Life Persists for Iranians Along a War-Torn Strait

As night falls over the Strait of Hormuz, Captain Farouq guides his ferry away from the illuminated terminal at Haqqani Port. The 39-year-old mariner, who has spent 18 years navigating these waters, describes the strait as his second home. On a typical crossing to Hormuz Island, which costs passengers roughly £1 for a 30-minute trip, the vessel operates at roughly half capacity, carrying about 100 people through the dark, humid air. Farouq, 39, sits comfortably in his cabin, overlooking the pitch black horizon as he sails towards Hormuz Island, a short commute of about half an hour from the Iranian mainland’s Haqqani Port, for 340,000 toman, about £1. He is relaxed and smiles as he pulls into the deeper waters. The air thick, the windows fogged with condensation, it’s hot and humid.

The region has remained in a state of high tension since the US-Israeli conflict with Iran began on February 28. While Farouq notes that passenger numbers have declined, the essential ferry crossings persist. Throughout the voyage, the sounds of distant explosions, which Farouq attributes to either air defense systems or military strikes, are a common occurrence. Passengers on board have become accustomed to these surroundings, passing the time with tea and conversation. According to farouq, The crossings have not stopped since the start of the US-Israeli war on Iran on 28 February, although passenger numbers are down and the journey has become more dangerous. For months, Farouq has heard explosions coming from the strait, unclear as to whether that is air defence or attacks, or both. Passengers say they have gotten used to the sounds too, and, to an extent, the war itself, inside the ferry. Hassan, 28, cafe owner – has run a cafe on the island for eight years. They drink tea and smoke cigarettes. Here on the coast, it has barely felt as though the war has stopped, even with a fragile ceasefire in place. With pressure mounting on the US president, Donald Trump, before the midterm elections, he is rumoured to be once again considering strikes. Life here has changed little, Yashar says, although the war has brought some new restrictions, and a handful of attacks, mostly on infrastructure.

The impact of the ongoing hostilities is visible across the southern province of Hormozgan. Iranian government figures indicate that at least 760 commercial and fishing vessels have sustained damage from attacks near the port of Bandar Abbas. Farouq himself confirmed that his ferry sustained shrapnel damage while docked, necessitating rapid repairs. Regional instability has escalated recently, with at least 12 attacks on tankers carrying oil and gas reported in the first week of October alone, driving oil prices above $100 a barrel. Its bright lights flickering in the distance, capt Farouq turns the wheel as he watches the ferry terminal of Bandar Abbas grow smaller. The navigation radar beeps periodically, its green and pink lights glowing in the darkness, in front of him. The strait is first and foremost a lifeline for many Iranians living in the southern province of Hormozgan, but beyond the headlines and global markets.

For those whose livelihoods depend on the sea, the war has introduced severe hardships.

Local fishers, such as 38-year-old Anvar Sadat, report that they are no longer able to travel as freely as they once did. According to anvar Sadat, a 38-year-old fisher who works at Bandar Abbas’s fish market,, Business has slowed and that making ends meet has become increasingly difficult.

Sadat notes that several of his colleagues have been killed in the conflict, and the constant threat of violence has made basic financial survival increasingly difficult.

For others, like 45-year-old garbage collector Abdul Salam, the coastal areas—particularly near the port—became perilous zones that necessitated a near-total cessation of work during the peak of the attacks. Some nap, while others entertain their children.

Hormuz Island offers a different, albeit restricted, reality for its roughly 8,000 residents. Historically known as a sanctuary for artists and creative individuals seeking a slower pace of life, the island is now navigating the strain of conflict. While the government has restricted access to northern parts of the island, life elsewhere continues with a fragile sense of normalcy. Residents maintain that as long as they avoid the military-restricted zones, they are largely left alone. A place Iranians have come to regard as “free”, hormuz Island has long been known as a kind of “hippy paradise”. The roughly 8,000 residents are trying to support each other, and to preserve the sense of freedom that has set the island apart, he adds. Writers and painters find space to work, and life moves slower, artists and creatives moved here from bigger cities in search of peace; women swim in bathing suits. Also known as Rainbow accommodation, is one of Hormuz’s attractions, the Majara hotel.

The local economy, heavily reliant on tourism, has suffered significantly. Omran, a 45-year-old tour guide, explains that most guesthouses, homestays, and cafes have remained shuttered since the war commenced. Despite this, there is a collective effort among islanders to preserve their community. From high points on the island, residents can observe tankers remaining stranded in the strait and hear the regular echo of explosions, yet many remain committed to their homes. As Yashar, a 35-year-old surfer, puts it, “a different rhythm”, there is “love and magic” here. According to “The tourism sector has taken the biggest hit,”, Omran, a 45-year-old tour guide, adding that he prefers to go by his first name only. “Guesthouses and homestays remain closed, as do restaurants and many cafes.

Khaleh Kaniz, a 67-year-old painter who has lived on the island her entire life, remains undeterred by the encroaching instability. When asked about potential departure since February, she questioned the necessity of leaving. Like many others, she continues to find life on the island preferable to the alternative of displacement, holding onto the island’s unique sense of freedom and community spirit even as the geopolitical climate remains volatile.