In the first week of November I was sitting with my mother in the tent in al-Mawasi in southern Gaza. It was 9 a.m. on one of the most beautiful mornings I had experienced in a long time. I was used to waking up early to light the fire and prepare a cup of tea for myself and my family, a simple task that could take up most of the morning. But now we had received cooking gas, after more than eight months without, and I made a hot cup of tea with a piece of bread for myself, my father and my mother.
‘We can’t stay here through the winter,’ my mother said. ‘Our tents are worn out.’
Read more about Seventeen Minutes of Rain