Iman Ghoneeim Al-Ghoul, 9 years old. Photo: Mohammed Abu Mariam

Today in Gaza, schoolchildren’s backpacks have been transformed. Where they once held books, notepaper, pencils, and crayons, they are now overstuffed with clothes, food, and other items necessary for survival in times of genocide. Sometimes children are forced to use their school bags to carry the body parts of their siblings. Their loads are heavy, and there is no education waiting on the other side — only displacement camps and the fear of death that could strike at any moment.

The threat of death is real for the children of Gaza — if not from bombing, then from hunger. Children are being stripped of their most basic human rights. They wait in long lines to fill a box of food and stave off hunger pains for a little longer. Many also help their families by transporting salt water and drinking water. It is grueling work, and a universe away from children in other parts of the world who are living in comfort and warmth.

As I witness such daily scenes in my displacement camp, I feel compelled to write about them. I asked some of the children in the camp to share their stories and, if they were able, to express their feelings through drawing. They responded with enthusiasm and passion, revealing a common nostalgia for home while living in the most unthinkable conditions.

Each child has a different story to tell, and each one of their stories is painful. Children long for their relatives and neighbors who are stuck in the north of the country, and may or may not be alive. They recount happy memories of beautiful days spent at home — of delicious meals prepared by their mothers, of joyful occasions, and thoughtful gifts long-buried under the rubble.

Ruaa Mohammed Atwa, 13 years old. Photo: Mohammed Abu Mariam

Iman, aged 9, drew a picture of her life before the genocide, when she used to take the bus to and from school. Ruaa, 13 years old and always optimistic about returning to her home in the north, even though she doesn’t know if it still exists, drew herself on her street at home, taking in the destruction and rubble around her. Fifteen-year-old Koon lost her father to a quadcopter bullet. She drew the camp she lives in, the tents provided by Arab countries, and the surrounding spaces with children playing in the camp yard.

Koon-Ali-Abu-Fahm, 15 years old. Photo: Mohammed Abu Mariam

Ten-year-old Wadies is displaced from Jabalia. She told me she misses her cousin Lama who survived multiple bombings. She draws herself with Lama, and prays every day to meet her. I asked her about her home, whether it still stood or had been destroyed. “It has disappeared from the face of the earth,” she answered before drawing the home to show me how beautiful it was. Wadies asks: “Do we not have the right to live in peace like them?”, referencing other children who live in the world outside beyond Gaza.

Wadies Awad Abed, 10 years old. Photo: Mohammed Abu Mariam

I have always felt deeply for Gaza’s youngest generation because of all the hardships they have had to face. They have already lost a large part of their education due to COVID-19. The pandemic came on top of all the challenges of living under siege, including multiple military operations even before the current genocide began. Now they have lost another two years of education. In addition, they are experiencing the effects of trauma, hunger, and forced displacement.

Yet, as the people of Gaza, we refuse to surrender to this situation, despite its severity. Many young people are leading educational initiatives in different areas. They believe in the importance of making a difference to children’s lives. As Gazans, we believe in education as a fundamental right for everyone. Now we feel a collective responsibility to protect our children’s education; it is the only weapon we have in the face of occupation and genocide. If our children’s education is allowed to be erased, the consequences will be far-reaching.

I wanted to help in this collective effort to restore some education and joined the Gaza Great Minds School, an inspiring initiative led by young volunteers across Gaza. Amidst the bombing, killing, and destruction, parents have been enrolling their children in the school to give them access to education, recreational activities, and psychological support. Our team exerts its utmost efforts to provide the children with some education, and to help them learn and play, even in these exceptional circumstances. I work to promote their efforts, while motivating and encouraging others to join us.

Palestinian children are proud, and they are steadfast. They love any semblance of school. Education matters to them and their eyes sparkle when they talk about their future aspirations. Whenever children are in the educational tent, their love and dedication eclipse the war that surrounds them outside.

As for me, a Gazan girl who has lived through the war since its first day, I am always looking for outlets to heal from the pain of what I witness day after day under genocide. Writing helps me, and through my words, I hope to give voice to others going through these horrors — especially the children.

We all need to heal, and this need will still be there long after the war is over. Memories of destruction, fear, and loss haunt us in the silence following war — even then our hearts and minds shake with the echoes of explosions, the cries of loved ones, and the terrifying uncertainty that looms over us.

Our children bear the deepest of these wounds. It is evident each time they wake up in the middle of the night, screaming from nightmares, or when they flinch from loud noises. Some have lost their ability to speak, while others refuse to leave their tents because they fear that if they do, they will lose the little they have left. The weight of grief and fear is heavy on the smallest of shoulders.