‘I’m afraid they’ll bomb the cafe where I work, or bomb me’: a day in the life of a 12-year-old boy in Gaza, Palestine

This week, as the war in Gaza approaches its fourth year, the Guardian follows five ordinary Palestinians as they go about their lives. Each tells the story of their day, revealing the terrible toll of the conflict. Ramadan lives in a tent on the beach and works to support his family

As the war in Gaza approaches its fourth year, this week, the Guardian follows five ordinary Palestinians as they go about their lives. Each will tell the story of their day, revealing the terrible toll of the ongoing conflict.

The tent is pitched on a platform set in the sloping sand dunes, above a long expanse of golden coastline. Rats have chewed holes in its canvas sides, and tendrils of pale sand blow in through the gaps. Inside, on the torn mattress he shares with his siblings, 12-year-old Ramadan Ghaban blinks the sleep from his eyes. The sun has just risen but it is already hot.

This is a day in the life of a boy in Gaza.

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Daybreak

I wake up every morning at 6.30am. Sometimes, the heat wakes me up, and sometimes it is the sound of the birds, which are everywhere because we live near the sea.

I wash my face and brush my teeth. We do not have gas, so I gather small pieces of wood and plastic to light the fire so we can boil water for tea.

My name is Ramadan Yaqoub Ghaban. I am 12 years old, from Beit Lahia. I now live in al-Nuwairi, in the coastal area of Nuseirat. I have three sisters and one brother.

Ramadan’s family was displaced to the coastal area of Nuseirat

Morning

Ramadan picks his way over the dunes and between the tents, looking for any wood for a fire to boil the family’s kettle. There are few trees left here, so there’s little to be found, but he finds some scraps of plastic and a piece of driftwood, and crouches to break branches off a thorn bush. With his brother Adi, he builds a small fire to warm the kettle and make tea.

Then he sets off down the beach to work, the wind whipping up sand as he walks.... READ MORE  https://www.theguardian.com/global-development/ng-interactive/2026/sep/22/im-afraid-theyll-bomb-the-cafe-where-i-work-or-bomb-me-a-day-in-the-life-of-a-12-year-old-boy-in-gaza

      [AS ALWAYS PLEASE GO TO THE LINK TO READ GOOD ARTICLES (or quotes) IN FULL: HELP SHAPE ALGORITHMS (and conversations) THAT EMPOWER DECENCY, DIGNITY, JUSTICE & PEACE... and hopefully Palestine, or at least fair and just laws and policies here, there- and everywhere]

....Before the war, my father used to work harvesting strawberries in Beit Lahia and gathering recycling, but he doesn’t work any more. He was killed when he was at my aunt and uncle’s house, when he went there to help them evacuate. We heard the Israelis had bombed a nearby house. We wondered, “Which house?” Then a woman came to the school where we were sheltering, saying, “Your father is dead. Your father is dead.” We didn’t believe her, but when we went to the house, it had been destroyed. We rushed to move the rubble and find him, but the Israelis were firing shells, so we couldn’t reach him and we fled.

My father remained under the rubble for four months. After four months, we returned to Beit Lahia, and pulled him out from under the rubble. We buried my father in the cemetery....