Ramdan Special  3 min Gazans seek Ramadan’s cheerful vibe in bid to break state of misery

Gazans experiencing their worst war and humanitarian crisis in decades, with families torn apart by death and displacement, their city largely flattened by Israeli raids, and amidst scarce food and nonexistent essentials that is leading to deaths out of starvation. Amidst all of this horror many are still trying to salvage the spirit of Ramadan.

When Eman Saleh bought the strings of fairy lights she now has fitted on the sides of her displacement tent to mark the start of Ramadan, it was months ago; she had fled to Al-Nuseirat camp from Gaza City; and had just learned that some family members who remained behind were killed by one of the countless Israeli airstrike befalling her hometown of Gaza everyday. But the 38-year-old bought the lights as a good omen, hoping the war would be over by the time Muslim’s holy month arrives, that life would be normal again, and she’d be hanging those lights on the walls of the home she abandoned. 
  However, the war kept going. Over 31,300 lives have been claimed by Israeli fire since a Hamas-led attack on October 7 that killed about 1,200 Israelis unleashed a retaliatory war on the whole of the besieged enclave. Saleh had since been forced to flee two more times, first to Khan Younis, and again to a tent in Deir El-Balah, where she now lives with her only son, and which she has decorated with fairy lights, plastic lanterns and colourful fabrics to mark the holy month.

Every year, Muslims around the world behold centuries-old traditions of welcoming Ramadan with family gatherings, festivities, feasts, and decorations, making it a month of joy and celebrations for the millions observing it. For Gazans experiencing their worst war and humanitarian crisis in decades, with families torn apart by death and displacement, their city largely flattened by Israeli raids, and amidst scarce food and nonexistent essentials that is leading to deaths out of starvation, celebratory sentiments are dampened by grief and mourning for those killed, and fear for the safety of those remaining.

However, many are still trying to salvage the spirit of Ramadan.

“My own heart is heavy. There is no real joy in this. But it must be done for the little ones,” explained Eman. “My son Yazan had seen enough those past months. And it’s just the two of us. I’m doing what I can to cheer him up a bit,” the widow said of her 9-year-old.
 
And Eman has done an incredible job given the circumstances. She had transformed their humble tent that is squeezed in a sea of tents in the vicinity of Deir El-Balah’s Al-Aqsa Hospital, into a cheerful place with decorative items she had hunted down for four months.

‘We won’t give up living’

Recalling her quest to find the few lanterns and lights to adorn her tent with, Eman said that a handful of stores in Rafah and Khan Younis were selling last year’s remaining stocks of Ramadan decorations at inflated prices.

The Israeli-imposed tight control and surveillance over items accessing the enclave has resulted in severe shortage of food supplies and essentials, with growing numbers of Gazans dying of starvation, as they cannot find food, or are unable to afford it.

This made Eman’s quest to create joy, even if superficially, in her tent, a difficult challenge.

“It was not easy finding these things amidst the war. A pair of batteries now cost as much as 10 shekels, ten times their price before the war and are very hard to find. If I can afford it because there’s only two of us, most other families can’t,” she said.
 
Aside from the big lantern she has hanging from the center of the tent, and nets of lights draped over the right side of it while the left is an explosion of vivid colours, Eman also hung a banner across the tent’s entrance welcoming a “Ramadan Mubarak” - or a blessed Ramadan.

“The suffering and misery we’re experiencing is unprecedented. No one would’ve ever thought we’d reach this point of tragedy,” said the somber woman dressed in a robe she bought particularly for Ramadan. “But, here we are, trying hard not to surrender. If Israeli fire dictates who lives and who dies, we dictate our morale and spirit. And we won’t give up living.”

“I could sit here with my son and let them kill us with despair and hopelessness, if not by a missile. But I won’t let this happen,” concluded Eman.

‘People are awake’

With over 1.7 million people out of the enclave’s 2.3 million residents in displacement, the sufferings experienced by Gazans are visible in every corner. But scattered amidst all this, are those attempting to capture Ramadan’s vibrant vibes and cheerful spirits.

Strings of triangular, multi-coloured flags and banners criss-cross tents, while some display small lanterns, and other families defy all precautions and gather in the dark of night, right before sunrise, to come together and have their suhoor – the final meal before the daytime fast.

In Rafah, the part of Gaza that is now overflowing with over 1.4 internally-displaced people and is the latest target of Israeli aggression, three young men have volunteered to preserve the role of mesaharty - a centuries-old profession of a man wondering the dimly-lit streets every night in Ramadan with a tambourine, calling out on people to wake up for their suhoor.

Youssef Abu Hemeed melodically sings the traditional mesaharaty line of “Wake up, sleepy person, and praise Almighty. Eat suhoor, for there is a blessing in suhoor” as he treads over the ropes of displacement tents interlacing because of their sheer number. But the 21-year-old displaced person added a few other rhyming chants he’s made up to reflect the war. “O displaced person, do the right thing and have suhoor”, “In Ramadan, we defeat sorrows” and “Get up for suhoor, the war is on its way to pass,” sings the young lad.
 
Accompanied by Mohamed, who walks a few steps ahead with a lit lantern to light up the way, and Motassem, who matches Youssef’s rhythms with bangs on his tambourine, the trio’s joyful cheers encourages displaced people, young and old, to occasionally pop out of their tents to enjoy the scene.

“This year, it’s not about waking people up. People are sleepless anyway because of the bombings and anxiety. This is about breaking the pattern of fear and misery by keeping our longheld traditions. People need this,”  said Youssef, whose band has been volunteering as masaharatys for four years.

Stepping in, Motassam says the difference between this Ramadan and the last is “the difference between night and day”. “Last year, we paced roads between buildings and houses. Today, we’re surrounded by tents. Last year, people were happy. Today, they’re far from that,” he said.

This piece is published in collaboration with Egab.

March 2024