By: Jomana Tayseer
It’s childhood that children live when they have their time full of exploration, vibrant life, playing with toys and friends. It’s when they seek to discover everything around and invent things with endless determination. They do that with all innocence, love of life, and the desire to try everything.
However, things do not go likewise for Gaza children as love of trying turn to be forces to endure harsh suffering none of them have ever imagined. They never thought they would have to flee their homes under the bombardment of Israeli planes, leaving behind their favorite toys, bikes, friends dead and alive behind, and ending up living in tents, often at the age of seven or ten.
No child has ever imagined that he or she would spend days standing in various lines under the hot sun for bread, then rushing to get a bucket of water before lining up again for food from soup kitchens.
Mostly aged 6 – 15, Children of Gaza turn to be exhausted adults who know nothing about childhood or how to be like normal children.
Many children became orphans as Israeli occupation killed their parents or at least one of them which forced them to assume the responsibility too early.
These innocent souls, who are now the sole breadwinners of their families, face the daunting task of securing water, food and shelter. With the burden of survival on their young shoulders, they find themselves pitching tents in the rubble-strewn landscape and selling goods on the streets and beaches, all in a desperate bid to scrape together a few coins.
The innocence of their childhood has been stripped away, replaced by the harsh realities of a life marred by conflict and loss.
Can you fathom the crushing weight these children bear?
My heart shattered when I saw that little girl on the beach in Deir al-Balah, desperately trying to sell instant noodles. Her exhaustion was palpable, with tears perpetually brimming in her eyes. She would wipe them away, striving to muster strength she shouldn’t have to find, as she continued her plaintive refrain to the beachgoers, “Do you want noodles, uncle? Who wants to buy noodles?”
I called her over, hugged her, and tried to calm her hidden chaos and fear. In our conversation, she told me, with a deep sense of sorrow, I am Janan Siyam from northern Gaza. We lived in a big house in the Zeitoun neighbourhood before we left our home on October 13, 2023.
“We’ve been displaced a lot. First, we moved from our house and stayed in a tent in the Nuseirat camp for three months. When it became too dangerous there, we fled—my mom, dad, my two sisters, my brothers, and I—to Rafah, where we stayed for five months. When the Israeli army invaded Rafah, we moved to the Zawaida area, north of Deir al-Balah.”
I asked her if she sold goods every time they moved to a new area. Wiping the sweat from her sunburned forehead, mixed with sand, she replied, “Yes, my brothers, sisters, and I go to the market, buy a pack of noodles, split it among us, and sell it.”
I was struck by her remarkable courage and strength, qualities far beyond her years.
This was a girl who should be enjoying her childhood, wearing beautiful dresses, and dreaming of her future.
Instead, she faced the harsh realities of life head-on.
She continued: “My dad is sick; he can’t walk. He’s very ill, and we try to work and support the house.”
Truly, an eleven-year-old girl yearns to be back in her school desk and nestled in her warm bed at home. Yet, her reality is far removed as she works ceaselessly, striving to earn what little she can to aid her family.
Her face bears the mark of the sun’s unrelenting rays, wearied from dawn till dusk. As she told the Washington Report: “I wake up at seven in the morning because we can’t breathe inside the tent.
We wake up early, carry water buckets, searching for any place we can fill them to start our day. Then, we stand in line until noon to get potable water. I pour water over my head to cool off from the harsh sun, then grab my box and roam around, selling what I can.”
She spoke these words and cried bitterly for herself and her lost childhood, unable to bear this harshness and responsibility anymore.
To distract her from her despair, I quickly asked: “What do you like to do?”
She responded, “I love my study. I wish I could go back to school like before. I wish I could have a packet of noodles that I sell here.. um… I, um.., I can’t eat what I sell so that I don’t lose out on sales.”
Meet Janan Siyam in this portrait. When I asked for her permission to capture her image, she politely declined, citing two reasons.
First, she remembered a time when she had fairer skin before the war, now living in a tent and working under the hot sun for nine months. Second, she didn’t want to show her vulnerability, poverty, and limited resources to the world.
Despite working hard all day for very little money, she holds onto her dignity, feeling that showing her vulnerability in a newspaper photo would be demeaning.
Our children in Gaza are all striving to work due to this relentless aggression. Many children have no fathers because they were killed under the bombing of Israeli planes. Some are sick and cannot receive treatment due to border closures and lack of medicine.
As a result, these children become wandering men, trying to work and sell on the streets, selling goods they themselves desire.
As Janan’s story reveals, the innocence of childhood in Gaza has been tragically replaced by a harsh reality of survival. The laughter of playing children has been silenced by the sounds of conflict, leaving young souls burdened with responsibilities far beyond their years.
Their dreams of a carefree youth have been shattered, replaced by the struggle for basic necessities and the relentless pursuit of survival.
In Gaza, our children’s innocence fades away, replaced by a fragile adulthood fraught with tears.
By: Jomana Tayseer
A Palestinain activist based in the Gaza Strip
Shortlink for this post: https://daysofpalestine.ps/?p=55236
