War on the most vulnerable: children

by Riham Alnaji

This endless war is an ugly monster chasing children whenever they flee and wherever they exist, haunting their pure spirits and surrounding them with fear and unimaginable loss. One of the kids I came across while I was on my way home looked so shy when asking for some money from me. I’ll never forget the way his eyes stared down at the ground when he asked for help. I asked him about his story and discovered that he lost his father and his mother has been reported missing; neither the child nor the mother knows any details about the other and nobody can get them reunited again or even provide any information. It was really cold there and the child was wearing a t-shirt with no shelter to stay but a tiny space fenced with torn blankets. I felt so helpless that I couldn't provide any more help for this lonely child.

Hala is my son’s friend. She’s living at my family’s house now. She is an orphan and her mother is in the West Bank where she had to move since the beginning of the war so that her son, Hala’s brother, could be treated for cancer. However, he died there and the mother has not come back to Gaza yet due to extreme restrictions on travel. Hala is finding a refuge at my family’s house but she is longing to see her mother. She hasn’t seen her for more than a year.

Last week, I was lucky enough to find some types of snacks at a supermarket and was even luckier to see one of my previous students there. However, he was in a tragic condition, as his hand had been amputated and he could barely walk. He smiled when he saw me and with his smile I recalled how he used to shake my hand when I arrived at the school every morning. Now, that war monster had eaten his small hand.

Yesterday, on my way to work, I saw two kids playing on the ruins of a destroyed vehicle. One of them shouted at the other, while pretending to drive the vehicle, saying, ‘Look out! I could have killed you.’ The other kid replied, ‘What a bad driver you are. I can drive better than you do. I can drive with my only hand. See.’ said the kid while holding the steering wheel of that car using his one and only hand because the other hand had been cut off. The ugly beast of war was still thirsty for the blood of those kids, leaving a lot of them suffering chronic injuries.

These kids as well as my student were amongst the thousands of children whose limbs have been amputated as a result of intensified bombardments and non-stop escalations. This war has  created a new generation of children with disabilities, circling them with a haze of future uncertainty on how they will cope with their new circumstances of having no hands or legs. How can they write with their pencils like they used to do before? How can they play football or enjoy their football competitions? How can they help their younger siblings to lift their school bags? How can they hold their devices to learn or play? The difficulty of facing their new realities intensifies their traumas, creating a life-long impact on their mental health.

My Student, Kamal, wanted to be a doctor. He loved the lesson titled "He's a doctor." I remember just a week before the war his mother asked me if she could bring the doctor outfit with Kamal, so he could act the role of the doctor in front of his classmates, and collaborating with them, each of whom played a different job role. His eyes were full of pride as he played the young doctor, and his mother was even more proud when she saw the pictures I sent via their WhatsApp community group. She called me, showing a lot of gratitude and appreciation for this opportunity. Wiping away my tears now, I recall how passionate the mother was about helping her son Kamal to become the best possible version of himself.  She once insisted on providing a teaching aid for the classroom. It was a beautiful family tree to identify the family members' names in English. Kamal was highly praised for this amongst his classmates and I decided to hang the tree onto the wall so we would be able to memorize the new vocabulary. Fall came early and the leaves of the mother and the son on that tree fell down. They were killed when their apartment was destroyed by a missile. I don't really know what their fault was. Kamal and his mother are gone now, but their accomplishments remain and will never fade. My only relief is the memory of that day when I was able to help Kamal become the doctor he always dreamed of being -though it was just a role-play.

Ismail was the student most eager to be recognized as the class superhero. Recalling the last days of his performance, I can't believe he's not here anymore. He was a bit lazy for a couple of weeks, but I told him to get back onto the honor list by doing better. The next day, he thoroughly impressed me with his performance and the way he was able to answer the tricky questions. He also won the reading challenge. He was the top superhero in the class for more than two weeks in a row before the war took away his innocent pure soul. After that incident, I saw Ismail with a lot of kids and women in a beautiful garden full of greenery and sunlight. In the midst of the crowds, I talked to him as he was smiling and trying to tell me something I could barely remember. I only remembered how happy and relaxed I felt when I saw him, thanking God he was still alive. I opened my eyes and realized it was just a dream and Ismail does not exist anymore. His name won't appear on the top of the superheroes list on the board. Yet, he is at the top of the superheroes list of my heart.

Children are the most vulnerable group here, yet they are the most victimised and most harshly affected by a war they didn't start. Even though they have nothing to do with this war, they are bearing the heaviest weight of devastation and loss at a very young age. I don’t know if humanity can really help Palestinian children to rebuild their hopes in a normal life.

About the author:

I am an English language educator, Arabic <> English interpreter and a writer, driven by my passion to perfectly accomplish the assigned tasks. I am also a humanitarian who believes in the vitality of sustainable development in education and how effective social emotional learning can become when implemented appropriately. I have worked at various environments, private, governmental and UNRWA institutions, aspiring to provide inclusive quality education to all learners.

Edited by Gordon Weetman

Photograph taken by Reham Alnaji:

Reham notes that this is the place where she took the picture.