In her book The Girl Who Smiled Beads: A Story of War and What Comes After (2018), refugee and survivor Clemantine Wamariya wrote:
“That is life in a refugee camp—still, moving toward nothing. You are stuck in a horrible state, learning skills you wish you never had to know: how to light a fire, how to cook corn, how to wash clothes in the river and burn lice on rocks. You wait, hoping the trucks bring something other than corn and beans.”
According to the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR), “women and children account for 70% of the 35 million refugees worldwide. In refugee camps, women are often at risk of exploitation, including transactional sex for food and resources.”
Oxfam International notes that “women in conflict zones lose an average of 50% of their income sources due to displacement and war, making it harder to support their families.”
Women for Women International says, “In conflict-affected countries, 39 million girls are out of school, leaving them vulnerable to early marriage and trafficking.”
Despite the existence of numerous laws and international agreements to ensure the safety and rights of women in conflict zones, such as the Fourth Geneva Convention on the Protection of Civilian Persons in Time of War in 1949.
In addition to the Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination Against Women, issued by the United Nations General Assembly in 1979, and Security Council Resolution 1325 in 2000, the atrocities experienced by this segment of society remain unimaginable.
According to the African proverb, “It takes a whole village to raise a child, but just one war is enough to destroy everything.”
Currently, many countries such as Sudan, Iraq, Syria, Palestine, and Uganda, in addition to other regions, are experiencing conflicts or war-like conditions.
While many international bodies claim to be working in tandem to resolve conflicts, the sufferings of children, girls, women, and elderly people often go unseen and unheard.
All over the internet, we have been seeing many narratives about wars. How it has destroyed families, how intentionally a genocide is taking place and how ruthlessly people are left to die, yet something remains unheard of.
I recently interviewed refugees from Palestine, Syria, and Sudan to shed light on their stories. Their names have been changed to protect their identities.
Women from Gaza
“Women are not only procreators but also caregivers. They are born daughters and become sisters, wives, and mothers, but they also hold intrinsic value as individuals. Unfortunately, very little of their perspectives are heard, and minimal effort is made to understand their opinions when they find themselves trapped in war-like situations,” said Dr Mariam, a Palestinian residing in Qatar for over a year.
Sitting in Qatar National Library, Dr. Mariam’s medium frame might appear unassuming, but her eyes and smile reflect a resilient and determined personality. As Arabic is her first language, translating sentences into English is challenging. Yet, she expresses gratitude, saying, “It is not in our culture to speak out loud, which is okay, but today, I feel thankful to be able to share what I witnessed during the war waged by Israel.”
For those unfamiliar, the conflict between Israel and Palestine is not new. It dates back to before the 1948 war when Jews entered Palestine as refugees. With the assistance of the British Mandate, they seized control of some regions of the country, leading to decades of ongoing conflict.
Netflix’s historical drama Farha, directed by Jordanian filmmaker Darin J. Sallam and Jordan’s official submission for the 2023 Academy Awards, portrays the story of a 14-year-old Palestinian girl. During the Nakba, her father locks her in a storeroom to protect her from Zionist attacks. Through a crack in the pantry door, she witnesses Israeli forces executing her entire family, including a baby and two young children.
The Palestinian Nakba of 1948 witnessed the ethnic cleansing and displacement of over 700,000 Palestinians by Zionist militias such as Irgun and Stern Gang.
On April 9 of the same year, Zionist forces committed one of their most infamous crimes, killing more than 110 men, women, and children in the village of Deir Yassin on the outskirts of Jerusalem.
According to an article titled Gaza 2024: A Year of War and Misery by Al Jazeera, the Palestinian Ministry of Health officially recorded 46,376 deaths among Palestinians between October 7, 2023, and the end of 2024.
A United Nations report published in July 2024 indicates that 9 out of 10 Gazans were displaced at least once.
Among the mechanisms of genocide faced by Palestinians is what was documented in a 179-page report by Human Rights Watch, which accuses Israel of obstructing access to water.
The report states: “Since October 2023, Israeli authorities have deliberately obstructed Palestinians’ access to sufficient water needed for survival in the Gaza Strip.”
In the words of Dr. Mariam, “Lack of water is a death sentence for women.” Despite their resilience amidst unending turmoil, the stories of Palestinian women and the challenges they face during war and displacement remain largely untold.
Beyond the battlefield, these women are victims of systemic neglect, caught in a web of deprivation, fear, and loss. While Dr Mariam continued working as a doctor, saving lives in a private hospital far from her family, she received a devastating call from her sister one night. “She told me our house had been bombed, and my family was in the hospital. She didn’t give me details, but I knew something terrible had happened,” Mariam recalls.
Defying her colleagues’ advice not to take the risk, she braved treacherous roads under constant aerial surveillance to reach the hospital where her family was admitted. “When I arrived, I learned my father had been killed, and my sisters and one of their children were severely injured. I had to stay strong for them, but it was unbearable,” she says.
