Tent Diaries – The Night No One Slept

As the sun set, the hot wind began to slip into our fragile tent, carrying with it dust and the scent of exhaustion. Nothing here brings comfort… the night, which people usually wait for to find rest, is for us the beginning of another battle — one with fear, heat, and worry.

 

Sham sat beside me, restless from the stifling heat inside the tent. Her small eyes looked up at me as if asking: “When will we return home?” — a question that repeats every night, and one I have no answer for. Adam, meanwhile, was crying from discomfort, tossing and turning, unable to find a single breath of fresh air to ease him.

 

The air was suffocating, and the tent had turned into a sealed box. Around us, a heavy silence was only broken by the occasional cry of a child in a nearby tent or the cough of an elderly person worn down by displacement. We all gathered together in one corner, trying to find comfort in nothing, and all I could do was hold them close and pray the night would pass safely.

Time moved painfully slowly, and the heat grew harsher with every minute. My wife, Wafaa, tried to reassure me while I did my best to appear strong for them — but the truth is, I was afraid… Afraid the children might fall ill, afraid this waiting would never end, afraid the world might forget our suffering.

 

That night, no one slept — not Sham, not Adam, not even me. We all stared into the darkness, waiting for dawn, waiting for a faint light to tell us we were still alive and that hope, despite everything, had not yet died.

 

That was our night… simple on the surface, yet it carries within it all the meanings of displacement, pain, and patience. And still, we cling to life — if only because we dream of a better tomorrow.