overlooking the entire stage. This is the VIP section. This is where I sleep with my sister Khawla [8 ans] and my brother Abbas [5 ans]proudly exclaims the little girl, born to an Ethiopian mother and a Lebanese father.

His parents sleep in an improvised shelter covered with a plastic sheet in the rear parking lot of the Skybar, near the backstage door.

Both are sick and need rest, far from the hubbub of swarming children. His mother, Rita, a small woman with a frail body, suffers from generalized cancer. His father, Fadel, suffers from stomach cancer.

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It’s a miracle we’re still aliveRita confides to me, visibly in pain, sitting on a chair next to her daughter.

This family of five arrived in disaster at Skybar on the evening of October 22, when their building, in the southern suburbs of Beirut, was hit by three Israeli missiles. The first projectile smashed the wall behind Aliasays his mother, and the other two landed at their neighbors upstairs, causing the ceiling to collapse.

Rita starts to cry when she remembers this evening cursed.

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I thought my children were all dead, she said between sobs. After the strikes, I couldn’t see anything anymore, there was no more electricity. It was very dark, there was dust and smoke everywhere.

Alia listens to him while biting her nails.

Finally, when I found Alia, she was under the rubble, lying on top of her brother and sister. My husband was screaming: he thought we were all buried under the debris.

Fadila, Alia’s paternal aunt, approaches, showing off her phone. She shows me a photo of their building, reduced to nothing. Look, she said. The whole neighborhood has completely disappeared.

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Alia cuts him off. She wants to describe the scene as she experienced it herself: When the building collapsed, I saw the street on fire: there were flames coming out of the asphalt.

Then I heard another explosionshe says again, without giving a hint of emotion. It was a gas cylinder that exploded due to the fire. Shards of glass started falling on us.

Boom!

Alia’s story is suddenly interrupted by a loud noise that makes us all jump.

A motorcycle tire has just burst in front of us.

Alia panics. She screams in fear before bursting into tears, burying her face in her aunt’s tunic to muffle her moans. Mom, mom! she shouts. They hit close by, there’s smoke, look, look!

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Fadila, her aunt, tries to comfort her by stroking her hair. However, barely calmed down, Alia is once again panicked when she sees an airliner passing in the sky. She believes it is a military plane.

By the grace of God, Alia was not hurt the night her house was bombed, but the little one is traumatized and pees on herself when she gets scared. She needs psychological support.

I too am traumatizedRita added, wiping her tears with a piece of cloth.

Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and start looking for my children, she confides. I have nightmares, I imagine my hands are covered in blood. I can no longer close my eyes.

Alia places a tender kiss on his forehead.

Honestly, I don’t know how we survivedRita blurted out again, wrapped in a bright pink hooded sweater on which three little words in Spanish were written. Words that sound like a premonition for Alia and her family.

Live life. Long live life.

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