'Time stood still'
A humanitarian’s story from ‘Black Wednesday’ — 8 April, 2026 in Beirut, Lebanon.
'The ground shuttered beneath me'
On what came to be known as “Black Wednesday”, on 8 April 2026, over 150 airstrikes struck across Lebanon within the span of ten minutes. These attacks took place in broad daylight, on busy, residential and commercial areas, resulting in at least 357 people killed and 1,223 injured.
The events of that day profoundly affected the lives of people working to help others. Lama, from the International Federation of the Red Cross and Red Crescent Societies (IFRC) in Beirut, Lebanon, is one of them. She tells her story about that day, when time stood still as she tried to locate her family.
•
"I was close to the office at midday when the ground shuddered beneath me, at the sound of massive blasts."
"Two minutes later, I got a call from a friend checking up on my parents. Then the calls kept coming - one after the other and videos began arriving on WhatsApp showing the street right below our family apartment, covered in dust and debris.
Airstrikes had targeted the building next to ours, which my mother had passed on her way back from the local grocery store - only 15 minutes earlier.
They also hit Rifai, a large and famous nut roaster on the same street. Over 30 cars burned in the street - some with people still inside.
Five minutes of eternity
But I wasn't there with my family when it struck. My immediate feelings were utter devastation and helplessness. Phone connections were completely down, and for five agonizing minutes, I couldn't reach them. When the line finally went through, all I could hear was my brother and my mother screaming.
Those five minutes, as I scrambled to dial and redial their numbers, were the longest of my life.
Time had completely stopped."
Miraculous survival
"Even after I heard their voices, the nightmare was unfolding in real-time. My mother and brother had been home at the time of the strike.
They survived miraculously. My mother had been sitting at home by the window. The blast blew the entire window frame inwards, but it fell on her in one piece without shattering. Without breaking. That is what saved her life.
They fled on foot to reach safety, past dead bodies in the street. There was screaming. Blood. People running in every direction."
What I carry
"What stays with me is this: my mother was saved twice that day. She had passed the building that was hit only 15 minutes before the strike. The glass that struck her at home did not shatter. It held together, and she survived.
And then there is something harder to put into words: you never truly believe the conflict will reach you, until it does.
As humanitarians, we spend our lives responding to emergencies and communicating about disasters.
But we are just normal people. We have mothers who go to the grocery store, brothers whose phones we pray will ring. When a crisis of that magnitude strikes below your own home, it shatters any illusion of distance.
We are not immune to the trauma, the panic, or the losses that people around us are facing. And yet, we keep going. Because there is no other choice."
Lama El Chidiac is an IFRC communications officer working in IFRC's regional office for the Middle East and North Africa in Beirut, Lebanon.
We are grateful for her work and dedication to sharing the stories of people throughout the region in the face of numerous, ongoing humanitarian challenges — and risks to personal safety and well being.
Built with Shorthand
