we are not numbers

emerging writers from Palestine tell their stories and advocate for their human rights

Children in a makeshift classroom.

Our makeshift classroom

Teaching gave me purpose during war when I transformed a room in the house where I was displaced into a small school.
Young woman posing in front of curtain.
Ohood Nassar
  • Gaza Strip
Children in a makeshift classroom.
An improvised classroom inside the house where Ohood Nasser was living after being displaced. Photo: Ohood Nasser

On December 28, 2024, my younger sister Tolin, who is 10 years old, gathered her friends from the neighborhood where we are currently living to play at our house. When I saw them, I went to greet them and said, “Hello, sweethearts, how are you?” One of the girls, Hala, asked, “What’s your name?” I replied, “My name is Ohood; I’m Tolin’s sister.” She smiled brightly, her eyes sparkling with happiness, and said, “Tolin has told me a lot about you, that you’re a teacher and teach her at home.” I smiled and responded, “Yes, I am a teacher, but I’m still studying at university.”

We started talking about the war and its devastation. Hala shared her story about her father who was martyred while he was at the Gaza port selling coffee and tea. She began to explain how her mental state worsened after losing her father and how she wishes he were still with them.

At that moment, I saw the joy vanish from her eyes, replaced by a deep sadness. She tried to hold back her tears but couldn’t, and she said, “I hate being idle because it makes me think about my father and how much I miss him.” I tried to cheer her up and said, “Don’t worry, my dear. I’ll make sure you’re never idle again.”

She looked at me in surprise and asked, “How will you keep me busy?” I replied, “I’ll teach you English every day.” My other sister Omnya, age 12, immediately asked if I could start teaching them that day. I told her that we would start our first lesson right away.

Omnya quickly organized the room, removing the mattresses and blankets and replacing them with chairs and tables. She asked Hala to bring a chalkboard and chalk from her house. They also asked me for pens and notebooks, so I brought two pens and a stack of papers.

We began our first lesson, attended by six girls, and it was about introducing oneself. I taught them how to talk about their names, ages, where they live, and how many siblings they have. I divided them into three groups, with two girls in each group. One would ask questions, and the other would answer.

When we finished, I asked them what they thought of the lesson. They said, “It was wonderful! We’ve missed studying, writing, and using pens and papers.” I reassured them, “Don’t worry, we’ll have a unique lesson every day, and I’ll prepare educational games for you that I used to play with my students before the war.” They replied, “Thank you, our lovely teacher Ohood.” I said, “Seeing you study and enjoy yourselves makes me feel like I own the world and am the happiest person alive.”

They cleaned up the room, thanked me, and left. Then they visited other friends who hadn’t attended the lesson and told them I would be teaching English daily.

Within half an hour, I heard cheerful noise and innocent laughter outside. When I went to see what was happening, I found 10 girls from neighboring houses. Hala said, “I brought Mira, Mayar, Bayan, and Dina — they also want to join the lessons.” I welcomed them warmly and said, “You’re all welcome! Let’s meet tomorrow at 3 p.m.”

The next morning, Omnya started her routine of clearing the room, replacing the bedding with chairs and tables.

After four days, the number of students grew to 18, and I faced a new challenge — there weren’t enough chairs in the house. I told them, “It seems we have a shortage of chairs and tables, so unfortunately, we’ll have to use the mattresses.” I placed a mattress a meter away from the chalkboard, where some girls sat while others used the chairs.

I apologized, worried that sitting on the mattresses might upset them, but one girl’s response lifted my spirits: “We don’t mind sitting on the mattresses. We’d even stand the entire lesson as long as you’re the one teaching us.”

At the start of each lesson, I asked them about their future aspirations. Each girl shared her dreams: becoming a doctor, engineer, nurse, journalist, or teacher. I began addressing each of them by the profession they aspired to, using this as a motivational tool to encourage their persistence and hard work.

I incorporated educational games and teaching strategies I had used with my students in a school in northern Gaza before the war. My goal was to uplift their spirits and provide knowledge in a fun, engaging way, avoiding rote learning.

One of their favorite games involved a small ball. I would play music, toss the ball to one of the students, and they would pass it around. When the music stopped, the girl holding the ball would pick a question and answer it. This game energized them, improved their mood, and increased their motivation.

Initially, I thought my students needed me, that I would help them. But over time, I realized that I was the one who needed them. Teaching them and reliving my memories with my former students brought me solace and purpose. Teaching my students before the war was the most special moment that I never grew tired of, even though teaching requires so much effort. My love for teaching always made me feel at ease. Now, when I teach these new students, I forget all my suffering and the harshness of what I am currently living through, including the displacement.

Lisa Masri.
Mentor: Lisa Masri

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