More than seven hundred days have passed since leaving their homes and homeland, and each day in the tent holds a story of longing and hope. With every morning that dawns on a tattered tent, the displaced residents of Gaza await the long-awaited news—news that will erase years of displacement and return them to their homes, to the life they left behind. But the only echo that reaches them is that of the desert winds and the sounds of the camp, proving that the crisis is still ongoing and that returning is merely a dream.
Between Nostalgia for the Past and the Harshness of the Present
Every night, someone turns in their tent, revisiting a film of their luxurious memories: memories of their home, their bedroom, their comfortable bed, memories of their car that used to take them to work or on a picnic with their family on the beautiful Gaza beach. There, they would watch the city lights sparkling at night, like a luminous pearl on the coast. Suddenly, a voice from a nearby tent awakens them, calling out, “Abu Khalid, hurry! The water has arrived!” They wake up from their daydreams to realize they are still in the camp, facing the harshness of reality.
Memories of Gaza: Seven Hundred Days in a Tent
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A Struggle for Survival, and a Tear of Hope
Indeed, in the camp, two days can pass without water. Dishes pile up, clothes get dirty, and the simplest necessities of life, like washing one’s face, become a precious blessing. There is no power or strength except with God. A tear of oppression over the state they have fallen into mixes with a simple joy at the arrival of water—a joy sufficient to wash a tired face, but not enough to wash away the bitterness of displacement. Despite everything, the people of Gaza cling to this tear of joy, they cling to the hope that this nightmare will end soon, and the days when they were in their homes, safe and secure, will return.
