In Gaza’s Nuseirat Camp, one kindergarten refuses to give in
Students at Marah Kindergarten pose for a photo in their classroom. Photo courtesy: Hani Qarmoot
When I stepped into Marah Kindergarten in Nuseirat last month, the first thing I noticed wasn’t its cracked walls or broken glass but the sound. Laughter, loud and uncontrollable, filled the air as children chased each other. Ms. Wassam Al-Sardi, the director of Marah Kindergarten, greeted me with tired eyes but a firm voice. They had to close the kindergarten many times since the genocide began, and it remained completely shut between October 2023 and March 2025. But today it is open.
The kindergarten runs six days a week, barring Fridays. The children, aged four and five, study the alphabet in both Arabic and English, learning a word for each letter , like “ب” for bata (duck) and “أ” for arnab (rabbit). They practice writing the letters, numbers and shapes in notebooks, or in the absence of those, tracing them in sand or on old cardboard sheets. Through drawing, coloring, and singing activities, the children express their feelings and rebuilt a sense of normalcy amid the genocide.
While the kindergarten itself was intact, all its windows were shattered by bombings.
In winter, the windows are covered with plastic sheets to protect from the wind, rain and cold weather. In the yard, the air was filled with children’s laughter, the creaking of rusted swings. Inside, dust floated in beams of sunlight that cut through shattered windows. The surrounding neighborhood was, in comparison, quiet, with rubble from damaged buildings scattered in the streets. Despite the damage around them, the children turned the space into a world of play and imagination, inventing games from whatever they could find.
Before the genocide, Marah Kindergarten had approximately 700 children. Attendance dropped during periods of intensified conflict, falling to around 400 at the beginning of 2025, and down to just 250 by March during heavy bombing. Parents were afraid to let their children out of the house. But slowly, they returned. Some arrived with families who fled from the north. Others came back because silence at home was more damaging than danger outside.
“The kindergarten realized it was essential to continue both education and play, giving children a space to escape the violence around them and enter a world of their own,” said Al-Sardi. “Before the genocide, we had 10 to 12 teachers; now, only four remain. Some left to care for their children, while others continue teaching, ensuring the children still have a sense of normalcy and joy amid the chaos.”
Before the genocide, Palestine’s literacy rate was among the highest in the region at 98%. In October 2023, Gaza had approximately 564 schools serving around 625,000 students, according to ACAPS, a non-profit project that provides international humanitarian analysis.
By 2025, over 76% of Gaza’s schools had been directly hit, and about 92% will need major reconstruction, according to UNRWA.
Despite these challenges, education remains a cornerstone of life in Gaza. The high literacy rate highlights the resilience of the community and the importance of keeping children in school, even amid ongoing conflict.
A day at Marah before the genocide
Marah Kindergarten was a vibrant and lively place, blending learning and play in a safe environment for children. The building had spacious classrooms filled with natural light, functional fans to cool the rooms, heating for the winter, and neatly organized shelves stocked with books, illustrated stories, notebooks, crayons, pencils, and a variety of art materials.
Educational supplies were readily available, allowing teachers to conduct lessons and interactive activities that fostered both social and creative skills. The kindergarten focused on cultivating a love of learning, cooperation among children, and self-expression, providing a stimulating and safe environment before the conflict disrupted their education, shared Al-Sardi.
After lessons, children could buy snacks like biscuits, chocolate, noodles, or chips at the school canteen for lunch. Today, a lot of these essentials are missing at Marah Kindergarten. Canteens can no longer operate, both because of the acute food shortage and because families cannot afford them due to exorbitantly high prices. Educational supplies, too, are scant as few to no resources have entered Gaza in the past two years, and whatever remained was destroyed in the bombings.
When a classroom becomes a refuge
The air in the classrooms of Marah Kindergarten was heavy with the smell of crayons and chalk. Small wooden chairs scraped against the concrete floor as children pressed together. Some shared a single notebook, their elbows colliding as they scribbled letters. The ceiling fans had long stopped working; sweat glistened on their foreheads in the humid air.
Halima Ryan, one of the teachers, clapped her hands as she led the children into a song, her palms red from repetition. The children followed, stomping their feet in rhythm. They counted with their fingers, mixing Arabic and English, turning math into music. The sound of thirty tiny palms slapping together drowned out, for a moment, the distant echoes of shelling.
On mats, crayons scratched against paper. Some drew planes and smoke. Others drew trees and the sea. Ryan explained: “We let them draw what they feel, then encourage them to draw something else—sun, birds, flowers. Slowly, their drawings change.”
Outside in the yard of Marah Kindergarten, the ground was sandy and uneven. A rusted slide groaned as Hamoud Amen Al Skafi, 4, climbed to the top. The metal burned his small hands under the midday sun, but he didn’t care. He pushed himself down, shouting: “I feel like flying!”
Shy and gentle Noor Al-Ghoul fills her papers with birds and flowers, yet the planes she cannot forget still haunt her sketches. Omar Khadura dreams of becoming a football player, though his “ball” is nothing more than a bundle of cloth tied with string. Laila Zaher, who once cried each morning, now stands tall before her classmates, leading songs with a steady, unwavering voice.
Nearby, swings squeaked under the weight of two giggling children who took turns pushing each other, shouting “again, again!”. In the corner, a group of girls crouched on the ground, arranging bottle caps into rows. “I’m the seller, you buy,” one of them said.
Ryan stood watching. “We don’t have toys,” she whispered, “so we make them. Cloth balls, cardboard puzzles, kites from plastic bags. The children invent the rest.”
Teaching under siege
In Nuseirat, running Marah Kindergarten is not easy. Ms. Wassam sighed as she pointed to a corner of the building where a cracked pipe dripped. “We can’t always provide enough water. Trucks come, but the lines are long. Sometimes the children wash their hands with a small bottle we pass around. Providing food for the children is very difficult, and we do not currently supply it,” said Al-Sardi. “Most of the students bring sandwiches from home, and we give them time to eat and share with those who do not have any.”
Notebooks and pencils are scarce. “Some children bring nothing,” Ryan said. “We use our own money to buy supplies. If they don’t write, they lose interest.”
Families pay a small fee of 50 shekels ($15) per month, which goes toward teachers’ salaries. With no external funding or support, the kindergarten relies entirely on these contributions to keep its doors open.
But parents were hesitant at first. Sending children to school during war felt reckless. But gradually, they saw the change.
Hamoud’s father, Abu Al-Abed Al-Sakafi said: “At home, my son just sits, silent. Here, he laughs. That is why I bring him.”
One of the parents, who wished to remain anonymous for safety concerns, added: “He comes back singing songs. He draws pictures. He tells me about the games. At home, he had no energy. Marah Kindergarten gives him life again.”
"No bomb or fear can rob them of their childhood," said Al-Sardi. "This school will remain open, their laughter will continue, and a generation of strong and courageous people will be raised, prepared to build their country's future.”
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