Gaza’s port, where Ohood used to go to access the internet. Photo: Ohood Nassar

I recently earned a bachelor’s degree from the College of Education at the Islamic University of Gaza. As part of the graduation requirements, every student must write an academic research paper related to education and teaching.

My academic supervisor, my research partner who was displaced to Egypt, and I chose an unprecedented topic: educational tents that emerged as emergency alternatives to schools destroyed during the war.

The first challenge was clear: How could a university research project be completed in a place with no electricity, no internet, and no stability?

Since October 2023, electricity has been completely cut off across Gaza after the main power plant was bombed and electricity lines were destroyed by aerial bombardment. As a result, access to power became almost entirely dependent on limited solar sources.

Charging my phone turned into a daily battle. I would walk to a solar-powered charging point and wait for more than four hours, alongside thousands of others relying solely on sunlight for electricity. Over time, my phone battery deteriorated, but I had no other choice. That small device was not just a phone; it was my university, my research archive, my notebook, and my only connection to my supervisor.

In the absence of classrooms, stable electricity, and reliable internet, my phone carried my entire academic life. Every new charge felt like a small victory, and every hour of battery was another step toward my dream. In a place where darkness arrived early and lingered long, I refused to let it extinguish my determination — I challenged it and continued.

Accessing the internet was even more difficult. Once a week, I traveled to the port area in western Gaza, where a man sold limited internet access using electronic SIM cards. I paid one dollar for a single hour, which was never enough. Sometimes it took more than 30 minutes just to open one webpage. Files often failed to download. I saved whatever fragments I could and returned home to continue working offline.

The journey itself was dangerous. Surveillance drones constantly hovered overhead. Once, I witnessed a quadcopter firing randomly in the area I was walking. I ran home in fear, through streets filled with rubble and shattered glass, realizing that I was risking my life simply to download academic material.

Practice-based research

Our research topic required field observation. In September 2024, I traveled to a displacement camp in the Al-Nasser area specifically to observe educational tents and understand their structure and function. However, I discovered that no organized educational tent existed, and children had not received formal education there for nearly a year, since October 7, 2023. I made a decision that changed everything: I would establish a single educational tent myself to both provide learning for the children and study the process.

Two days after my first visit in October, I set up a schoolroom in a tent designated for education but unused. I brought a small board and bought a notebook and a pen for each student. I also gathered children from the camp and spoke with their families.

There were no chairs or tables so the children sat on the ground to receive their lessons. I organized 50 students into three groups of first, second, and third grades. Every morning, I taught them basic arithmetic and reading and writing in Arabic. During the afternoons, I continued writing my research using my nearly drained phone.

This experience profoundly deepened my understanding. Our research was no longer based on theory alone, but on lived observation and practical engagement. I learned that successful educational tents require direct coordination with camp management and families to secure even a relatively quiet space. I also realized the importance of decorating the tent and making it visually engaging to attract children’s attention and create a sense of psychological comfort amid chaos.

Inside that fragile tent — where heat, cold, and uncertainty were constant companions — I discovered what teaching truly means. There were no solid walls, no steady electricity, no reliable technology, yet learning continued. In that space, I understood that education is not built from concrete or wires, but from resilience, compassion, and courage.

I adjusted my lessons to the rhythm of instability. I learned to read my students’ emotions before opening a textbook, to calm their fears before asking them to solve a problem, and to create a small island of safety within the storm.

In January, 2024 it was time for me to return home to Jabalia. I felt happy because I was going back to my home for the first time since October. At the same time, I felt sad because I was leaving my educational tent and the students. The tent I established stopped operating after I left, but after several months, it was reopened again with new teachers.

Defending the thesis

Now it was time to finalize the written portion of my research along with my partner, who had been working on the theoretical sections.

My supervisor set the defense date and gave my partner and I the nickname “The Scholars Group,” acknowledging the uniqueness of the topic and our perseverance.

The day of the defense was one of the most stressful days of my life. I had no computer, so I defended my research via my phone. The internet connection was extremely weak. My phone shut down twice during the session, and I had to recharge it using an inverter battery. I missed parts of the discussion and apologized repeatedly, while my supervisor reassured me, “Don’t worry.”

When it ended, the committee awarded us a score of 98. They described the research as one of the most distinctive conducted during the war.

My partner and I submitted our research to a Qatar-sponsored competition for educational scientific research. Two weeks before results were publicly announced, the competition’s management contacted my research partner and me to inform us that our research had won one of the top three places in the Arab research category, and that we would be invited to Qatar to attend the award ceremony and celebration. I told them that I was in Gaza and could not leave due to the border closures. However, my research partner was in Egypt, so she was allowed to travel and attended the celebration to receive the award.

I waited for my partner to tell me about our research ranking, and when the celebration ended, she contacted me and informed me that we had won first place in the Arab world. I felt as if I would fly with joy and wished I could have attended the celebration myself.

Editor’s note: Read about Ohood’s other work as a teacher: in Jabalia, when she transformed the house she was displaced to in western Gaza into a classroom , and later when she returned to Jabalia and set up an educational tent there.