Growing up in Gaza, my friends and I often heard older relatives’ stories of the Nakba; learning about the homes that Israeli troops forced them out of in 1948, and the keys they forever carried with them in hopes of returning. We never imagined that we would one day carry this pain ourselves.
For the last two years, history has repeated itself before the eyes of the world. Those of us in Gaza who have survived the Israeli genocide have lived a new Nakba, not knowing where to go or if we will ever return home.
This has not been one war, but multiple wars happening at once. It is the war of relentless bombing that destroyed homes and neighbourhoods, the war of forced displacement that has pushed hundreds of thousands into the unknown at a moment’s notice, and the war of tents that offer no protection from the scorching summer heat or the cold and rain of winter.
