On February 27, I attended an Iftar party at a friend’s house, where discussion naturally turned to the escalating tensions in the region. But little did I know that the next day would bring alarming news that would shake my understanding of distance and safety. 

As I prepared for a class on conflict reporting scheduled for Monday, I opened my laptop to research. Typing in “conflict,” the first headline that caught my eye was about an attack in Iran. 

Conflicts in this area aren’t new, so I initially dismissed it as an event occurring 2000 kilometers away. 

However, as the day unfolded, my phone buzzed incessantly with news alerts and forwarded messages. By evening, my WhatsApp group was abuzz with inquiries like, “Did you hear that loud thud?” 

It became clear that this was not a distant threat anymore. It was a situation that could affect us directly. 

In our neighbourhood, known for its lively Arabic and Indian restaurants, an unsettling silence replaced the usual sounds of families breaking fast and children playing. 

A friend living closer to Abu Dhabi repeatedly asked if we could hear the blasts. Each time, I replied with a firm “no,” but the tension was quite intense. 

I stepped out to the balcony, hoping to find some calm, when suddenly the entire building shook. The deafening sound felt as if a bomb had dropped just across the street. 

I rushed to the elevator, and upon reaching the ground floor, I found a crowd gathering in the lobby. 

Confusion and fear were etched on everyone’s faces. Some cried while others tried to maintain a brave front. 

As I made my way outside, I joined a larger crowd, all eyes turned skyward. Some pointed to a fireball in the distance, as the wailing of sirens filled the air. 

An ambulance approached and stopped nearby. An Arab woman rolled down her window, not to scold us for being outside, but to inquire if everyone was alright. 

Her calm demeanor was a brief comfort amid the chaos.

Just then, our phones beeped simultaneously with an emergency alert: “Due to current situation, potential missile threats, seek immediate shelter in the nearest building. Stay away from windows, doors, and open areas. Await further instructions.” 

We rushed back to the lobby, where sleep was the last thing on our minds that night. Since then, receiving such alerts has become routine. 

Thankfully, the follow-up message now reads: “Thank you for your cooperation. We reassure you that the situation is currently safe. You may resume your normal activities while continuing to remain cautious, take the necessary precautions, and follow official instructions.” 

Even as normal life resumes, the message reminds people to stay alert and continue following official guidance.

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Amidst the uncertainty, gestures of solidarity have emerged. The UAE government has arranged accommodations and covered meal expenses for stranded tourists, while taxi drivers have offered free rides to those in need. Airlines have provided full refunds and rebooking options for affected passengers. 

Heartwarming moments have been shared on social media, like President H.H. Sheikh Mohamed bin Zayed Al Nahyan and Prince Faza enjoying Iftar at Dubai Mall, mingling with visitors, alongside public appearances by Sheikh Mohammed bin Rashid Al Maktoum. 

As I write this on the eighth day of conflict, I remain uncertain about what lies ahead, whether I will be able to travel back home soon, or when normalcy will return. 

Coming from a region which is prone to difficult situations and uncertainty, I wonder while conflicts may be unavoidable, can people around us make it less stressful? Is staying hopefully also staying realistic? 

Some questions have no straight answers.

© Kashmir Observer