“Harrah” refers to a neighbourhood, and Khan Yunis is designed so that every large family has its own neighbourhood.

The days became much shorter after we had arrived and settled down. I had been quickly thrust into the new lifestyle of an extended family. With my brother-in-law’s family next-door, there was no way to be left alone with your thoughts and fears.

There was always something happening—a big meal to prepare and cook, a drama between two siblings to resolve, or a relative’s story to uncover. His family consisted of his kind wife, three sons and their families, one unmarried son, a daughter with her children, a cousin with her two daughters, and my 94-year-old loving father-in-law. In total, 32 people were living in two adjoining buildings with a big backyard.

The bombardments had still been shaking the whole area, but the sounds had been drowned out by the noises of children playing and running around, oblivious to the reality outside the doors, mothers shouting after their children, consumed by uneasiness, and fathers complaining in anger and despair over their helplessness. All of that, in contrast to the complete silence I had known in my house, had been a strange comfort. I had forgotten about the war until I returned to my bed.

My son Yamen, older than the grandchildren of my brother-in-law, had taken on the role of leader perfectly. He had led them in football matches and online gaming. His brother Adel, aside from setting aside a few hours to study for his high school exams, helped care for his grandfather, who was immobile, as his cousin who used to care for him was now responsible for charging batteries.

As for me, I had found solace in the company of babies; they had kept smiling, eating, and babbling as if there was still a hint of normal life left to us. Though they were the most fragile, they had given me strength. Especially baby Rania, the youngest grandchild of the family and the dearest—her smile had been like a remedy to me, and gradually she had won over our hearts, mine and the boys’.

We had also been blessed with an extra bit of positivity in our new refuge—solar panels. We had been able to charge our phones every day for more than a couple of hours. The internet had still been connected but inconsistent; I had the opportunity to go online, check the news, and talk to my friends. It had been a tiny shred of normalcy, though far from normal. I had taken to standing on the stairs, raising my hand and neck up, and the other place I could get a better signal was on the toilet seat, which had not been so pleasant.

My husband had felt a bit relieved to leave us in the company of his brother’s family. He also had the chance to gather with his many cousins to discuss the news or exchange knowledge about where to get fresh water and bread.

All of this had seemed like a nearly perfect setting under the circumstances, but it had not been enough. The night had still come recklessly and relentlessly; the noises had gradually faded as the sun dipped below the horizon, leaving us to be haunted by the monstrous lights and sounds of the war jets.