‘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
Ramadan, 12, works in a cafe on the beach. He remembers enjoying school, playing and family barbecues before life became about survival
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.
***
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.
***
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.
After breakfast, I go to work by the sea, at a cafe. The cafe is about 300 metres from our tent, and it takes me only a few minutes to get there.
I usually walk along the beach. On the way, I see fishermen catching fish and crabs and selling what they catch. Sometimes, I stop to watch them bringing the fish out of the sea. Usually I work for 12 hours – from about 7am until the evening. Sometimes, people stay up eating until 10pm, and so I work until late. When I walk home it is dark, and large rats come out of the darkness and brush against my legs.
I move tables, arrange chairs, take tables out and at night bring them back, clean and arrange them, rake the sand around the tables to keep it smooth and collect the trash. Yesterday, some people were grilling food. They were having a barbecue, and the smell of it was everywhere! I was telling myself, “If we were at our home, we might have been having a barbecue.” Then those people went and left a bag of chips behind. I was hungry, so I took it and ate it.
My work is very tiring, but I do it because I have to support my siblings. I see the neighbour’s kids hanging around and playing, living with their father, and he brings them food and drink, but I have to work to get food and drink. Otherwise my younger sisters cry without money to buy food.
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.
***
Lunchtime
At about 1.30pm, a water truck comes, and Ramadan takes a break from his work to dash up the hill and fill the family’s empty bottles. He and his younger sisters take them to the truck and fill about 15 bottles for drinking and washing. When they are all full, he loads them into a trolley made from a plastic crate. Its mismatched wheels spin and wobble on the stick that forms the axel, as he drags it over the sand dunes and back down the hill.
When the water trucks arrive, I fill as many containers as I can. Sometimes, they arrive at six in the morning, and sometimes in the afternoon.
In our tent, rats have eaten everything, even gnawed the water containers. We don’t have any good ones left – they’re all leaking, so we fill up plastic bottles instead.
Before the war, we had a home. We lived in a house with two bedrooms, a living room, a bathroom and a kitchen. I used to go to school in the morning, sit with my classmates, have breakfast and play during the break. Now we live in tents, and rodents have chewed the whole tent – they’ve torn it all apart. Soon winter will come, and our tents will fly away in the winds – we will have water seeping in while we’re sleeping, or we’ll get flooded. In winter there are strong winds and storms, and all the cafes get shut because the sea rises and gets closer.
The thing I’m most afraid of is that the war will return, or that they’ll bomb the cafe where I work, or bomb me if I’m walking, or they’ll bomb a house, or a hall or something – because we have a hall nearby here where people dance. I’m worried that the war and famine will return, and we won’t find food and water. During the famine we’d go hungry for three or four days. I used to go to the aid point at Zikim to get bread, and I saw people pushing and fighting over a kilo of flour. I saw it with my own eyes, and I saw people being killed. The Israelis would fire bullets right next to us: we’d be lying down, and bullets would come from above. If someone raised their head, they’d die instantly – their heads were torn apart. I hope those days do not return.
***
Evening
I finish my work between 7pm and 10pm, and the people at the cafeteria give me 10 shekels [£2.45].
Before the war, 10 shekels could buy a lot of things – but now it buys some cheese and a loaf of bread.
What I like about my work is that it is close to the sea. I like breathing the sea air and swimming when I get the chance. I taught myself how to swim, and if there is a break in between my tasks, I will run into the sea to cool off.
In the future, I want to be a lifeguard to rescue people – so if someone is drowning, I’ll save them. Or I want to be a doctor or a lawyer. My other hope for the future is that the war will end, that we’ll rebuild our homes and the Israelis will withdraw and go back to their borders, and life can be like it used to be. I would not have to work and I could go back to study in classrooms. I have not been to school since the beginning of the war, since the very first day. I really loved reading. Arabic was my favourite subject.
I don’t have much time to play during the day. In the evening, after the customers leave, I go out to see my friends. Sometimes, we used to make kites and fly them, but they started bombing children who flew them. The other day, they bombed three children’s kites, so I stopped making them.
I walk home along the beach. When I return to the tent, I wash, change my clothes, pray, have dinner and go to sleep.
***
Credits
Video: Tantesh Media Services
Art direction: Harry Fischer, Anaïs Mims, Barry Ainslie and Alessia Amitriano
Video editor/producer: Joshua Jacob
Video executive producers: Temujin Doran and Augusta Anthony
Additional research: Harriet Barber