We didn't want a war. Trump wanted a war. He attacked us unexpectedly.
At the narrow throat of the world's energy supply, where one-fifth of global oil and gas must pass, BBC journalists have entered Bandar Abbas for the first time since war came to the Strait of Hormuz — finding a city that is healing in fragments, its markets reopening and its fishermen returning to sea, yet still bearing the weight of 261 dead, seized ships, and a ceasefire that neither side has fully honored. Iran, whose geography has long been its most powerful weapon, continues to hold the strait as leverage in negotiations, while the memory of missiles falling on sleeping families reminds the world that strategic calculations are always paid for in human lives.
- Since February, Iran turned the Strait of Hormuz into a weapon — firing on unauthorized vessels, stranding seafarers from dozens of nations, and sending oil prices surging across global markets.
- Two seized cargo ships still sit in Iranian waters despite the ceasefire, and dozens more wait offshore for permission to pass, signaling that the waterway has not truly reopened.
- An Israeli strike on a residential street killed three civilians, including a military officer sleeping at home with his family — a single moment that captures how completely the line between military target and neighborhood has dissolved in Bandar Abbas.
- Vendors have returned to the market, families to their homes, and fishermen to the sea — but a peach seller's son is unemployed, a business owner mourns neighbors killed in their sleep, and the city's recovery feels conditional.
- Iran's mayor says plainly: if the ceasefire breaks, the strait closes — a threat that would send shockwaves through global energy markets and test the limits of every power with a stake in these waters.
The heat rises off the dock and fishermen sort their morning catch, and for a moment Bandar Abbas looks like any port city on a summer day. But this is the Iranian side of the Strait of Hormuz, and the BBC has arrived here for the first time since the war began.
When American and Israeli forces launched their assault on February 28th, Iran responded by turning its geography into a weapon. The Revolutionary Guards began firing on commercial vessels, effectively sealing one of the planet's most vital waterways. Oil prices surged, supply chains buckled, and fishermen faced a choice between staying ashore or sailing into a war zone. Now, weeks into a ceasefire that is mostly — though not entirely — holding, the boats are returning.
A fisherman named Abdol Rahman took the BBC through the strait, where two seized container ships still sit in Iranian custody despite the ceasefire. Dozens more cargo vessels waited offshore for permission to proceed. The strait's strategic weight is ancient: a Portuguese fortress overlooks Hormuz Island, and the city itself is named for the Persian shah who expelled those colonizers in 1622. Today it remains just as vital — home to Iran's Navy and the IRGC's naval arm, and the chokepoint through which roughly one-fifth of the world's oil and gas must pass. Tehran is using that geography as leverage in ongoing peace negotiations.
Back in the city, life has begun to reassemble itself. Markets bustle again with fish, dates, electronics, and perfume. But on Khushnoodi Street, an apartment block stands half-destroyed. An Israeli strike on March 26th reduced one half to rubble. Fatima, a 40-year-old business owner who worked there, was elsewhere when the missiles hit. Three people were killed — including a military officer who lived there with his family. The Israeli military said its target was an IRGC Navy commander. Four days later, Iran confirmed he was dead. The strike illustrates how thoroughly military and civilian life intertwine in Bandar Abbas.
Between February 28th and April 8th, there were at least 96 American strikes in and around the city. The broader campaign killed senior Iranian leaders including Supreme Leader Khamenei and damaged the nuclear program. According to the Red Crescent, 261 people have been killed in Hormuzgan province.
At the market, many were reluctant to speak. A woman selling peaches said her son lost his job during the war and the family now depends on what she earns from her stall. "We didn't want a war," she said. "We are scared." Nearby, another woman added: "Every war creates problems. But we have to be patient." The mayor rejected suggestions that Iran had been weakened, and was direct about what comes next: if the ceasefire breaks, Iran would close the strait entirely.
For the people who live here, the conflict is measured not in strategic doctrine but in jobs lost, nights under the threat of air strikes, and the fragile hope that the quiet will hold.
The heat rises off the dock in waves. Fishermen are sorting their morning catch—baby sharks tangled in nets, fat fish lashed to motorbikes—and for a moment Bandar Abbas looks like any other port city on a summer day. But this is the Strait of Hormuz, one of the world's most critical shipping channels, and the BBC has just arrived on the Iranian side for the first time since the war began.
When American and Israeli forces launched their assault on February 28th, Iran responded by turning its geography into a weapon. The Islamic Revolutionary Guards Corps began firing on commercial vessels attempting passage without permission, effectively sealing one of the planet's most vital waterways. Seafarers from dozens of nations found themselves stranded. Oil prices surged. The cost of fuel and goods rippled across global supply chains. The US answered with its own blockade, targeting any ship using Iranian ports. For months, these waters were too dangerous to fish. Some fishermen stayed ashore. Others went anyway, knowing they were sailing into a war zone.
Now, weeks after Iran agreed to a partial reopening under a ceasefire that is mostly—though not entirely—holding, the sea has quieted and the boats are returning. A fisherman named Abdol Rahman took the BBC through the strait for a closer look at what the conflict has wrought. As they sailed, two container ships came into view: the MSC Francesca and the Epaminondas, seized by the IRGC in April at the height of fighting. The regime claimed they had endangered maritime security by operating without permits and tampering with navigation systems. Despite the ceasefire, neither vessel has been released. Dozens more cargo ships waited offshore, seeking permission from Iranian authorities to proceed.
