WHAT DO young women dream of? Iman wants to run her own business. Safa wants the liberation of Palestine, while Maysoon pines “for peace, to live in security, like people in other countries.” Simple as these dreams might sound, they are out of reach in the Gaza Strip. None of these young women’s fathers have work, and it feels like the next convulsion of violence between Israel and Hamas is just around the corner.
When the band of Palestinian friends, aged 17 to 21, reunited on the campus of the Islamic University of Gaza (IUG) yesterday for the first time since the Israeli assault ended on January 17th, they laughed and cried. “Thanks be to God!” said Noor. “I can’t believe we’re all alive”.
“We’re back in our homes, but we’re still afraid,” says Maysoon.
On Sunday, false rumours that Hamas had fired al-Kassam rockets, or that Israel had bombed a building in Gaza, spread like wildfire the length of the enclave, bringing normal activity to a halt.
Several of the girls fled their homes during the conflict but none lost close relatives. Although classes have not yet resumed, they came to view the devastation of the university, where bomb damage is estimated at $15million.
Sitting on plastic chairs under Eucalyptus trees, they worry about the future. “I’ll graduate with a degree in business studies next semester,” explains Iman. “But I feel hopeless about finding a job.” The young women estimate unemployment at 85 to 90 per cent.
The Gaza Strip was poor and shabby before the three-week war. Now it is devastated. Yet 21-year-old Maysoon believes the Palestinians won. “People everywhere, even non-Muslims, are supporting Hamas,” she explains. “I know it from al-Jazeera and Hawar [Qatari and Egyptian television stations].”
But wasn’t it a mistake for Hamas to provoke Israel by firing al-Kassam rockets, because Gaza lost 1,300 lives and thousands of buildings? “No,” Noor insists, giving an oft-heard answer. “This is resistance. We are under siege. This is the only thing we can do.”
A few minutes later, the girls admit their isolation. “Some people felt for us, but nobody lifted a finger,” says Maysoon. “We’re alone in the world. No one supported us, not even Ramallah.” “Ramallah is another country,” adds Iman.
“Ramallah” is shorthand for the Fatah government in the West Bank. Hamas won democratic elections three years ago, but Fatah refused to cede power, and a low-grade civil war between the leading Palestinian factions has smouldered away ever since.
When Noor says that President Mahmoud Abbas “is the same as the occupier,” Safa scolds her: “Don’t talk about politics, because we don’t agree. We want unity.”
More than anything, the young women want to be together. “There is nothing as good as a girlfriend,” says Maysoon. Their names and faces are like flowers, and though they wear Islamic dress, they’ve put a lot of thought into brightly coloured headscarves, sneakers and boots with stiletto heels and bell-bottom jeans that peek out from under long robes. “No matter how bad the situation is, you want to look pretty,” says Safa. “Choosing clothes helps you relax; it’s good for morale.”
Do they realise how different their lives are from those of young women in other countries? “Sure”, “Sure”, “Sure”, they answer together. But when I ask if they’re sad or angry to be deprived of their youth, Safa and Iman reply, again in unison: “We are proud.” Noor elaborates: “We are proud that in spite of everything that has happened . . . we will stay on our land.”
Was her childhood happy? I ask Noor. “Since the day I was born, we’ve been under occupation and airstrikes.” Safa looks pensive. “There were a few happy moments, but they passed quickly. With our families. On feast days.”
“Sometimes, even the feasts are spoiled, because of the siege,” says Iman. Boys are a taboo subject in Islamic Gaza. The young women’s classes are segregated. “It’s better that way,” says Safa. “We’re more relaxed and comfortable, separated from men. Mixing is not allowed in Islam.” Internet chat rooms, mostly with other students from IUG, are a favourite pastime. But they’re scandalised when I ask whether they communicate with young men. “We have no relations with males. It is forbidden. It’s a sin,” says Safa. If she strikes a young man’s fancy, Safa explains, he’ll send his mother to talk to her mother, and a meeting will be arranged. “I have the freedom to accept or reject him, she adds.
Do they want children? “Yes. Of course,” says Maysoon. But life is so hard in the Gaza Strip. Even the most basic comforts, like water and electricity, are erratic, and hundreds of children have just died violent deaths. “Exactly,” says Maysoon. “That’s why we want to bring more.”