Describe the apocalypse in one word: Sweida. Humanity lost its compass. What has taken place from July 2025 is beyond comprehension, beyond evil. Nothing could prepare the Druze and the Christians for the targeted destruction that set its sights on our people.
Sweida now is unrecognizable.
Countless innocent victims abused and slaughtered in barbaric ways. Whole towns burned to the ground. Months later we are still living in this hell on earth. The elders who have lived through many years of war sit defeated.
I am not a witness to what was happening – before I could fathom the scale of what was taking place, I was in it. It escalated so quickly. Without warning, tens of thousands of armed men filled the streets. Instantly, terror and fear overtook us. They knocked on our doors; we were luckier than most. I can still hear the deadly shrieks of those who didn’t make it.
Horrors in Sweida
In Sweida central, where I reside, wounded men defending our honor came for medical assistance, loaded with shrapnel, blood-soaked, and eyes wide open – stripped of innocence.
As wounds became deadly, we made trips to the hospital through the maze of gunfire and bombings. Upon arriving at Sweida hospital, the stench of dead bodies hit you before you could see them. In the heat the corpses were piled so high. This was to be the welcome mat for weeks on end.
Hysteria set in with no access to water, food, electricity, and Internet. Intermittent calls only a few seconds long produced panic. We became prisoners in our own homes. When Israeli planes finally appeared in Sweida central, people prayed for safety and rescue. We were armed in the dozens – those against us armed by the tens of thousands.
I carried a gun; I learned to load Russian rifles; I became everything the war needed me to be. I sought out news about my mother, whose home was closed in by tanks near Sweida hospital. I knew nothing until three days later. She managed to escape after bombs fell on her home. Luckily, she was safe.
Evacuating to Shahba
Days later, an opportunity for evacuation to Shahba appeared, by the grace of God. In Shahba hospital I spent time with the medical staff and patients. For five continuous days they performed surgeries with only one anesthesiologist. I will never forget the blue bag that arrived with the ambulance. It overflowed with severed arms, legs, feet, and hands. Still warm.
Friends visiting from Australia opened up their home in Shahba to redirect those homeless and helpless. With experience in the mental health space, I personally counseled many women who were subject to rape, torture, kidnapping, theft, and who watched their homes burned to the ground.
I interviewed firsthand those who witnessed the killings of their loved ones. Their men were unarmed and nonresistant. Eyes gouged out, beheadings. Mustaches shaved to dishonor our faith. Grandfathers, fathers, brothers and sons – generations wiped out, and women left to weep.
What will become of Sweida is now a global responsibility. We are haunted by the question of how did we get here? What makes this nightmare recurring is the question, what will happen next?
The writer is a Druze woman living in Sweida, Syria. Her full name has been withheld for her safety.