The strait's strategic weight is written into its history. A fortress built in the early 16th century by the Portuguese Empire overlooks Hormuz Island, eight kilometers from the coast. Shah Abbas I of Persia—after whom Bandar Abbas is named—drove the Portuguese out in 1622. Today the city remains just as vital: it sits near the narrowest point of the strait, home to Iran's Navy and the naval arm of the IRGC. In peacetime, roughly one-fifth of the world's oil and gas shipments pass through these waters. For Iran, the strait is the centerpiece of its doctrine of asymmetric warfare, a way to challenge more powerful adversaries. President Trump has threatened escalation, warning Iran it "won't have a country" if it failed to reopen the waterway. Yet Iran has not fully reopened it, and analysts say Tehran is using the strait as leverage in ongoing negotiations toward a lasting peace agreement.
Back in the city, life has begun to reassemble itself. Families have returned home. Shops have reopened. Traffic fills the streets again. The market—for centuries the place where goods arrived by sea before dispersing into southern Iran—bustles once more with vendors selling fresh fish from the Gulf, dates, imported electronics, perfumes, and traditional Bandari clothing. Yet the war's mark remains visible. On Khushnoodi Street behind the main university, an apartment block stands half-destroyed. An Israeli strike on March 26th reduced one half to rubble—concrete and twisted metal, exposed rooms where families once slept. Iranian flags fly from the shattered facade. Fatima, a 40-year-old business owner who worked in the building, was elsewhere when the missiles hit. "I knew many of the families who lived here," she said. "There were mothers and children. They were asleep when the attack happened. Some survived, but three people were killed. One of them was a military officer who lived here with his family. But it wasn't a military base." The Israeli Defense Forces said their target was IRGC Navy commander Alireza Tangsiri. Four days later, Iran confirmed he was dead. The strike illustrates how thoroughly military and civilian life intertwine in Bandar Abbas, blurring the line between legitimate targets and residential homes.
Between February 28th and April 8th, when the ceasefire took effect, there were at least 96 separate American strikes in and around Bandar Abbas. More than a third targeted military infrastructure—IRGC facilities, missile sites, naval assets, the international airport. Many of these locations sit close to residential neighborhoods. The broader campaign killed senior Iranian leaders including Supreme Leader Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, destroyed military and economic infrastructure, and damaged the nuclear program. According to the Red Crescent, 261 people—civilians and military personnel combined—have been killed in Hormuzgan province, of which Bandar Abbas is the capital.
At the market, many people were reluctant to speak with the BBC. Some said they didn't trust how the media portrayed Iran. A young woman who had recently returned from China explained she came back to be with her family during the conflict. "Iranians have come together to support each other," she said. Fatemeh, 55, sits selling peaches in the winding alleyway. Her son lost his job during the war. The family now depends on what she earns from her stall. "We didn't want a war," she said. "When the bombings happen, we are scared. Trump wanted a war. He attacked us unexpectedly. We didn't want this." Nearby, Masoumeh, 40, overheard and joined in. "Every war creates problems," she said. "It affects the economy and people's lives. But we have to be patient." The mayor, Mehdi Nobani, rejected suggestions that Iran has been weakened, arguing that neither Israel nor the US achieved their military objectives, including regime change. If the ceasefire breaks, he said, "Iran would close the Strait of Hormuz for sure."
As negotiations continue and the ceasefire is tested, the strait will almost certainly remain central to the standoff between Iran and the US. But for the people who live here, the conflict is measured in different terms: jobs lost, nights spent under the threat of air strikes, and the fragile hope that this ceasefire will hold.
Citações Notáveis
I knew many of the families who lived here. There were mothers and children. They were asleep when the attack happened. Some survived, but three people were killed.— Fatima, business owner in Bandar Abbas
If the ceasefire were to break down, Iran would close the Strait of Hormuz for sure.— Mehdi Nobani, mayor of Bandar Abbas
A Conversa do Hearth Outra perspectiva sobre a história
Why does control of this particular strait matter so much to both sides?
Because roughly one-fifth of the world's oil and gas passes through it in normal times. If Iran closes it, global energy markets seize up. For Iran, it's the one leverage they have against a much more powerful military opponent—they can't win a conventional war, but they can strangle the world's economy.
The ceasefire is "mostly holding"—what does that mean in practice?
Ships are moving again, fishermen are going back out. But two cargo vessels seized in April are still impounded. Dozens more are waiting offshore for permission to pass. Iran hasn't fully reopened the strait. They're keeping their hand on the valve.
You describe an apartment building destroyed in an Israeli strike. How do you know civilians died there?
The BBC spoke to Fatima, who worked in the building. She knew the families living there. Three people were killed—she named one as a military officer. The Israeli military said they were targeting an IRGC commander, and Iran confirmed he died. But the building wasn't a military base. That's the blur: the target and the civilians were in the same place.
What did people in the market actually say about the war?
They were cautious at first—some didn't trust how media portrayed Iran. But once they opened up, it was about loss. A woman's son lost his job. A peach seller said Trump attacked them unexpectedly. Another woman said every war creates problems and you have to be patient. No ideology, just the weight of it.
If the ceasefire collapses, what happens?
The mayor said Iran would close the strait entirely. That would be catastrophic for global energy markets. But for now, people are trying to rebuild their routines—reopening shops, returning home, selling fruit at the market—while knowing it could all stop again.