The little orphan Sham in the Olive Camp: The story of an orphan, the daughter of an orphan (sponsored by the Saad Al-Khair Group)

In Al-Zaytoun neighborhood in Gaza, where every corner tells a story of pain and longing, lives two-year-old Sham under the care of her grandmother. Sham’s life, barely begun, is already etched with loss and sorrow. She isn’t just an orphan; she’s the daughter of an orphan. Her father, who grew up without his own father—martyred during the war on Gaza in 2009—has now left her behind, too.

Her grandmother, now Sham’s sole guardian, carries a heavy burden. She has lost nearly all her family members—her children, her grandchildren—and now finds herself alone with Sham in a world that offers little but grief and resilience. She often tells Sham stories of her father, a boy who grew up an orphan, dreaming of a better future, only to be taken away too soon, leaving Sham as an entrusted legacy in her care.

In their modest home, which lacks even the basics of a decent life, every corner holds memories of someone who is no longer there. Every piece of furniture whispers of days gone by. Sham, with her innocent curiosity, often asks her grandmother about her father, her lost toys, and the hugs she no longer feels.

Despite the sadness in her eyes, her grandmother does her best to provide Sham with a sense of security. One chilly night, as she held Sham close to shield her from the cold, she whispered:
“You, my little one, are not just an orphan; you’re the child of heroes. Your grandfather gave his life defending his land, and your father was a brave man who loved you dearly. You are our hope, and one day, you’ll grow up to be strong.”

But life was far from easy. The grandmother struggled to provide food and warmth for Sham. The neighbors helped as much as they could, but poverty and the siege had turned life in Al-Zaytoun into a daily struggle for survival.

One day, as Sham played with some pebbles outside their home, a woman from the neighborhood approached her. Looking at her with tenderness, she asked:
“What are you doing, little one?”

With a bright, innocent smile, Sham replied:
“I’m building a new house for me and my grandmother... a beautiful house where we’ll live with my daddy and grandfather.”

The woman’s heart ached at Sham’s words, but she couldn’t help but smile and gently pat the child’s head.

Days passed, and Sham began to realize, little by little, that her world was not like that of other children. She saw the pain in her grandmother’s eyes and felt the hunger and cold, yet her smile never faded. She loved sharing her dreams with their neighbor:
“When I grow up, I’ll become a doctor, and I’ll build a big house for me and my grandmother, and we’ll never cry again.”

Despite all the hardships, Sham became a symbol of hope in Al-Zaytoun. Her grandmother, worn down by life, found warmth and a reason to keep going in her granddaughter.

One day, a group of volunteers visited the neighborhood. They heard Sham and her grandmother’s story and were deeply moved by their strength and resilience. They decided to support them by providing some basic needs and a small toy for Sham. The toy was simple, but to Sham, it meant the world.

Life began to improve, little by little. The assistance helped her grandmother provide food and warmth for Sham. But more importantly, it reminded her that they were not alone in this world.

Sham, growing up under her grandmother’s care, never let go of her dreams. She would often say:
“I am the child of an orphan, and my grandfather was a hero. I will be strong like them, and I’ll make them proud.”

And so, Sham’s story continued—marked by pain but filled with hope. She became a beacon of resilience for everyone around her, a living testament that loss can forge heroes, and that even the most fragile childhood can hide a strength capable of defying the impossible.