When I think about my home, I remember the way I left it.
The beautiful furniture, our bedroom, my children's toys, our lovely kitchen, do you know what my home looked like? It looked like a newly prepared home waiting for Eid. It was beautiful and decorated. It always felt as if there was a celebration inside it. We had lived there for two years.
But we left everything behind.
I still have photos of my home. Every time I look at them, I cry and cry. My children have almost forgotten what it is like to have a home. We have been away from it for a year and a half.
My name is Sahar. I am 35 years old, and I am originally from Rafah.
Since the war began, I have been displaced seven times
Moving from one place to another in search of safety that never seemed to exist.
During the first ten days of the war on Gaza, the bombing around us became extremely intense. My husband was afraid and told me to take the children and stay with my family in Khan Younis for a few days. I have four children: 14, 12, 10, and 7 years old. I remained there for about twenty days, but the attacks intensified there as well. The bombing became direct, and then the ground invasion began.
I returned to Rafah to be with my husband, while my family was also forced to flee. I stayed in my home until the evacuation order for all of Rafah was issued. At that time, we left with our belongings and went to stay with my family after they had returned to their house again. We remained there for two months, but the bombing was constant, and my children were terrified. Whenever the strikes came close, my husband, the children, and I would hold each other tightly. We were afraid in a way that is impossible to describe.
Then we were forced to flee again, this time under direct bombardment. Bombs and missiles were falling while we ran. During that displacement, I could not take any of my belongings with me.
One of the hardest days of my life came when I was displaced with my children and could not reach my husband. There was also bombing near my father's shop, and suddenly I did not know where my father was or where my husband was. It is a day I will never forget. I spent hours in fear until I finally learned they were safe.
Eventually, we ended up in the camp.
The period of siege and hunger was incredibly harsh. I lost so much weight. I went from 75 kilograms to 50. But the hardest part was watching my children suffer.
My seven-year-old son would come to me and say, “Mama, I want something to eat. Just one loaf of bread.”
And I would have nothing to give him.
Everything was cut off. Sometimes we would find a packet of lentils selling for seventy shekels, even though we had no source of income. We ground lentils into flour and baked bread from them. We invented countless ways to stay alive.
Today, we are still living in a tent. We have not returned home.
There are schools here, but there are no real resources. No proper books, no adequate materials. These learning tents do not exist in every camp, and the number of children who can attend is very limited.
This is not real life.
Sadly, my home was completely destroyed. The last images we saw of our neighborhood in Rafah, through satellite imagery, showed it flattened to the ground.
Amid all this loss and displacement, one thing that has helped me keep going was joining the Stronger Women, Stronger Nations program.
Since joining, one month ago. I am always happy during the time I spend with the other women participating in the workshops and sessions. The program gives us space to express ourselves and release what we carry inside.
But what I really want is to go back home. I want my house, my belongings, and my morning cup of coffee. I want the life that was taken from me.