Iyad Jarboa.. A Palestinian child who condenses years of life caring for his paralyzed parents in a displacement tent

In the city of Deir al-Balah, specifically inside one of the dilapidated displacement tents, 12-year-old Iyad Jarboa sleeps on the ground next to his paralyzed father's bed. The child's sleep turns into a continuous monitoring mission, as he remains vigilant for any call that might come from his father, Nehad, in the darkness of the night, to fulfill his endless needs in the bitter reality of disability.

Iyad's responsibilities far exceed his young age. In this cramped tent, every simple movement becomes a burden that requires prior arrangement and strenuous physical effort. The child gets up with every movement of his father, whether to adjust his position or to help him relieve himself, making his frail body the main pillar on which the family's survival depends.

With the dawn, a new chapter of daily suffering begins, as Iyad divides his attention between his paralyzed father and his mother, Zainab, who suffers from amputated legs. He moves with skill acquired from the harshness of experience, bringing them water and preparing a suitable place for them, abandoning the childhood dreams he was supposed to live among school desks.

His older sister, Rahaf, 14 years old, shares this heavy burden. She, too, left school to become a second breadwinner. Rahaf shares with her brother the tasks of tidying the tent and preparing breakfast, a forced transformation from a life of books and exams to a life of full responsibility for incapacitated parents.

Providing water is one of the toughest daily battles Iyad faces, as he has to carry six plastic gallons and run after distribution tankers. He covers long distances over soft sand, which increases the weight of the load, and returns repeatedly until he fills the family's simple stock of potable water.

Signs of fatigue and exhaustion are clearly visible on Iyad's face with every trip he makes, but his determination pushes him to continue without stopping. His small body leans under the weight of the heavy gallons, but he fully realizes that the continued life of his parents inside the tent depends entirely on these strenuous steps he takes daily.

After securing water, Iyad heads to the charitable 'Tekkiyeh' to stand in long queues in search of a meal to satisfy his family's hunger. The child stands among crowds of adults and children, carrying his bowl, waiting for his share of food, which represents the only available meal in light of the suffocating siege and dire economic conditions.

Iyad speaks, tears preceding his words, about his buried dream of returning to school and playing with his peers without fear or responsibility. He bitterly says that he deprived himself of his childhood, his friends, and his right to education, only to be the support his parents need in these exceptional circumstances that the Gaza Strip is experiencing.

For her part, the mother, Zainab, expresses her deep pain as she sees her young child performing tasks beyond his physical capacity, especially when he has to carry her or drag her chair over the sand. The mother confirms that Iyad's first awareness was associated with hospitals and the meanings of amputation and wounds, before he understood the meaning of playing or enjoying life like other children in the world.

As for the father, Nehad, who used to manage an art institution before the war and supported dozens of employees, he looks at his son with broken eyes filled with sadness and gratitude. The father wakes up every morning thinking about the burden he places on his child, sadly wondering how this small body can meet all these exhausting needs.

The wheelchair parked at the entrance of the tent has become a symbol of life divided between two bodies exhausted by incapacity, which Iyad skillfully maneuvers to facilitate his parents' movement. The child precisely schedules his parents' outings from the tent, trying to balance the necessity of his mother going to the market and his father's need to breathe fresh air after days of forced confinement.

Despite all these burdens, Iyad tries to steal a few minutes to play with his friends in the camp, where he regains some of his lost innocence. He runs and laughs lightly for fleeting moments, but his eyes remain fixed on the tent, as if an invisible thread always reminds him of his great responsibility awaiting him inside.

The family confirms that this immense pressure has begun to leave clear psychological effects on Iyad, as he suffers from nocturnal disturbances and sudden crying spells. His body screams at night with what he suppresses during the day of fatigue and patience, a natural reflection of the magnitude of the tragedy experienced by a child who suddenly found himself in the role of a head of a family burdened with wounds.

Iyad's day ends as it began, waiting for a new call or an urgent task inside the tent that offers its inhabitants no privacy or comfort. The child's dream remains simple and great at the same time; to see his parents well and safe, and to one day find a way back to the school desks he longs for.

I deprived myself of childhood, my friends, and my education to help my mother and father, and I wish to learn like other children.