The sound of it is jarring and it makes you panic
In the hours following Iran's retaliatory missile strikes across the Middle East, ordinary Canadians living and traveling through the region found themselves inside a conflict they had not chosen. From Dubai to Doha, the abstract geopolitics of a Supreme Leader's death and a nation's vengeance became something felt in the body — the sound of interception fire, the glow of explosions, the sudden closure of skies that had, moments before, been routes home. More than 75,000 Canadians are registered across the broader region, a reminder of how deeply civilian lives are woven into places that wars do not spare.
- Iran launched a sweeping missile barrage across multiple Middle Eastern nations following the death of Supreme Leader Khamenei, striking civilian infrastructure including a hotel in Dubai where a Canadian resident lives.
- Canadians across the UAE, Qatar, and beyond were jolted from ordinary life into active conflict zones — sheltering in restaurants, unable to sleep through emergency alerts, or stranded mid-journey as airspace slammed shut without warning.
- A group of Queen's University students returning from a field course in Sri Lanka had their flight turned back to Doha mid-air, leaving them trapped in a chaotic airport with no clear path home.
- Canada's Foreign Affairs Minister condemned the strikes as indiscriminate attacks on civilian infrastructure and deployed consular surge teams across six countries, urging all Canadians in the region to shelter in place.
- Airspace closures and emergency alerts continue; no Canadian casualties have been confirmed, but thousands remain stranded or sheltering, suspended in the uncertainty of an escalating regional war.
Graison Foster was stepping out of her rental car in Dubai on Saturday night when the sky changed. A missile struck the Fairmont The Palm hotel — the building where she lives — part of Iran's retaliatory barrage following the death of Supreme Leader Ayatollah Ali Khamenei. More missiles followed, interceptor fire fragmenting them into bursts of light and noise above the city. Foster and others who had rushed outside to watch soon ran for cover in a nearby restaurant, sheltering there for hours. It was the sound, she said, more than the spectacle — the acoustic assault of interception fire, the kind that triggers the body before the mind can respond. Emergency alerts made sleep impossible when she finally tried at 1:30 in the morning.
Foster's experience echoed across the region. Global Affairs Canada reported over 75,000 registered Canadians in the broader Middle East — a voluntary system officials acknowledged was likely an undercount. Foreign Affairs Minister Anita Anand urged all Canadians to shelter in place and follow local guidance, condemning what she called Iran's indiscriminate attacks on civilian infrastructure across the UAE, Qatar, Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, Bahrain, Oman, and Jordan. Canada deployed consular surge teams to Turkey, Azerbaijan, Kazakhstan, Armenia, Jordan, and Israel.
Elsewhere, a group of Queen's University students were suspended in a different kind of uncertainty. Fourth-year biology student Claire Haffner was aboard a Qatar Airways flight from Sri Lanka, where the group had completed a field course, when an announcement came through mid-flight: airspace closed. The aircraft turned back to Doha. Passengers disembarked into what Haffner described as a chaotic airport, the students' journey home indefinitely on hold.
Neither Foster nor the Queen's students had sought out danger. They were living and traveling through places that had, without warning, become active conflict zones. The government's response was procedural and necessary — but it could not change the fundamental reality that thousands of Canadians were now experiencing a war they had not anticipated. The airspace remained closed. The alerts continued. The sound, Foster said, is the kind that stays with you.
Graison Foster was stepping out of her rental car in Dubai on Saturday night when the sky changed. She saw something moving overhead—a shape, a trajectory—and then the sound arrived, the kind of boom that doesn't announce itself politely. A missile had struck the Fairmont The Palm hotel, the building where she lives, part of Iran's retaliatory barrage against multiple Middle Eastern nations following the death of Supreme Leader Ayatollah Ali Khamenei. What followed was a night Foster will not forget: more missiles crossing the sky, interceptor fire exploding them into fragments of light and noise, the sound of it all pressing down on her in ways she had never experienced growing up in Canada.
