Exhibition

When I was ten years old, at the time of the Sabra and Shatila massacre, I received a children's book, Salima's Paradise, probably printed in a limited edition. This book played a decisive role in raising my awareness of the injustice experienced by the Palestinian people. As a teenager, I was already regularly participating in demonstrations in Brussels. Later, in 2018, I discovered the Palestinian refugee camp in Shatila, the West Bank and Gaza. In Gaza, I discovered a society marked by regular attacks and a near-total blockade since 2007, but also sustained by a civil society of admirable intelligence and creativity. This tension between oppression and dignity is at the heart of We, Children of Gaza.

The idea for the project came from a simple observation: there are no children's books that help them understand Gaza or even Palestine. However, since 7 October, we have seen a real awakening and awareness among many young people, parents and teachers. I felt it was essential to provide them with a suitable tool to talk about the situation with their children and pupils.

I wrote We, Children of Gaza based on numerous discussions with my friends in Gaza, particularly Ahmed (in Geneva) and Khloud (there), a man and a woman, two complementary perspectives. The book was born out of these exchanges, what I saw myself on the ground, and the need to convey a reality that is often reduced to tragic images. Although I spearheaded the project, its realisation was made possible thanks to the exchanges and feedback from many people from diverse backgrounds, including the volunteers from our association, whose contribution was essential.

Of course, I wanted to talk about the tragic present, but above all I wanted to recount the daily lives of the children of Gaza before 7 October, to remind people that the story did not begin on that day. It was essential to include specific details that only a child who grew up there would know, as these allow the reader to identify with them. This identification is fundamental, since racism, at the heart of the ongoing genocide, is based on the perception of the other as radically different. Showing children at school, at the puppet theatre, playing, laughing, dancing, enjoying the sea or sharing cakes, is a reminder of their full humanity. But for every bright scene, it was also necessary to reveal the extreme structural difficulties facing Gazan society. 

By showing this life that is both ordinary and extraordinarily resilient, the book invites readers to identify with the children of Gaza, to awaken their sense of justice and to sow the seeds of their own commitment. 

Being a co-author of this book means a great deal to me because I see in it the reflection of my younger self and of every Palestinian child who has grown up with stories of the Nakba, displacement, evacuation, loss, rebuilding, and hope. Throughout a whole summer, I interacted with Julie as she was writing the book, exchanging ideas, refining scenes, and discussing the small but meaningful details of children’s daily lives regarding our habits, the relationships between neighbors, school life, celebrations, Christian families, and the struggles and hopes that shape children's everyday life. I also shared scenes inspired by events I personally experienced, like when my grand-father said he would rather stay in his home than leaving it and going through a new Nakba. Once the writing was done, Julie regularly asked me to send her pictures from different periods of life in Gaza so that Pauline could build on them while creating the illustrations.

During that time, I was spending many hours in a school shelter where displaced families were living, which was also the only place where I could sometimes access the internet. There, I sat with children, asked them about their fears and dreams, and listened carefully to their spontaneous words. I shared drawings of the characters with them, and their curiosity and excitement helped shape the spirit of the book. 

For me, this project was not only about writing a book. It was about protecting memory and refusing silence. It was about giving children a voice that could travel beyond checkpoints and borders, beyond the noise of war, and affirm their full humanity to the world in an authentic and honest way.

The book came at a time when everything felt fragile and uncertain. In the middle of that darkness, this work became my refuge and my resistance. While destruction was happening around me, I was helping to build something with words. It gave me purpose when I felt powerless, and hope when hope felt distant. It made me feel that I was doing something truly meaningful for my people,  sharing our authentic story, as we live it, without distortion or erasure.

I met Julie by chance. I had contacted the association to offer my help with artistic projects. Julie told me about the idea for an illustration book that was in the works, and we were very excited to bring this project to life together. Through Julie, I met Kholoud and the other members of the association who participated in the creation of the book. 

This project was very intense, firstly because of its context, but also because of our exchanges with Kholoud. There were times when she didn't reply to messages, times when we thought she was in danger, times when Julie was waiting to hear from her. It was the most intense book creation project of my life. Kholoud approved the sketches and also wrote with Julie and the members of the association. 

I will cherish this experience in my heart forever. 

What made me participate in this project was the desire to fight injustice, using the medium I know best.