My name is Fatima Shafi Al-Asaad. I am married and a mother of four children. I am from the city of Palmyra (Bride of the Desert). I was forced to leave with my family due to the war and the political conditions that befell the country. We arrived at a place I had never heard of before, the Rukban Camp. I was exhausted and carried nothing with me but my disappointment in what we had come to. I looked at my children and the other children who had been displaced with us and asked myself, “What is their fault in all of this?”

When I stepped off the tractor that brought us to the desert, there was nothing there but tents and scattered garbage. The bathrooms were wooden pillars wrapped in worn-out fabrics without anything covering them from the top. I ran, holding my husband’s hand, asking him to go back, as death from shelling and airstrikes seemed easier than living here. He looked at me with a look I will never forget and said, “Calm down, things will get better.” We went to one of his relatives to find some rest, and on the second day, he set up rectangular wooden pillars and attached fabrics and blankets to them from the top and sides. He arranged them with whatever mats and fabrics were available, and then he prepared what is called the bathroom and kitchen in the same way. He placed something made of nylon on the bathroom floor for water.

Water is transported to the houses through plastic containers (jerry cans) placed in small single-wheeled carts. My husband is responsible for fetching water. He used to secure 30 liters of water, which was distributed through the wells set up by aid organizations for the displaced. He was considered a hero due to the large number of displaced people. I was afraid for my son to go there because he was only 10 years old when we arrived. Due to overcrowding, there were frequent fights that sometimes escalated to physical violence. Our initial plan was to stay in the camp for a short period and then return to our country, but days passed and we were either waiting or trying to enter Jordan. However, due to the explosion that occurred on the Jordanian border, entry was prohibited. We arrived at the camp at the end of the third month, and the days and months went by until winter approached. The refugees found a solution to protect themselves from the summer heat and winter cold by making mud bricks and building a single room to withstand the weather conditions. The room served as a bedroom, reception area, and kitchen. In one corner, a plastic cover with a hole in the wall was used as a bathroom.

I worked with my husband in building the new mud house and installing the roof. I did the mud plastering alongside the room. I asked my husband to build bathrooms near the room, and we did so. I operated the gas burner in the room to help dry the walls and provide warmth for my children.

The suffering in the Rukban camp is endless. The displaced people have improved their houses over these years, making them larger with multiple rooms, an independent kitchen, and water bathrooms. Water is transported in containers, and the tanks are filled by the majority. Some use cement in the flooring of their houses to reduce the entry of rodents, which are noticeably widespread in the camp, and for the sake of cleanliness as well.

Our suffering in the camp never ends. Women bear many responsibilities, including laundry, which shifted from automatic machines to handwashing due to the lack of water availability. With limited access to electricity, we relied on lanterns and later on solar panels, batteries, and special lamps for lighting the tent and eventually the house. When bread was scarce and the oven stopped working, I kneaded the dough and baked it over the fire or on a small gas stove. I cooked rice or bulgur daily in the absence of flour.

I have been a teacher for seven years. I taught children along with my colleagues in the tents. The number of children in the tent exceeded 50. We wrote on fabric using limestone rocks that we collected from the ground after digging. Eventually, the tent evolved into mud #classrooms with mud benches. We used crates collected from shops and wrote lessons on them for the students.

Sometimes, I wrote on the walls. All this suffering was to ensure that children were not deprived of education At first, I wrote the curriculum in a notebook based on my memory. The staff collaborated to expand the curriculum until we received the curriculum from Jordan, and later the curriculum from the aid received, which is still used in most of the classes. We hope for advanced educational stages for them to complete their studies. I hope there will be a generation that does not experience ignorance and illiteracy, but a generation that builds our country with knowledge and wisdom.

The health situation is bad. There are no doctors, specialists, or even medical equipment. There are a few nurses, and some are being trained here in first aid and nursing. I had good knowledge about first aid.

There were heartbreaking cases that we couldn’t alleviate. A woman rushed into our house, as most houses didn’t have doors, seeking help to give her mother an injection. I accompanied her, and when I entered that fabric house, I couldn’t hold myself together, tears started pouring. There was an elderly blind woman who couldn’t move and had special unmet needs. I administered her injection, and she thanked me with her gaze.

One of the cases I will never forget was a cancer patient. Myself and other women relied on herbal medicine and the knowledge passed down from our grandmothers for our treatment. I dream of going back to my country and leaving this camp because the suffering here is different, but it has made me strong. My husband used to work in mud brick construction, but he has become too tired to work now. I rely on my 19-year-old son, who has been working in the mud for four years. It saddens me to see his tired, cracked hands and his clothes soaked with water and mud. I praise him to ease his burden, but my heart is filled with sadness for him. I thank God for the blessing of my family and for our health. If someone’s condition worsens, they have to go to the system to receive treatment. This is just a glimpse of the suffering I and the displaced people in the camp endure.