#HearTheirVoices – The walk to school used to be fun, but all that is lost
Blog by Mona, UNRWA staff
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The walk to Abdelhadi’s (14) school was always filled with noise and fun. Many important conversations, games, and pranks took place along the way. School mates shared secrets and joys, quarreled and reconciled, and split their pocket money and bits of bread.
Whether a dirt road or a paved one, it didn't matter, because children don’t require luxury to create joy. The school where they spent most of their time became their internal reference point. Here on the road to school and in the school itself, children created memories and shaped their personalities for the future.
But the road to Abdelhadi’s school has disappeared, his school is no longer a school, and his friends have been killed. This is what Abdelhadi will remember forever.
We headed towards Abdelhadi’s school near the UNRWA Deir al-Balah Health Centre on a wet and windy day. It is now a shelter for Internally Displaced Persons (IDPs).
He pointed to a classroom on the fourth floor of the school, saying, “I used to have classes there. I was a student in this school, and today I live in it. Unfortunately, my friends are not with me.” When I suggested that he should visit them at their homes, he told me that some had been killed, and others had moved to other shelters.
He tried to maintain his smile, “I wanted to be a policeman; I don't know if my dream will come true...maybe, someday,” he told us as he went to show us around his classroom where he used to sit with his friends who were killed.
“There were seven of us; we went to school together every day, walked the road from home to school, lined up in the morning assembly, and sat in class together. When I didn't bring my lunch to school, I shared their meals with them; I never felt afraid of hunger when we were together because they always shared their food and even their pocket money. We were a wonderful group of friends, but I lost three of them. May they rest in peace,” he continued.
Abdelhadi sought permission from the family residing in his classroom to enter it for the first time after the war began. He looked around, observing its new features. Seats were replaced with light floor mats and cushions, and some clothes are hung on the walls instead of educational materials. His smile disappeared and his gaze wandered to the horizon, perhaps into the unknown that politicians have not yet decided on, and he remained silent for a long time. It was a silence that shielded him from our question about his favourite part of the classroom.
Perhaps the word 'shock' is inadequate to describe this context - the killing of children, depriving those who survive on food and water, the destruction of infrastructure, and appalling sanitary conditions in the emergency shelters that make life a living hell. What is left to mothers is to try to convince their children that their childhood protects them from being targeted and killed.
In Gaza, which is used to poverty, misery, and hunger, the joys of childhood and hopes for a better future are again clouded by the sounds of war. The conflict has turned the children's books on rights and dignity to ashes, burned in their homes or left under the rubble.
