When did war become a part of daily life to the point that people no longer waited for it to return to normal, but rather learned how to live within a situation that was not normal to begin with?
From Gaza to Syria, Lebanon, Sudan and Libya, the testimonies of people who have lived through war or its prolonged effects reveal something beyond the fear of bombing or losing a home: in stories that change the meaning of safety, work, the future, and even the meaning of the word “normal” itself.
“Unfortunately, it became normal.”
For Sabreen from Gaza, home no longer means a place to return to.
She lost her home, where she had lived for 36 years, and when she returned to the area after the Israeli forces partially withdrew from it, she found herself searching among the rubble for the place that held her memories, dreams, and sense of security.
She says: “What safety do we want to talk about today?” adding that sleeping in a tent means waking up without knowing what might happen around you.
“You are sleeping in the middle of a tent, and you may sleep without knowing what might happen around you.”
When I asked her about the things that had become “normal” after the years of war, she replied: “It is possible that nothing has become normal for me,” but she had to adapt to living in tents, heat, noise, and lack of fuel.
"It's all forced on him...it's not normal. Against our will, it became normal."
Before the war, she was completing her graduate studies and working as a teacher and planning to travel and work, but today she says: “Instead of thinking about working, I want to think about how I want to protect my family.” As the only unmarried daughter in her family, she found herself bearing responsibility for her parents, and going out despite fear to provide for their needs.
Her studies stopped after she lost her computer and what she wrote for her dissertation in her destroyed home. She also lost her job after the school where she worked was destroyed.
When she thinks about the coming years, she does not imagine the job, study or future she was planning, but rather wonders if she will ever be able to get out of the tent life.
“In the first place, there is no absolutely normal life,” she says.
“We longed for every detail, as if it were a luxury.”
George, a young Syrian man who spent about 15 years in the shadow of war and instability, says that “normal life” has come to mean for him details that were self-evident: studying, graduating, working, getting married, starting a family, and even moving between governorates without fear of being asked about identity or belonging.
He says: "All these details, which I believe are considered in other countries as the minimum level of life, here we have begun to long for the basis that they are a luxury."
George believes that normal life requires a stable economy, a cohesive society, and a safe environment, conditions that he says are not currently available. “With time, fuel crises, sectarian affiliations, and security challenges have become part of daily life, even for those who try to stay away from them.”
He adds that many Syrians are no longer able to plan far into the future, as many are now dealing with the country as a “temporary place” until they find an opportunity to immigrate, travel, seek refuge, or work. Even daily planning has become limited, according to his description, in a country that could witness sudden security or economic change.
“I don’t think anyone plans more than one day at a time. You are in an unstable country. Any day could bring a surprise, any change could happen.”
He summarizes his experience by saying: “There is no such thing as a normal life in Syria as a whole.”
“Exiles have become our homes.”
The turning point for Hanadi, a Sudanese refugee in Nairobi, was when the war was no longer something expected to end, but rather became part of the details of daily life. “We began to plan our lives based on the sounds of bombing, the blackout of electricity and communications, and the difficulty of movement,” she says. Then I realized that war was no longer news you heard, but a reality you lived every day.
She left her home and her region, and her family members were dispersed between different regions and countries. Over time, worry became part of her routine: “Is it safe? What happened? Are the people we know okay?” She says that getting used to it does not mean the disappearance of fear, but rather that people learn how to continue their lives despite its presence.
Before the war, details such as work, meeting friends, meeting family, and planning for the future were normal. Today, the family is dispersed and communicates through phone screens. Hanadi summarizes this transformation with a phrase from the Eritrean poet, Haji Jaber Al-Manafi, about those who live in war: “Exiles have become our homes.”
She says she got used to watching the news, thinking about safe places, worrying about others, and adjusting to interruptions in services and changes in plans. “Sometimes I find myself dealing with these things normally, and then I stop and ask myself: How did this become a part of my life?”
Even after arriving in a safer place, the war was not over for her. It remained present in memory and way of thinking, and it began to deal with the future “step by step.” For her, normal life today means feeling safe, working and planning for tomorrow, without fear determining her decisions.
“All my decisions are linked to the possibility of renewed fighting.”
For Rabie, a Lebanese photographer from the southern suburbs of Beirut, war is no longer an event separate from daily life, even after the fighting stopped.
He says the possibility of its renewal has become a factor in his decisions, from where to store his photography equipment to how to manage his money. He moved part of his equipment and savings outside the suburb, in anticipation of a new round or evacuation warnings.
“Now, all the decisions I make depend on whether the war will be renewed or not.”
Even money has acquired a different meaning. Instead of spending it as it used to do before, he now keeps part of it in anticipation of emergency circumstances. He says that people no longer treat the cessation of war as an end to it, but rather as a period that could precede another round of escalation.
This feeling was also reflected in personal decisions, as economic instability and the decline in work affect decisions about marriage and family formation, while single people, according to Rabie, can move more easily in times of danger.
In the devastated areas, the meaning of home has also changed.
He says that some residents have begun to maintain homes outside their original areas in anticipation of renewed escalation, so a home outside the area has become a backup option, while others live between two homes.
For him, the normal life he knew before the war was simply a life devoid of bombing, planes, and the daily atmosphere of war. He points out that Lebanon lived for many years between threats and skirmishes, but the recent war changed the sense of life, after the damage extended to large areas and sectors.
For Rabie, “the cessation of fighting does not mean that life will return to normal: the destruction is still present, the shops are closed or damaged, and many residents have left their areas.”
“We stopped living a normal life...until now, despite everything and the cessation of the war, we no longer live a normal life.”
"Coexisting with war as a way of life"
Sami, a Libyan academic, believes that the years of conflict have changed the concept of stability and normal life among Libyans.
The presence of military personnel in the streets, which was previously noticeable, has become a common sight, while some young people have begun to lean toward the military field instead of studying, influenced by the image of its advancement as a “field of honor” and “an industry for men.”
He says that life, which was based on education, work and production, has turned, in his view, into a competition for power, influence and military force, considering that “coexistence with war began as a temporary condition, but it gradually turned into a way of life and brought back some old patterns of conflict to Libyan society.”
What is happening may not become normal no matter how long it takes. What changes is a person’s ability to adapt to it and rearrange his life around a reality that he did not choose.
After years of displacement, fear, and instability, the question is no longer just: “When will the war end?” Rather, “What will happen when it is over?” How much time does a person need to regain his ability to plan, feel safe, and imagine the future?
Perhaps for this reason, “normal life” for those who lived through the war does not seem like a return to what was before it... but it may simply be the ability to plan for tomorrow, sleep without fear, return home, and live in a place where we do not need to ask ourselves every morning: “How will this day go?”
