For Tehran resident Fatemeh, the highlight of her day in a city plagued by deadly daily strikes between the United States and Israel in the now month-long war is taking a short trip to her local coffee shop.
“When I arrive at a café table, even for a few minutes, I can almost believe that the world is not over,” said the 27-year-old dental assistant.
“It’s like stepping out of this damn war and into an ordinary day, or at least imagining a world that isn’t filled with the constant fear of losing your life, or where you stay alive but lose a loved one or everything you have,” she said. AFP.
If a lull in the bombing allows for a better night’s sleep, Fatemeh said she will put on makeup and dress up to make her visit to the cafe even more special.
“And then I go home, I come back to the reality of war, with all its darkness and its weight,” she said.
Tehran residents who spoke to AFP’s The team covering the war in Paris painted a picture of a city still clinging to some routine, with cafes and restaurants open, no shortages reported at supermarkets or gas stations, and people trying to hold on to a vestige of a social life.
But they know that life is anything but normal, as the United States and Israel have continued a relentless pace of bombing on the capital since the war began on Feb. 28 with the martyrdom of Supreme Leader Ayatollah Ali Khamenei and other top officials.
There are security checkpoints on once-peaceful streets, the internet has been blocked or significantly slowed for everything except household services, and windows are boarded up to prevent them from shattering in the event of an attack.
In addition to the fear of being killed or losing a loved one in an attack, people are gripped by anxiety about the future, what kind of country they will live in and how they will make ends meet amid economic collapse.
People who agreed to share messages with AFP only gave their first names, for fear of the consequences if they were identified by the authorities.
“The only thing left”
“These days I stay at home most of the time and only go out if absolutely necessary. The only thing left from my pre-war routine that helps keep my spirits up is cooking,” said Shahrzad, 39.
But she added: “Sometimes I find myself crying in the middle of it all. I miss ordinary days… A life where I didn’t have to constantly think about explosions, death or loss of loved ones.
“I try to stay strong for my daughter… But when I think about the future, I can’t form a clear picture that I can cling to with hope.”
Tehran residents have, over the past week, tried to make the most of the main traditional Persian holiday of Nowruz, a holiday that normally sees people leaving the city or celebrating at home with family.
“There is no famine, everything is available. The cafes are open and we still go to the cafe,” said Shayan, 40, a photographer. “There is gasoline, water and electricity.”
“But there is a feeling of helplessness in all of us. We don’t know what to do and there’s really nothing we can do.
“There wasn’t much of an atmosphere at Nowruz, but we tried to force ourselves,” he said.
If stores and restaurants are open until 9 p.m., “many people don’t go out after the afternoon,” he adds.
“I miss a peaceful night’s sleep”
Elnaz, 32, a painter based in Tehran, said that when the attacks stopped and she had time to reflect, she remembered how much she missed “living a simple life.”
“We miss the simplest things, going out at night or just being able to go to another part of the city.
“I miss something as ordinary as shopping somewhere other than the little grocery store or bakery on my street.
“I miss reading in a café, going to the park… all those very, very simple things.”
She added: “And more than anything, I miss a peaceful night’s sleep.”
Elnaz explained that some nights the attacks are so intense that it feels like “all of Tehran is shaking.”
“It all comes down to one thing: survival. I only think about staying alive with all the people I love. My friends, my family and the people of my city, who seem kinder than ever during this difficult time,” she said.
Kaveh, 38, a visual artist, said a piece of missile hit about 50 meters from his house a few days ago.
“I brought it home. I want to do something with it when I get the chance,” he said, recalling that dust was falling from the sky and several windows were broken immediately.
He described how, at night, in some areas, groups of people who support the clerical system drive around, honking their horns and gathering, “while a few blocks away there are checkpoints where normal people’s cars and phones are searched.”
“If you have anything to do in town, you’ll likely pass multiple checkpoints in a single day, each manned by different groups. Cars are searched, phones are checked, and months of pent-up frustration are inflicted on people at these checkpoints.
“This is just part of our daily reality in these circumstances,” he said.
According to residents, the gloomy atmosphere was made worse by unseasonably rainy weather, which contrasts with the spring sunshine people are accustomed to in Nowruz.
Portraits of children killed in attacks are displayed in squares, while giant flags of the Islamic Republic cover buildings reduced to ruins.
“Ultimately, for many people, the most important concern is the future of Iran and its people, and what could actually improve the situation,” Kaveh said.
