*Gheed, Araibic team co-lead based in Gaza*

Since I was displaced from Gaza City to Deir al-Balah, I have been living through an extraordinary human experience. I still feel traumatized by the experience of displacement, the fear, and being forced to flee Gaza in order to survive.

We temporarily took shelter in a friend’s house. We sleep in a concrete room where their aunt lives. The room is small, dark, and unpainted. We spread a mat on the floor.

Around the room, there is land with lemon and orange trees, and palm trees. There is a lone chicken and a blind cat.

The woman we’re staying with has a daughter who suffers from some illnesses and needs a medical referral abroad. The little girl’s name is Saba. She suffers from problems with her esophagus, difficulty eating and digesting food, and vision problems.

Saba talks to herself and says: “Shame on you, Saba, don’t do that… Come on, let’s play,”, “Saba… Don’t tire the old lady,” by which she means my mom. “Be obedient, Saba, and listen.”

Saba’s mom spends her entire day working, washing clothes, hanging them to dry, and cleaning. An old woman, simple, dark-skinned, slim, with a fragile body. Her palms are roughened by the endless washing.

She says: “You came and filled my life with joy, you brought happiness into my heart.”

I’ve grown emotionally attached to the family in this house—their kindness and the warmth of their hospitality embraced us, even though they themselves live with so little.

Perhaps it’s because, when we arrived from Gaza—driven out and escaping the hell of bombardment into the hell of displacement and homelessness—they were the ones who welcomed us, offering a sense of safety and belonging in the midst of uncertainty.

That feeling deepened over time. Now, when I return from work, their little girl, Saba, runs to embrace me, as if to console me for all the exhaustion and the heavy sense of loss I carry within me.

And so, as I think about leaving, my thoughts inevitably return to her, I wonder what it will be like when the moment comes. I think about the day I’ll go back home, and how difficult it might be for Saba and her mother to say goodbye.