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On Saturday night, the notorious Israeli surveillance drone MK known locally in Lebanon as “Umm Kamel ” (Kamel’s mother), made an unwelcome to Beirut's airspace, for the first time since the days-old US-France-brokered ceasefireĚýcame into effect.ĚýAs thousands of displaced civilians scrambled to return to what remains of their homes following weeks of agonizing conditions in displacement shelters across the country, theĚýbuzzing drone brought back immediate trauma to the residents of the Lebanese capital and other parts of Lebanon.

For over two months of Israel's deadly war on their country, the Lebanese have resorted to all kinds of coping mechanisms, including dark humor to cope with the pervasive threat of Israeli airstrikes. Central to this is the Israeli reconnaissance aircraft, militarily known as the, whose constant buzzing transformed from a mere nuisance to a symbol of fear destruction and the ever-present threat hovering around Lebanese skies.

"We laugh at Umm Kamel , but it’s no joke,” says clinical psychologist Dr. Randa Shlita.

“When people are under constant monitoring, they tend to revolt. This tension will reflect on parents' relationships with each other, with their surroundings, and with children. It will even impact and fetuses in a pregnant mother's womb," says Shlita.

Terrorising soundscape

Since all-out war broke out in late September, over 3,800 were killed and 16,000 wounded amid ongoing Israeli airstrikes that have spanned areas far from Hezbollah-supporting constituencies in southern Lebanon. The drones were used to target northern areas previously untouched by conflict, causing mass destruction and psychological trauma to adults and children who now recognize the din of "Umm Kamel " and associate it with impending danger, trauma that won’t end with the ceasefire.

The aircraft's history is complex. Since the 2006 war, these drones have been known by multiple names — "Umm Kamel ," "Al-Zanana," "Al-Wazwiza," or "M.Ka." In the Bekaa Valley, they were known as "Al-Fassada" (the snitch) for targeting Palestinian leaders after 2000. But since September, their presence has intensified dramatically.Ěý

Under the terms of the ceasefire, Israeli forces will begin a phased withdrawal over the nextĚý60 days. Lebanese residents are not allow back to villages near the border and a curfew has been imposed from 5pm to 7 am in areas south of the Litani River, according to a Reuters.

Unlike the surveillance drones deployed in 2006, the new and improved versions are also fitted with missiles and are built to kill. The thundering sound of sonic booms as Israeli fighter jets break the sound barrier above, have also become part of Lebanon’s terrorising soundscape.

Psychological warfare in the air

Confronting their anxiety and dire humanitarian situation with humour is one way both internally displaced people and their host communities try to reclaim a sense of agency amid fear and uncertainty, both in real life and online, where people took to and other social media to their frustration.Ěý

"This aircraft,” says a Beirut resident who preferred to remain anonymous, “has become part of our lives and our psyche. When it’s not there, something is missing,” he adds sardonically.

“It seeped into our subconscious. It’s part of the psychological warfare waged against us,” he says.

His wife, who also preferred to remain anonymous, is particularly sensitive to the relentless buzzing, which she says, is a constant source of tension as she suffers from tinnitus, now much more severe than before the war.

“Whether loud or soft, near or far, we know it’s there, watching usĚý all the time. The sound remains even after the drone disappears, and we expect a strike somewhere. We try to entertain ourselves by listening to music, but it’s always in the back of our minds, in our bones, as if it's following us, in the car, on the street, everywhere," she says.

'We get anxious if we don't hear it'

Indeed, Umm Kamel’s strikes have been indiscriminate and far-reaching. Israeli attacks extended beyond Hezbollah-controlled areas, targeting northern regions like Akkar and Zgharta, border crossings, and civilian areas in Baabda, Aley, and Chouf districts. The most devastating strike hit Almat, a town near the ancient city of Byblos (now know as Jbeil) killing 27 people and wounding many more.

For children, the psychological impact is particularly severe. Child Sama, barely 12, says she feels pain in her heart when she hears the all-too-familiar buzz overhead.Ěý

“It is more than fear, it is terrifying because this drone struck our house in the suburb," she says.

"We fled from Kafaroumane in Nabatieh in the south to come here,” recalls one internally displaced man now living in a shelter in the mountain town of Sharon. “The two-hour trip took us more than 18 hours because of the bombing. The whole time Umm KamelĚý was joking around with us, intensifying its buzz at times and disappearing at others. She had breakfast, lunch and dinner with us.”

“We get anxious if we don't hear it,” he added. “We don't know how long this crisis will last. If we didn’t laugh it off, we’d explode," he says.

Dark humour as a coping mechanismĚý

Apart from the cost in lives, the displacement of over 1.3 million people is a living nightmare. The daily struggle in overcrowded shelters, water scarcity, and infrastructure collapse have created a crisis for both displaced and host communities. Pressure on the already faltering electricity grid, weak internet and most of all the unprecedented accumulation of waste, especially in the capital Beirut, threatens to unleash a health disaster because of the pollution and rodent infestations.Ěý

Dark humor is a coping mechanism, says clinical psychologist Shlita.Ěý

"When we receive terrible news or are in a state of fear, the defense mechanism kicks in," she explains. "When we use dark humor, we convert painful reality to laughter. This helps us temporarily absorb and deal with overwhelming circumstances."

However, Shlita warns of the potential long-term psychological damage.Ěý

"If the denial continues for a long time, our perception is distorted and there’s a disconnect between reality and our understanding of it. This defense mechanism serves us for a limited time to help us cope with a hostile reality, but in the long run, a dangerous rift emerges between our lived experience and the world around us," says Shlita.

It’s a reality where "Umm Kamel " is a constant buzzing reminder of the profound psychological toll of the ongoing conflict on the Lebanese people.

This article is published in collaboration with .