With their home destroyed, her family spent over a month in the hospital, as they had nowhere else to go. “One of my sisters had multiple fractures and underwent surgery. She still can’t walk. We lived in the hospital, surrounded by the injured and grieving,” Mariam explains, her voice heavy with emotion.
Her sister, who suffered neurological damage, was eventually referred for surgery in Egypt and then to Hamad Medical Center in Qatar. However, by the time they arrived, it was too late. “The nerve damage became permanent,” Mariam says. “Months of waiting and moving from one place to another left her without hope of recovery.”
Revisiting the Pain
War changes so much, as reflected in the stories of these Palestinian women currently living as refugees in Qatar’s Al Thumama Compound.
Their common thread is Gaza and the conflict that forced them to leave their homeland, adding the tragic prefix “was” before their job titles.
Amal, a survivor of leg and head injuries, says, “When I was young, I always dreamed of travelling the world. But now, far from my homeland, I realize my land is paradise.”
Sitting in the soundproof group study rooms at Qatar National Library in Doha, Amal was the first to recount her story. She comes across as a cheerful woman with immense potential, but her jaw, severely disfigured by injury, is a testament to the horrors she has endured. Her resilience and strength, however, remain unwavering.
Amal lived with her cousins on the 11th floor of a building in Deir Al-Balah. On December 5, 2023, their home was bombed, reducing it to rubble in a single night and forcing them on a harrowing journey for survival.
Injured and incapacitated, Amal relied on her cousin Noha to carry her to Al Shifa Hospital.
Two weeks later, Israeli forces surrounded the hospital, determined to destroy vital resources in blatant violation of international laws, particularly the Fourth Geneva Convention.
Men and women, already wounded, were once again forced to flee and search for safety.
In a moment of despair, Amal begged Noha to leave her behind, but Noha refused. She eventually found a wheelchair to help Amal escape.
“They inspected everyone, photographed us, and sometimes detained people,” Amal recalls.
“It didn’t matter if we were women, men, or children. It felt like they were taking souls, as if we weren’t human,” she says, her voice breaking.
It is said that creating ripples in water requires only a single stone. After hearing Amal’s story, Dr. Mariam began sharing her experiences as a doctor serving victims in a war zone. She battled daily dilemmas, including the painful decision to turn away injured or pregnant women due to a lack of resources.
“Pregnant women, often malnourished due to insufficient food and clean water, gave birth to underdeveloped babies under unsuitable conditions,” she explained.
“Once, a woman gave birth while bombs were falling from the sky. The psychological trauma caused her womb to become blocked, and she can no longer conceive.”
Speaking slowly yet firmly, Dr Mariam remarked, “These women have countless stories that may seem surreal to the reader.”
The hospital’s limited capacity forced doctors to discharge patients just hours after delivery because there were no beds available for incoming cases.
“The women would witness their children suffering, their spouses’ changing attitudes, and so much more, yet they remained silent as dictated by cultural norms,” she added.
Dr. Mariam reflected on the dire circumstances: “Women would suffer emotionally, mentally, and physically. Some even became the sole breadwinners for their families.”
“The electricity and water were cut off from the first day of the war, and there was no internet,” she added
Amneh, a woman with broad shoulders, fair skin, and sharp features that enhance her warm smile, holds a bachelor’s degree in computer science. She is an entrepreneur and a mother of four.
Reflecting on the recent war, she said, “Since 2002, when I was 22 years old, we’ve experienced many wars. Each time, we managed to survive, but this war was the hardest. We lost everything—my relatives, my home, and even my dreams.”
With a pause, she continued, “I was one of the Palestinian businesswomen, owning a training and consulting company and running a restaurant with a large following on Instagram. But because of this war, I lost everything—even my clothes and car. I left Gaza with my husband and children, wearing only the clothes on my back, leaving everything else behind.”
The women unanimously agreed that solar energy was a lifeline for homes with access to it, while others suffered without electricity.
As for water, providing clean supplies became increasingly difficult. “Four litres of water cost one US dollar, an exorbitant price for most,” they said.
Maraiam said “Women often suffered from low blood pressure and anemia. After childbirth, some developed sepsis due to the lack of sanitary pads or antibiotics.”
“We only had 10 beds, and the blood would cover the floor. The cleaning staff couldn’t keep up, so we had to ask them to leave,” she said, her voice tinged with sorrow.
What Does War Do to Pregnant Women?
As displaced residents from northern Gaza continued to move south, the buildings of Al-Aqsa University became makeshift shelters. However, these shelters lacked basic amenities. Thousands lived in tents or directly on the ground, with latrines hastily dug into the earth. The unhygienic conditions compromised sanitation, exposing women to serious health risks.