Foster gathered with other people who had rushed outside to witness the strikes, their phones out, recording the surreal spectacle unfolding above them. Within minutes, as more missiles began arriving, the group ran into a nearby restaurant and sheltered there for hours. The sound was the worst part, she said—not the visual drama of explosions in the night sky, but the jarring acoustic assault of interception fire, the kind of noise that triggers panic in the body before the mind can catch up. Emergency alerts on her phone made sleep impossible when she finally tried to rest at 1:30 in the morning. The Dubai government had begun issuing guidance on safe spaces and urging residents to pack essentials. The situation, which had seemed distant and abstract just hours before, had become immediate and physical.
Foster's experience was not isolated. Across the region, Canadians were navigating the same disorientation. According to Global Affairs Canada, roughly 2,934 Canadians and permanent residents were registered in Iran as of late February. Another 22,944 were in Lebanon, 5,527 in Israel, and 434 in Palestine. The broader Middle East held more than 75,000 registered Canadians, though officials noted this was a voluntary system and likely an undercount. On Sunday, Foreign Affairs Minister Anita Anand issued a statement urging all Canadians in the region to shelter in place and follow local guidance, evacuating only when safe to do so. Canada had deployed surge consular support teams to Turkey, Azerbaijan, Kazakhstan, Armenia, Jordan, and Israel. Anita Anand condemned what she called the Iranian regime's indiscriminate attacks on civilian infrastructure across the UAE, Qatar, Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, Bahrain, Oman, and Jordan, characterizing the strikes as a dangerous threat to regional stability.
Meanwhile, a group of Queen's University students found themselves trapped in a different kind of limbo. The fourth-year biology student Claire Haffner was on a Qatar Airways flight from Sri Lanka, where the group had completed a field course, heading home to Toronto with a planned stopover in Doha. Mid-flight, an announcement came through: the airspace was closed. Panic rippled through the cabin. The aircraft turned around and returned to Doha, where passengers disembarked into what Haffner described as a chaotic airport scene. The students remained stranded, waiting for word on when they might be allowed to leave, their journey home suspended indefinitely by the same military escalation that had sent Foster running for shelter in a Dubai restaurant.
The situation underscored how quickly regional conflict can reshape the lives of ordinary people caught in its geography. Foster and the Queen's students had not sought out danger; they were simply living or traveling through places that had suddenly become active conflict zones. The Canadian government's response—deployment of consular teams, registration systems, shelter-in-place guidance—was procedural and necessary, but it could not undo the fundamental reality: thousands of Canadians were now experiencing a war they had not anticipated, in countries they had chosen to visit or call home. The airspace remained closed. The emergency alerts continued. The sound of interception fire, Foster said, was the kind of thing that stays with you.
Citas Notables
The sound of it and the visuals of it is of course very daunting and surreal. I've never experienced anything like this in my life, of course, growing up in Canada.— Graison Foster, Canadian living in Dubai
There was an initial panic among me and my classmates when we heard the announcement that airspace was closed mid-flight.— Claire Haffner, fourth-year Queen's University biology student
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
What strikes you most about Foster's account—the physical danger or something else?
The sound. She keeps returning to it. The visual spectacle of missiles and explosions is almost secondary to the acoustic trauma of it, the way the noise bypassed her rational mind and went straight to panic. That's the part that feels most real.
Why does the government keep asking people to register if the numbers are voluntary and incomplete anyway?
Because in a crisis, you need some baseline. Even an imperfect count tells you where to send help, where to station consular staff. It's not perfect, but it's better than nothing when airspace closes and people are stranded.
The Queen's students were just passing through. Does that make their situation worse or better than Foster's?
Different. Foster has a home to shelter in, a community she knows. The students are in a terminal with hundreds of strangers, no timeline, no control. Both are trapped, but one has walls and a bed.
Do you think Canadians will leave the region after this?
Some will. But many won't. Foster sounds shaken, not broken. People are more resilient than we assume. The real question is whether the airspace opens again soon. That determines everything.
What does "shelter in place" actually mean when missiles are falling?
It means stay inside, away from windows, in a designated safe space. It means don't try to evacuate during active strikes because the roads are as dangerous as anywhere else. It's containment, not safety—just the least bad option available.