By Hauwau Shehu Maikeffi
In the heart of Gaza, the first day of Eid al-Fitr dawns, but instead of joyful celebrations, there’s a heavy, suffocating silence. The streets, once alive with laughter and excitement, now lie quiet, marred by conflict. For many, Eid is a time to gather with loved ones, but for 10-year-old Amal, it’s a day to remember those she’s lost.
Clutching a small bouquet of wildflowers, Amal carefully navigates the rubble-strewn path leading to the cemetery. It’s become a familiar walk, though each step still feels like a fresh wound. She’s heading to visit the graves of 24 family members—lives claimed by an airstrike that tore her world apart.
Last year’s Eid had been different. Amal remembers the warmth of her father’s hands as he helped her put on her new dress, the scent of sweet treats prepared by her mother, and the laughter of cousins playing in the courtyard. Now, that courtyard is gone, replaced by the harsh reality of a cemetery where her loved ones lie side by side.
Arriving at the graves, Amal kneels at the first one, her father’s. Gently, she places a flower, her fingers tracing the rough edges of the stone. She murmurs a prayer, her voice fragile but determined. One by one, she repeats the ritual, moving from one grave to the next, each flower a silent testimony to love and loss.
In the background, faint sounds of other families trying to celebrate echo through the air—a distant reminder of how Eid used to be. Amal feels the weight of the day pressing down on her small shoulders. Tears well up, but she brushes them away. Her mother used to say that even in sadness, they must hold on to hope.
Amal sits between the graves, talking softly to her siblings as if they were still there. She shares the stories of her school, the things that make her laugh, and the dreams she holds onto despite the darkness. She wants them to know she’s trying to be strong, just as her father taught her.
As the sun sinks lower, casting long shadows over the graves, Amal rises. She knows she’ll return again, not just on Eid but on ordinary days when the ache becomes too much. Leaving the flowers behind, she takes a deep breath, carrying the memories with her, holding tight to the hope that someday, peace will prevail.
On this Eid, where other children play and celebrate, Amal walks home alone, her heart both heavy and resilient. In her silence lies a story of loss, but also of courage—a reminder that even the youngest among us can teach the world about strength.
