Here is one of our refugee camps – the Al-shati camp in Gaza, the place where I was born and lived for 20 years, from 1994 until 2014!
Your feet will take you into the narrow alleys and branching streets, to houses stuck to one another, gluing us together as if we’re one. Simple houses covered only with layers of fragile asbestos, holding together their interior. United by the goodness of its residents and the purity of their souls.
If a neighbor asks in the camp, his appeal will be answered by all around him, simple people, but in aid they are really superior men. You will always see there a little child who holds a small bowl with a popular, simple food, tying him to the old neighbor, and you’ll hear the joys of children playing in the alleys.
Every step you walk there, getting your suit dirty, you will realize that this dust filing the camp contains many stories and tales – stories of people who cook on an open fire and carry their own water.
Here you will see potable water kept especially for that “dear guest” who comes every week, and electricity the same. Your eyes will see hints of how poverty is a vicious man who beats the houses of the camp.