Lebanese American citizen speaks of chaos and heartbreak leaving Beirut

Samer Bawab, a Lebanese American citizen from Cleveland, said this week the aerial bombardment in central Beirut was so intense that it physically shook his apartment.

"Imagine closing your eyes and just trying to find some peace for a few hours and then boom, boom, boom," Bawab told ABC News.

In 2018, Bawab moved from his native Cleveland to Lebanon's capital city to be with his late father. Beirut became his home. But, on Thursday, Bawab left behind a close circle of friends and his family legacy as he boarded an American evacuation flight to Istanbul.

Bawab was one of 134 passengers to leave Beirut on a flight Thursday morning evacuating Americans from Lebanon. The evacuation flight was confirmed by State Department spokesperson Matthew Miller during a press briefing. The department advised on Friday that a third flight departed with 97 on board, bringing the total number of individuals evacuated through the charters to roughly 350.

In the past few weeks, Bawab said the buzz of Israeli drones overhead and incessant aerial bombardment of Dahieh, located just five minutes from his apartment in the Ras el Nabeh neighborhood, had created growing fear and panic. Bawab said the intensity of the explosions was reminiscent of the Aug. 4, 2020, blast at Beirut's port -- an accidental explosion of 2,750 tons of ammonium nitrate that killed nearly 200 people and wiped out 77,000 apartments, according to the United Nations.

"The Lebanese have a saying that the terror comes at night," Bawab said. "Imagine a Lebanese family, we're ready to go to bed, we have work the next day, we're getting ready to sleep. And all of a sudden, whether there's a warning or not, we hear a loud boom, which echoes all throughout Beirut."

"Beirut is very small. So you can basically feel everything," Bawab explained.

Bawab started communicating with the U.S. Embassy two weeks ago, he said, and exploring ways to leave Lebanon.

"My problem was there wasn't enough flights to get out, there is only one airline still operating, Middle East Airlines, and that's sold out until November," he said.

On Tuesday, he received a text from the U.S. Embassy saying it was planning to begin evacuating citizens. Then, in the early hours of Thursday morning, he received a call from the State Department in Washington, D.C., telling him to be at the airport at 6:30 a.m.

Bawab said getting to the airport was "very scary," as the road from downtown Beirut to the airport runs parallel to the heavily bombarded Dahieh. He said he questioned whether it was even safe to go.

Choosing to go, when he got to the airport, Bawab said he walked into a frantic scene.

"Many people are waiting at the airport all day just to get an available ticket on Middle East Airlines just so they can get their grandparents out, their mom out or their daughters out," he said. "It's completely tragic. And it just breaks my heart just to see how this country has really sank."

Bawab and other Lebanese Americans were able to board their flight.

"We're taxiing out onto the runway, and there is smoke billowing from various different targeted strikes in the area and surrounding area. Everybody was panicking, 'Are we going to be able to take off?' It's just complete chaos, there's no other way to put it."

"For me, looking out of the window and flying and seeing all the smoke and damage in our beautiful country, it was just very heartbreaking," he added.

Over 1.2 million Lebanese have been displaced, according to Lebanese authorities, including 300,000 children, UNICEF said. There have also been nearly 2,000 people killed since the resurgence of Israel's conflict with Lebanon's Iran-backed Hezbollah group over the last year, most of them within the past two weeks. Many of the displaced have descended on Beirut, Bawab said.

Fighting back tears, Bawab said he fears for those who remain in Lebanon.

"At the end of the day, I mean, I was not born there. I'm an American," he said. "My home is in Cleveland, Ohio, and I had spent five years in Lebanon and it became my home."

"It's really very hard because many people, they're stuck there. They can't leave Lebanon. They have visa issues, or a Lebanese passport," he continued. "I feel very lucky to be able to get out with my U.S. citizenship."

A strike in the early hours of Thursday morning hit beside a cemetery in Bachoura, central Beirut, where Bawab visits every Sunday to leave flowers on his father and grandfather's graves.

"For me, it's a very important place, it's sacred," he said. Bawab has asked a colleague to check if their graves have been damaged in his absence.

"To say goodbye and not to know when to come back, it's very hard," he said, adding, "But what's going to be left when we get back?"