"Every year, Ramadan comes as a sanctuary for the soul. For Muslims like me, it is a sacred pause in the chaos of life. But this year, as a woman displaced from the familiar streets of Gaza City to a rented room in Al-Zawayda, I am searching for a peace that feels like a ghost. The world calls this a ceasefire, yet from my window the silence feels heavy."
"I did not welcome Ramadan this year with the golden lanterns that once adorned our balconies. I welcomed it to the roar of bulldozers clearing the bones of neighbouring houses and with the constant buzz of the zanana, the Israeli surveillance drones, overhead. Even as we stand in prayer, that metallic humming drowns out the adhan, the call to prayer, reminding us that we are still watched and that our calm rests at the mercy of a sudden strike."
A woman displaced from Gaza City lives in a rented room in Al-Zawayda and experiences Ramadan amid fear and uncertainty. Named ceasefires fail to guarantee safety as silence from the window feels heavy and threats of sudden strikes persist. Daily life is punctured by bulldozers, surveillance drones, and metallic humming that drowns out the adhan. Memories of Al-Zawiya market, al-Omari mosque, and family gatherings contrast with cramped rooms and constant listening for missiles. Displacement has transformed rituals into burdens. Food prices have risen sharply, and walking home involves navigating rubble and stinging sand, with anxiety accompanying every sunset.
Read at www.theguardian.com
Unable to calculate read time
Collection
[
|
...
]