A Lebanese army jeep straddles the narrow road winding into Zawtar Al Gharbiyeh while a group watches, desperate to return to their homes in the empty southern town but unable to.
The army's entry into Zawtar Al Gharbiyeh on Tuesday was supposed to mark the start of the Israeli military's eventual withdrawal from south Lebanon, the return of border areas to state control and the difficult task of disarming the Iran-backed Lebanese militia Hezbollah.
The town is one of the “pilot zones” under a US-mediated Lebanon-Israel framework agreement to achieve these goals, but for the residents waiting anxiously on its western outskirts, the deal means little unless they can return.
“Yesterday we were told that this morning we could return. But they were lying,” said Wassim Mroue, 19, whose family has been displaced to Beirut for months and thought Wednesday was the day they could finally go home.
Blocked by a wall of Lebanese soldiers, the young man and his mother waited patiently along with other residents outside the town's entrance for hours in the summer heat, but to no avail.
The Israeli military may have pulled back from Zawtar Al Gharbiyeh, but remains entrenched in a large “security zone” along the border, where it continues to carry out demolitions in villages and towns, and prevents anyone from approaching.
For people from these areas, there is a tangible sense that despite their will to return, it is not in their hands but in the hands of the “occupiers”.
Zawtar Al Gharbiyeh suffered extensive damage from fighting between Hezbollah and Israel, and demolitions carried out by Israeli troops during their occupation.
Lebanese Armed Forces troops and engineers came under Israeli fire as they entered on Tuesday, highlighting how delicate the situation is.
“It feels out of our control. Everyone wants to go home but of course we understand even if we can enter, we can't stay,” said Ahmed, a Zawtar Al Gharbiyeh resident who is currently based in Beirut but would love to return home. “Too many of us won't have homes to return to until we can rebuild.”
The brutal reality is that few have the financial means to rebuild – and neither does the Lebanese government.
“There's no timetable for their return. It depends on the situation,” said a senior Lebanese security official in Zawtar Al Gharbiyeh.
Mr Mroue's teenage years have been punctuated by repeated rounds of fighting between Hezbollah and Israel that forced his family and others to leave their homes.
“All our family is good, but we have two houses that were bombed,” he said. One is in Zawtar Al Gharbiyeh and the other in Yohmor, a nearby town neighbouring the famous Beaufort Castle that is under Israeli military occupation. “We just want to live in peace.”
The Israeli withdrawal from Zawtar Al Gharbiyeh came hours before President Joseph Aoun's meeting with US President Donald Trump at the White House. Mr Aoun's trip to Washington was his first since taking office in January last year, and followed several rounds of US-hosted direct talks between Lebanon and Israel.
“We want the Lebanese government to be with us, but they are not. They are with the Israelis. And I don't know why,” said Mr Mroue.
He was voicing the deep anger felt by many Lebanese over holding direct talks with Israel amid its occupation and destruction of the south, and the lack of a timetable for its withdrawal in the framework agreement signed on June 26. However, there is an uncomfortable contradiction in that stance, as they are also relying on the framework deal to enable their return.
Meanwhile, Israeli attacks continue to rain down on the nearby city of Nabatieh and its environs, including the strategic hill of Ali Al Taher that is still under the control of Hezbollah.
Froun and Srifa
The other pilot zones are the nearby villages of Froun and Srifa, normally a 10-minute drive away but now anything but.
“You cannot go that way,” a Lebanese soldier said when The National tried to take the most direct route. “It's very bad.”
He was suggesting anyone travelling on that route was at a high risk of being attacked by Israel.
Because the main road is blocked, the drive now takes an hour, along winding back roads, through valleys and burnt-out villages.
Approaching Srifa, around a dozen Lebanese army personnel stand on watch, including military intelligence officers, asking where people have travelled from.
Signs of life quickly peter out after the checkpoint, as the narrow road enters the heart of the village, surrounded on both sides by heavily bombed buildings that are either destroyed or appear at risk of collapsing.
Further north, Froun is even quieter. The road is lined with dozens of posters commemorating recently killed Hezbollah fighters, showing the price the group has paid in the latest war. But they represent only a fraction of the thousands of people believed to have been killed in the past few months.
Residents say Froun was never occupied by the Israelis, but few of those who left have returned.
A small group of young men drink coffee in the centre of the village.
“The situation is fine, but every night there are explosions. Not from the air, but it's houses. They are blowing up the houses,” said one, referring to the persistent demolition carried out by the Israelis nearby.
“What changed from yesterday to today? Nothing.”
