Malaka Shwaikh

Last month, my sister, her husband and their three children returned to their damaged flat in northern Gaza after enduring almost thirteen months of forced displacement. My sister said that her four-year-old son struggles to walk on tiles and nearly fell while using the unfamiliar stairs. Since May 2024 they had been living in a tent, which provided little protection against intense heat, cold or heavy rains. One day they were flooded. At other times they faced severe food shortages. None of this stopped them setting up a school at the camp.

I am often asked questions that expect me to show my strength, or ‘resilience’: ‘How are you still managing?’ ‘How are you still smiling despite everything?’ But I am doing neither. I am struggling to cope with this unbearable violence. And I should not be expected to cope with it.