(THIS ARTICLE IS MACHINE TRANSLATED by Google from Norwegian)
"I caught the girl's attention from the first blow."
A little girl sits on a treatment table at Nasser Hospital in Khan Younis, in the far south of the Gaza Strip. Her body is in a state of shock. She is screaming. The doctor is about to enter her eye socket to cut the stitches. Her mother pats the girl on the back of the head. She has to calm down! The effect is not there. Norwegian child psychologist Katrin Glatz Brubakk pulls out a small bottle of soap bubbles. She catches the girl's attention with the first blow. The girl is no longer in a state of shock. The stitches are being cut. It is day 11 of Brubakk's 33-day stay as an aid worker, which ended in September 2024.
At the time of writing, there is a ceasefire on Gaza. Prisoners are being exchanged. The situation is tense. The death drones have a temporary break on the ground. But the injured are still there, and the hospitals are working hard. 170 buildings are said to have been completely destroyed, close to 000 people have been killed.
Five-year-olds are at the top of the death toll. They are too heavy for parents to lift around when they have to evacuate or flee, and at the same time so small that they are hit in the stomach by missiles that hit, or shrapnel that scatters. Then they bleed to death before they reach the hospital.
Never before in history, anywhere in the world, have so many children had to have an arm or leg amputated.
In diary form
Several people have written books from Gaza in the past year. Also doctors in the field, such as Erik Fosse and his The House of War: Notes from Gaza. Do we need more, and do we need to be constantly reminded of the atrocities that have happened? Don't we get enough on television and social media?
The answer is a resounding yes; we need these testimonyone. Especially when it comes to a book, like this one, which describes life in a war zone from the perspective of children and parents. It deeply touches the humanity in us. And child psychologist Brubak has good observational skills and a steady pen. We first got to know her through the book Moria: Inside Europe's largest refugee camp (2023), which she wrote with Guro Kulset Merakerås. Brukak has been to the Moria camp on the Greek island of Lesvos 13 times. The misery there is similar to that in Gaza, but without the bombs.
"No houses. Not even rubble. Everything is powderized."
Brubak now writes in diary form. The tone is already set on day one as she drives into the unknown:
"No houses. Not even piles of rubble. Everything is pulverized. No plants or trees. No shades. And no movement except for our cars and a few trucks with soldiers. It's just dark, gray and completely, completely dead."
There is a risk of looting, even for cars marked with Doctors Without Borders. The passengers have shampoo with them, you know. No open windows, all doors locked. Brubak braces herself for a life-threatening mission, where she becomes responsible for a psychosocial team of ten psychologists, counselors and social workers.
Outside Nasser Hospital Every little spot is used to house people. 80 percent of all schools in Gaza have been completely or partially demolished. Slowly but surely, we get to know some of the team, and some of the children in the hospital. Little Adam lies sullen and depressed with his face turned to the wall. He saw his father die and now lies with an amputated foot. We join in the contact-making work that Brubak is doing.
The beautiful Gaza that disappeared
Sabah is the only psychologist among Brubak’s Palestinian colleagues, and Sabah and Brubak (b. 1970) are the same age. Sabah says: “We had everything. You know, we lived our lives like you live yours. We had a nice house with a swimming pool. They emptied their magazines into my refrigerator, why, what did they want to achieve?”
This is a Gaza most of us are unfamiliar with. People love their Gaza – the Gaza that is now gone. One says: “I wanted you to get to know all the great things Gaza had to offer. The cities, the beach, the culture and the food.”
The author meets people who have been to the Norway Cup, twice! Wacky and surreal. We meet a girl who used to train two hours every day, but now there is nowhere to go. Behind all the sadness, Brubak still sees hope, not least with children who are kite runners, with plastic they find, and a thread and a stick. Then the laughter is loose.
Loss of loved ones, loss of home, loss of limbs, loss of meaning, loss of hope for the future.
Some encounters just stick, both for the author and the reader. A little girl of two and a half years old is called "the legless mascot" where she is carried around and spreads joy with her smile. Her father carries her out into what could be called a backyard, where some bright red hibiscus flowers grow. Brubak puts a flower in the girl's hair, and one in his. What a shared joy! But the father is worried about the future. Because how will a girl without legs manage in the Gaza of the future?
From tears to laughter and back to tears
There are quick shifts in the book, from the heartbreaking to the humorous, as when the author loudly blares along with the driver to a Santana song. Before we quickly join her in the bathroom, where she cries a lot. It's unprofessional, Brubak writes. But she won't survive if she doesn't get some emotional freedom in the form of crying.
We witness violence in the 'homes' that are scattered outside the hospital. Stress leads to violence and more violence. Some people shout obscenities and are aggressive when the MSF car passes. Maybe they think we are spies, asks Brubak.
"They vaccinate us first, then they kill us later," says one. Several families are fighting over access to clean water. What a jungle! But there is also strife among the 'professionals'. In the hospital team, she experiences two quarrelsome adult women, who do not speak to each other because they disagree: "Today, the fragile notion we all cling to, the belief that we can handle living in war, was shattered."
A large proportion of patients come in with minor problems. The salty wash water, the lack of soap, and desert-like conditions mean that people struggle with skin problems.
Once the author forgets himself and goes to the shower on hospitala dressed only in a nightgown. Some of the male workers see naked female legs. Easier arousal. Otherwise, the author observes that love and flirtation among employees flourish. It does good. Young boys 'try out' on her. She tells them that they are the same age as the two young men she has at home. Namely two handsome boys! Ha, ha. Then the pipe gets a different tune.
We get a good introduction to simple child psychology. But sometimes the author speaks to deaf ears, when adults do not want to tell children what has happened to parents or siblings. It is often the case that children may then believe that everything is their fault, if they do not get good explanations for what has happened.
The book is about our own humanity.
Schoolbooks are being used as wrapping paper – it's heartbreaking. But what can you do when schools no longer exist?
A crazy little place
The Gaza Strip is very small, barely 365 km2 – approx. 40 km long and 6–10 km wide. And here quadcopters, drones with automatic weapons have been hovering daily. For the people, everything is about minimizing losses, on one level or another. Loss of loved ones, loss of home, loss of limbs, loss of meaning, loss of hope for the future.
And yet Brubak and her colleagues are busy helping patients look forward – self-realization even here. Brubak knows that smiling is 'medicine', she is a smiling therapist and gets compliments for it. But in her heart she cries and writes a diary – and makes us feel present. Her tears roll as she leaves people she has come to love. I too feel touched.
What about Hamas?
The publisher could have treated us to a map of Gaza, at least the southern part, including the Nasser Hospital. I could also have imagined a few sentences with the author's thoughts on Hamas' tunnel system and Hamas' alleged use of the hospital and tents and sheds near the hospital as hiding places. Is that true or not? Is it something that is discussed among ordinary employees?
But these are small things. The book is important, whether the ceasefire holds or not. It is about our own humanity. It is crucial to care and continue to blow soap bubbles. To bring joy to children in need and stress, as an act of defiance against superior forces. So that it will always be possible to breathe life into Gaza.