For pregnant women and new mothers, the situation was devastating. Dr. Mariam recounts a harrowing story of a young woman, barely 20 years old, who fled her northern Gaza home with her husband, seeking refuge in the south. Pregnant with her first child, she faced a nightmare that would haunt her forever.
Without access to relatives or healthcare, the young woman endured severe pain but misunderstood it as constipation rather than contractions. She went to a makeshift pit latrine and, after relieving herself, began experiencing heavy bleeding, unsure of what was happening to her body.
Her husband, struggling to grasp the seriousness of her condition, managed to arrange transportation to a hospital late at night, braving roads under constant surveillance by Israeli drones, which indiscriminately targeted movement.
By the time she arrived at the hospital, it was too late. An ultrasound revealed the tragic truth: “She was no longer pregnant; her womb was empty.”
Hospital staff later discovered the remains of the baby in the unsanitary pit where she had relieved herself moments earlier.
The trauma left the young mother in shock, her grief compounded by isolation—she had no family by her side—and her husband’s emotional inexperience in dealing with the situation.
In overcrowded shelters, thousands of displaced families shared cramped spaces with little to no access to essential facilities.
Hospitals in conflict zones struggled to save the lives of mothers and babies. Neonatal Intensive Care Units (NICUs) were often overwhelmed, forcing doctors to make agonizing decisions about which babies had the best chances of survival.
“Before the war, we tried to save premature babies and care for them in the NICU,” Dr. Mariam explains. “But during the war, we could only save those with the greatest chance of survival. The others…we lost them.”
Outside the hospitals, conditions were equally grim. Families who fled their homes with nothing but the clothes on their backs lived in makeshift shelters without electricity or refrigeration. Food spoiled quickly, forcing them to rely on canned goods, leading to malnutrition, anaemia, and gastrointestinal issues.
“I left my home with only the clothes I was wearing,” Dr. Mariam adds. “I used to own a private clinic, a car, and a comfortable life. Now, I can’t even afford to buy food for my family, clothes, or medicine.”
Nour and Her Journey from Syria
The horrors of war aren’t limited to Palestine. Nour, a tall, slender woman from Syria, woke up to Assad’s defeat in December 2024 and is still trying to rebuild her life.
A writer and translator, Nour comes from a family of four brothers and three sisters. Known for her use of humor and sarcasm as a way to cope with stress, she navigates her challenges with resilience.
While her parents managed to send most of their children abroad, Nour and some siblings were left behind in a war-torn world with a bleak future.
Sitting in the comfort of her home in Qatar, Nour speaks of the survivor’s guilt she feels. “When the war began in Syria, it felt like the ground beneath us shifted permanently. The uncertainty was suffocating. At first, the conflict seemed distant, but reality hit us fast. Suddenly, my family and I were confined to our home, unsure of where it was safe to go.”
One of the most challenging moments for her was losing her cousin and uncle to the war. “My cousin, who was doing his mandatory military service, died of starvation. I remember his last call, telling me they were scavenging for leaves to eat. My uncle, a peaceful man, was killed by a bullet in the head. He left behind three children. In such times, it doesn’t matter how kind or good you are—no one is safe,” she says.
As a mother, her priorities shifted entirely to her children. Basic hygiene became a constant challenge. Water was so scarce that she often shaved her children’s heads to prevent lice.
“I used a damp cloth with soap to clean them, but their hair had to go,” she recalls.
Pregnancy and childbirth during these conditions were harrowing. Both her children were born via cesarean section during the war. The hospital lacked even basic supplies.
“They told me to use my bedsheet instead of tissues,” she says. “For many women, the lack of essentials like sanitary pads, diapers, or even proper food made these experiences unbearable. We boiled old clothes to reuse, often suffering from infections or worse.”
Then came the earthquake in February 2022, adding another layer of devastation. “I’ll never forget that night when everything shook violently. We ran barefoot down collapsing staircases in the freezing rain. My sister, unmarried and without children, insisted on risking her life to retrieve our identity papers,” she recounts.
After the earthquake, Nour and her family wandered from one shelter to another, sometimes crammed with up to 16 people in a single room. “Privacy became a forgotten concept, and survival overshadowed everything else,” she says.
“I remember sleeping on cardboard boxes with strangers on either side. If you got up to use the bathroom, you’d find no place to return to sleep.”
The war didn’t just destroy homes and cities; it tore families apart. “My brothers left Syria to avoid military service, and it’s been over a decade since they left. The passports we needed to escape required bribes we could barely afford. Even after securing them, visas were impossible to obtain—Syrians were unwelcome almost everywhere,” she explains.
Adapting to life in a conflict zone changes people in ways that are hard to describe. “I’ve learned that suffering has a universal language. Everyone has their share, but how we handle it defines us,” Nour reflects.
