TEHRAN: For Tehran resident Fatemeh, the highlight of her day in a city beset by deadly daily US-Israeli strikes in the now month-long war is to make the short journey to her local cafe.
“When I make it to a cafe table, even for a few minutes, I can almost believe the world hasn’t ended,” said Fatemeh, 27, a dental assistant.
“It feels like stepping out of this damn war and into an ordinary day, or at least imagining a world that is not 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.
If a lull in the bombing allows for a better night’s sleep, Fatemeh said she would put on makeup and dress up to make her visit to the cafe extra special.
“And then I go back home, back to the reality of living through war, with all its darkness and weight,” she said.
Residents of Tehran who spoke to AFP’s team in Paris painted a picture of a city that is still clinging to some routine, with cafes and restaurants open, no shortages reported in supermarkets or petrol stations, and people trying to keep up some vestige of a social life.
But they know that life is anything but normal with the US and Israel maintaining a relentless pace of bombardment on the capital since the war started on Feb. 28.
There are security checkpoints on what were peaceful streets, the internet has been blocked or drastically slowed for everything except domestic services, and windows are taped up to prevent them from shattering in case of attack.
As well as fear of being killed or losing a loved one in an attack, people are gripped by anxiety over the future, over what kind of country they will live in, and how they will make ends meet amid a collapsing economy.
The people who agreed to share messages with AFP gave only their first names for fear of the consequences if they were to be identified by authorities.
“These days, I mostly stay at home and only go out if I absolutely have to. The only thing left from my life routine before the war that helps me keep my spirit up is cooking,” said Shahrzad, 39, a housewife.
But she added: “Sometimes I find myself crying in the middle of it. I miss ordinary days ... A life where I did not have to constantly think about explosions, death, or losing my loved ones.
“I try to stay strong for my daughter ... But when I think about the future, I cannot form any clear picture in my mind that I can hold on to with hope.”
In Tehran, over the last week, people have been trying to make the best of the main traditional Persian holiday, Nowruz, a festival that normally sees people leave the city or celebrate at home with family.
“There is no famine; everything is available. Cafes are open, and we still go out to cafes,” said Shayan, 40, a photographer. “There is gasoline, water, and electricity.”
“But there is a sense of helplessness in all of us. We don’t know what to do, and there’s really nothing we can do.
“There was no real Nowruz atmosphere at all, but we tried to force ourselves,” he said.
