The story of Syria and Lebanon seems like a vicious circle. A recurring tragedy from which its populations cannot escape. The groups of civilians who crowded on Monday afternoon to wade through Nahar al Kabir (the Grand River) reminded of the same Syrians - also opponents - who fled in 2011 from the terrible repression of the central power. Those seen by the journalist at that time, in this same region of Akkar, on the border between Lebanon and Syria, were Sunnis fleeing the brutal harassment of the dictatorship of Bashar Assad. They spoke of torture at the Banias hospital by doctors loyal to the regime, indiscriminate killings, and all kinds of atrocities.
None hid the desire to avenge those abuses. "When the revolution triumphs, we will cut the throats of those who collaborated with the regime", Adnan al Yala, a Lebanese opposition member, once told me.
Imprisoned by the past, Syria has resurrected sectarian hatred. Now those who suffer are the Alawites, the members of the confession that supported Assad.
Dozens of them were crossing the meager watercourse that separates the Lebanese village of Hekr al Dahri from Syrian territory in the late afternoon, fleeing the raids against members of their community, which have spread throughout the coastal region. They all arrived with wet clothes, the same terror expressed by their fellow citizens at the beginning of the revolt against Assad, and a few belongings. They flee to save their lives. Just like back then.
That's why almost no one wants to give their name. Many even avoid mentioning their origin. They come from the province of Tartus - bordering Akkar - but are reluctant to identify their villages. Dozens of newcomers crowded the streets of the village. Others had already settled in tents and garages, makeshift shelters.
One of those who just crossed the river, a 51-year-old Alawite, points to his wet pants. He comes with his four children. "They are terrified," he points out.
The presence of the journalist causes a small commotion. Everyone wants to talk but without being identified. They show videos of corpses with heads shattered by gunshots. And they mention names of villages, devastated by massacres and what they describe as "ethnic cleansing": Hammam Wasel, Kherbet al Mazah, Beit al Ateiq, Taanita... Some women simply cry when recalling the bitter experience they have been through.
"No one is left. They bombarded us with mortars, with Dushkas [anti-aircraft machine guns]. We have been living in that small tent lent to us by the neighbors for two days. We are five families," says a 30-year-old woman who arrived in Hekr al Dahri on Saturday.
Ibrahim, a 35-year-old Syrian, makes his way through the group gathered around the visitor and shows a video of three young men's bodies. "Their names are: Salim Laji, 40 years old; Hadi Ajib, 40 years old; and his brother Adnan Ajib, 35. There were eight of us working in the fields. It was half past four in the afternoon. Nearly 20 cars arrived with many armed men. We thought it was the Police, but they had the flag of Jabhat al Nusra [Al Qaeda's branch in Syria]. We ran and they started shooting," he recounts with a trembling voice.
He says he survived by hiding in a water pipe. He didn't come out until the patrol left the area. It was then that he came across the bodies and was able to record the scene. He then walked for hours until crossing the border into Lebanon.
"They are exterminating us!", he shouted, overwhelmed by anguish.
The influx of Alawites to Lebanon started slowly on Friday night, turning into a tsunami over the weekend as the scale of the killings in Syria increased.
According to the crisis department of Akkar, the northern region receiving most of the escapees, the latest crisis has brought nearly 8,000 people to the area, who have spread out as best they could across about fifteen villages in the area.
The exodus has once again mobilized international organizations. The delivery of mattresses and food, and the movement of vehicles from UN aid organizations or the International Red Cross are, once again, a recurring image in this district.
Those fleeing have also arrived by the thousands in the Alawite neighborhood of Jabal Mohsen, located in the city of Tripoli, and in the Bekaa region, where those leaving Homs province head.
"About 3,000 families have arrived in Jabal Mohsen. There are another 3,000 in Bekaa, but most are in Akkar," estimates Sheikh Ahmad Assi of the Alawite Islamic Council, seated in his office in the suburb of Tripoli.
Hundreds of members of the same confession have sought refuge at the Hmeimin base near Jableh, controlled by Russian troops. Footage from Syrian television shows civilians sitting on the tarmac, in an area cordoned off by armored vehicles of the European army. Dozens of cars belonging to members of this community are gathered outside the barracks, trying to enter the compound.
Lebanese municipalities near Nahar al Kebir, places like Tal Bire or Massoudiye, are facing the challenge of hosting a new wave of refugees as it happened 14 years ago.
Ali al Ali, mayor of Massoudiye, has not forgotten that. "Those were opponents of Bashar's regime, and these are opponents of Al Sharaa. Now we have both sides," he says with a resigned expression.
According to the official of this locality, by March 6, they had received 200 families, to which they have had to add another five hundred (about 1,500 people) in recent days.
Several dozen of them have ended up crowded in an old school, where the Syrians themselves use any space to stack bricks and build shacks covered with red asbestos roofs, where the latest arrivals have taken shelter. A 35-year-old father, claiming to come from Taanita, has settled with 12 members of his group in one of these simple dwellings, where everything has to be stacked against the wall to accommodate the occupants.
The Syrian claims that before March 6, the Damascus agents had not committed any crimes in Taanita, but "they kept humiliating us and sometimes beating us."
Everything changed with the initial assault by militias loyal to the former regime. "The groups coming from Idlib surrounded the village. They had the black and white flag [both associated with the most extremist jihadism]. I escaped alone, at eight in the evening. They started the massacre the next morning," he recounts.
Two women who witnessed the slaughter support his account. They are also from Taanita. R. (only willing to give her initial), 23 years old, and S., 30, decided to stay in the village because the security forces told them they "would not touch women or children."
But the extremists from the north did not share those limitations. "They started entering houses and killing neighbors. The whole village, thousands of people, ran while they were shooting. They were stationed on corners, rooftops, in their trucks. Near the village bridge, they killed dozens. The street was full of bodies," recounts R, who managed to escape with her two young children.
"No one is left. Only dead bodies lying on the ground," adds S.