In Syria, life revolved around making do with what they had. Food was scarce, but it became a ritual and a source of solace amidst the chaos. “Every Thursday, I’d host friends and family, a tradition I miss dearly now,” she says. Now, she avoids asking her family in Syria about food and necessities.
“The answers are too painful. They live without meat, relying on whatever they can eat that day since refrigerators don’t work. Sometimes, they survive on labneh or nothing at all. Hearing these stories, knowing I can’t change them, is emotionally exhausting.”
Still, she believes in the resilience of women. “We endure for our children and for the hope of a better future,” she says.
She shows a message from her sister, with a photo of a kerosene stove heating a pot of tea. In her usual sarcastic tone, Nour replied: “Welcome to the Stone Age.”
For Nour, food is more than sustenance—it’s a way to connect and show love when words fail.
Even now, in a new country, she finds comfort in food. “I’ve tried dishes from cultures like couscous, Bukhari rice, and Indian kebabs. Some flavours remind me of home, while others don’t resonate. Still, food is a bridge—a way to build connections in an unfamiliar world, even if it makes me feel guilty.”
The emotional toll of the conflict is etched on her face. Often, when recalling her past, tears well up in her eyes, but she smiles and says, “I’ve always used humour to cope with pain, but some memories are too raw to joke about. The war taught me resilience but left a void—friends and family scattered, connections severed by chaos.”
Adjusting to Life in Qatar
“When I came to Qatar, I experienced culture shock even in the simplest things,” Nour reflects. “Seeing a free park left me in awe. For years, the concept of walking outside without fear was unimaginable. Even now, I struggle to let my children stray more than two meters away. The trauma of war rewires you, making even safety feel like a fragile illusion.”
Nour, who battles PTSD, shares, “Even when I feel like screaming at the injustice of it all, I channel that anger into love. I teach my children to value what they have while trying to shield them from the bitterness of our shared history.”
Yet, the survivor’s guilt weighs heavily on her. “You feel selfish for escaping suffering, for being able to provide for your children while your niece back home uses cloth diapers, or your cousin can’t afford milk for her newborn.”
Syria has taken much from her, but Nour believes it has also taught her resilience. She feels that as long as she can share her story, she will continue to honour the sacrifices of those who remain behind, hoping for a day when no woman has to bear such a burden alone.
Amal and her children were relocated to Qatar as part of a medical evacuation, a move that gave them a new chance at life after losing everything. Despite this, she admits, “I don’t feel at peace because of the immense loss, hunger, cold, and fear we endured—feelings my people are still suffering from. I know I need psychological support to cope with this overwhelming trauma.”
For Amneh, her eldest son has completed school and dreams of attending university, but their financial situation makes this impossible. “I don’t know how to start over, but I thank God every day that we are still alive, and I am grateful to Qatar for giving us a chance to begin again,” she says.
Amneh’s resilience shines through her words: “We are used to war, so on the first day, I put all our important documents in a bag that we kept with us at all times. Additionally, I regularly upload my documents to Google Drive to have digital copies of everything.”
However, she points out the challenges of relief aid distribution in Gaza: “Aid doesn’t necessarily reach everyone. Only if you know the distributor personally will you receive help.”
Now, Amneh hopes to support her remaining family members in Gaza by providing them with a tent or renting a house in Khan Yunis or Deir al-Balah, as finding a tent has become increasingly difficult. She also dreams of a day when the war will end forever.
Dr. Mariam, her eyes brimming with tears, says, “I long for my home, for the life I had before all this. But for now, all I can do is hope—hope that my family is still alive, hope that this nightmare will end, and hope that the world won’t forget us.”
Their raw and poignant words remind us of the human faces behind the statistics. Amid war, these stories of courage and resilience must be heard.
The world cannot continue to ignore these women’s plight. Addressing their needs and ensuring access to hygiene, nutrition, and safe medical care must be central to any humanitarian response. Only then can we hope to give them a chance to survive, heal, and rebuild their lives.
Beyond the physical devastation, Dr Mariam speaks of the generational trauma that will haunt Gaza long after the bombs stop falling. “This war doesn’t just destroy homes and lives—it destroys futures,” she says.
Women, the carriers of life, endure not only physical suffering but also the trauma of seeing their families torn apart. “Wombs, which should bring new life, carry the memories of war. These are generational scars that will remain embedded in the DNA of our children,” she adds.
All these women share a common question: “Even if we rebuild our homes, how do we rebuild our hearts? How do we heal from wounds that are so deep, so invisible? The wars have taken everything from us—our loved ones, our homes, our dignity.”
And yet, their hopes remain unshaken. Their resolve shines through their pain. Despite these challenges, they stay hopeful, waiting for systemic changes to grant them the permissions they need to work and support their families.
Women nurture the future with love, wisdom, and strength, ensuring that communities can rise again.
