The U.N. peacekeepers' armored vehicle moves slowly along the de facto border in southern Lebanon, not because of the terrain or the threat of shelling and drones, but because every mile means relearning a landscape profoundly transformed by war.
UNIFIL — the United Nations Interim Force in Lebanon — has been monitoring this area since 1978, when it was created to verify Israel's troop withdrawal after its first occupation of Lebanon.
The U.N. expanded UNIFIL's mandate 20 years ago to include monitoring adherence to a ceasefire in fighting between Israel and Lebanon's Iran-backed Hezbollah - the militant group created in 1982 to counter a second Israeli invasion.
Almost half a century later, the peacekeeping force's mandate will expire at the end of the year and due to U.S. and Israeli opposition, will not be renewed. There is still no durable ceasefire.
An agreement in June between Israel and Lebanon has brought only a fragile pause to a conflict that the Lebanese government says has killed more than 4,300 people, displaced more than 1.2 million and redrawn the geography of southern Lebanon since it began in March, when Hezbollah fired rockets at Israel. Israel says 39 soldiers and a military contractor, plus two civilians, have been killed in Hezbollah attacks since then. Seven U.N. peacekeepers have also been killed since the war began this year, according to UNIFIL.
The "blue line" — now marked by blue metal barriers — was the demarcation line drawn up by the U.N. for another Israeli withdrawal in 2000, after 18 years of occupation in southern Lebanon. Now marked by blue plastic barriers, it has served as a de facto border between two countries which has never formally agreed on boundaries.
Today, it remains on the map, but no longer fully describes the reality on the ground.
Months of bombardment have blurred the old boundaries. New lines of control and restriction have emerged, changing how people move, work and return home. After months of restrictions, UNIFIL has reopened access to parts of its eastern sector that Israel's military presence had placed off limits.
"Today, for the first time in several months, we are heading into the eastern sector. It is an opportunity for us," says Sgt. Audric of the French UNIFIL battalion. French military policy in Lebanon prohibits identifying soldiers by first names for security reasons. "Since the negotiations began, we have been able to reopen this sector and finally regain our freedom of movement following the ceasefire."
The reopening comes as the implementation of U.N. Security Council Resolution 1701, adopted in 2006 to end the war between Israel and Hezbollah and establish a security framework for southern Lebanon, faces renewed challenges. At the same time, UNIFIL, first deployed in 1978, could come to an end after nearly five decades. Its original mandate was to restore security, oversee Israel's withdrawal and help re-establish Lebanese state authority in the south.
Yellow line
Israel has established what it calls a buffer zone marked by what it refers to as the yellow line, a strip of land five miles wide in some places where Israeli forces continue to occupy Lebanon. It says the purpose of the zone is to prevent Hezbollah from firing rockets into northern Israel. Israel has barred Lebanese civilians from accessing their own land along the border and has demolished civilian homes and infrastructure in many of the border towns.
"The yellow line does not exist for us, but we have to mark it on the map so that we can visualize it," says Lt. Col. Sebastián Dorado Santos, UNIFIL's Spanish public information officer.
"It has disrupted normal life. Many civilians are unable to go to work or carry out their daily activities. The harvest season is approaching, but they cannot access their fields."
Beyond the line, the physical scars of the conflict are visible everywhere. Roads have been reduced to rough tracks, marked by the passage of Israeli tanks. Houses that once sheltered families have been reduced to concrete and rubble. In some places, Israeli flags fly above the ruins.
A succession of emptied and flattened villages marks the route between the sectors: Houla, Odaisseh, Kafr Kila and the open structure of Fatima's Gate, a former crossing between Israel and Lebanon closed by Israeli forces after they withdrew in 2000.
For local civilians, these are not abstract lines on a map. They separate homes from farmland, communities from workplaces and families from the places where they built their lives. The restricted area covers approximately 6% of Lebanon's territory, reviving memories of Israel's 18-year occupation of southern Lebanon, which ended in 2000.
Access remains largely prohibited, although just a few miles from the most heavily destroyed areas, some Christian villages remain inhabited, although isolated and with limited access to basic services.
Humanitarian convoys bring food, medicine and other essential supplies. Their presence, however, carries a symbolic weight.
"When they see us, they know they are not alone," says Father Hani Tawk, coordinator of a network of Catholic organizations.
Many residents remain caught between a border they do not control, a limited state presence and an occupation with no clear end in sight, Tawk adds.
For local authorities, access to farm land is one of the most pressing concerns.
"Agriculture remains the main source of income and an essential driver of local development," says Mari's mayor, Salman Abou al-Ola. Farmers need to reach their fields and harvest their crops."
The restrictions are also cutting communities off from basic services.
After months of suspension because of fighting, UNIFIL has resumed some of its non-military activities, providing basic medical assistance in areas where access remains severely restricted.
"There are no doctors here, and humanitarian assistance is insufficient. We are living like in a prison," says Fayez Al Khaled, a Syrian resident of Ain al-Arab being treated by a visiting Spanish doctor.
The main road to Nabatieh remains closed. When Khaled's mother became ill, he says, there was no adequate medical care available.
"This area is characterized by a lack of employment opportunities and, more recently, intense fires," says Maj. Jesús Fernández Manchado with the Spanish UNIFIL contingent. He says they suspended their activities in March and only recently resumed them.
The Lebanese government has accused Israel of deliberately setting wildfires in forested and agricultural areas to ensure villagers do not return. The Israeli military has refused to comment on the charges.
"The yellow line affects all our activities because it represents a new reality on the ground," Manchado says. "For civilians, it means separating homes from their land. For us, it is neither recognized, marked, nor demarcated."
But the yellow line is not the only development reshaping southern Lebanon's border. A new system of "pilot zones" has also emerged — pinpointing areas where Israeli forces and Hezbollah fighters are meant to withdraw, with Lebanese armed forces replacing them.
In the town of Zawtar al-Gharbieh, the consequences of that shifting geography are visible inside people's homes. Ihsan Yaghi looks over what remains of her house on a visit from Beirut's southern suburbs, where she has been displaced. Yaghi, who has six daughters and a retired husband, returned after hearing that Israeli forces had withdrawn from the village at the end of July. She waited for a week on it's outskirts for clearance from the Lebanese Armed Forces before finally entering.
Inside the town, evidence of the occupation was still visible. A line of Israeli tanks stood positioned behind the houses.
Just a few meters away, another house had been used as a temporary shelter by Israeli soldiers. Cans, water containers, mattresses and crosses - seeming evidence of the home's former Christian occupants — lay scattered across a dirty room. Drawings that included a Star of David covered the walls — apparent traces left by the soldiers who had stayed there.
Mahasen Fakih had been displaced to the Chouf region and returned to Zawtar a few days ago, and returned to find her home destroyed. There is still no electricity or running water in the town.
"The explosions don't stop throughout the night, especially from Ali al-Taher. I can barely sleep," she says, referring to a mountain landmark where Israel has been fighting to dislodge Hezbollah fighters.
Across southern Lebanon, thousands of people are trying to return to homes that no longer exist.
The blue line remains where it was drawn. But on the ground, a new geography has taken shape, marked by the constant hum of drones, restricted zones, abandoned villages, destroyed roads and fields their owners can no longer reach. Daily airstrikes are a reminder that, for those living here, the war is not over.
The map may still show the same border. On the ground, everything has changed.
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