Shurouq, 32, is a Save the Children staff member in Gaza. Shurouq lost her husband after he was killed in the first weeks of the war. Along with her 4-year-old daughter, Karmel*, Shurouq has been displaced many times during the war.
Back-to-school is supposed to be a time of hope for a better future, a sign that life is moving forward. But for me and other mothers who are in Gaza, the morning of the first day of school was unbearably heavy.
As a working mother with an income, I know how privileged I am to have been able to enroll my daughter in a private school in Gaza. My four-year-old daughter started kindergarten this year, and I wanted this to be a beautiful and promising beginning for her.
The term "private school" sounds rather fancy. Indeed, the $200 monthly tuition is a fortune in Gaza right now. Yet, it is the closest school to my home. With transportation unavailable, I would not risk having my daughter walk long distances through the rubble to get to school.
Even this costly school has been affected by the war; some of the bombed-out walls are covered with tarpaulin. This building is the only solution the school administration could manage after the original building was completely destroyed.
I had never experienced a feeling like this before. Her first day at school was overwhelming, no matter how much I was ready for it. My daughter looked at me and suddenly asked "Can my dad see me from heaven while I’m wearing my schoolbag?" I held back my tears and told her, "He must be so happy. This is a big achievement. Let’s dedicate it to him."
I could see the pain in her eyes, and I wonder if she could see the pain in mine too. She was surrounded by children whose mothers and fathers had come to be with them, while her father was nowhere to be seen.
It was not only me who was trying to withhold tears. Many people were crying, with some hiding their faces from their children so they wouldn’t see the emotion.
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I know, of course, that we are some of the lucky ones, to even have access to any kind of education. Nearly three years since the war started in Gaza, almost all school buildings have been damaged, and most kindergartens have either been destroyed, sustained damage, or are located in inaccessible places that children can’t reach. Every single school-aged child across the occupied Palestinian territory is being denied a safe and quality education - even if they go to a school like my daughter. They have shorter days, less equipment, and not enough teachers. I ran into a friend, a war widow like me, who had come with her three children. When she saw me, she broke down. Her children were crying, too. She hugged me and said: "I can’t. I can’t be a father."
I didn’t know how to comfort her. I could only hold her and cry with her. We know exactly what it means to walk our children into school without their fathers on such a day. Then I saw another friend with his son. He rushed to hug my daughter and began to cry.
I tried to comfort him. He looked at me and said, "My daughter Raghad* should be around the same age as Karmel". His daughter was killed during the war.
I tried to hold myself together and gather my emotions, and entered the class with my daughter, but her teacher asked me gently to leave.
I left the class and I walked out of the school crying in the street. I cried for my daughter. I cried for the more than 21,000 children killed in this war who will never know what it means to have a first day back at school. I cried for more than 59,000 children who have lost one or both of their parents.
I cried for the thousands of children who cannot return to school because, in Gaza, education has become a luxury that many families can no longer afford. I cried for an education that is no longer a right for every child.
But despite everything, seeing how happy my daughter was to make new friends at school brought a little comfort to my heart. She found a friendly, colourful place where she could feel welcome, connect with others, and simply be a child for a while.
Yet, this is still far from what we would call a safe, quality education. Like so many children here, even those who have access to schools, she is learning in circumstances where safety, stability, and the basic conditions needed for a proper education simply cannot be guaranteed.
*Name changed to protect identity
