Gazan Child Amputee Dreams Big after Evacuation to Qatar

Mahmoud Ajjour, an injured child evacuated from Gaza, sits at home with his mother as she teaches him to write using his feet, in Doha, Qatar, September 11, 2024. REUTERS/Ibraheem Abu Mustafa Purchase Licensing Rights
Mahmoud Ajjour, an injured child evacuated from Gaza, sits at home with his mother as she teaches him to write using his feet, in Doha, Qatar, September 11, 2024. REUTERS/Ibraheem Abu Mustafa Purchase Licensing Rights
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Gazan Child Amputee Dreams Big after Evacuation to Qatar

Mahmoud Ajjour, an injured child evacuated from Gaza, sits at home with his mother as she teaches him to write using his feet, in Doha, Qatar, September 11, 2024. REUTERS/Ibraheem Abu Mustafa Purchase Licensing Rights
Mahmoud Ajjour, an injured child evacuated from Gaza, sits at home with his mother as she teaches him to write using his feet, in Doha, Qatar, September 11, 2024. REUTERS/Ibraheem Abu Mustafa Purchase Licensing Rights

Evacuated to Qatar from the chaos of Gaza, nine-year-old Palestinian Mahmoud Youssef Ajjour still dreams of becoming a pilot one day despite losing his arms in an Israeli rocket attack.

In a small apartment in Doha, Ajjour's mother slowly eases him into his uniform to help him get ready for school. It will take some time to fit him with artificial limbs.

The rocket hit as he was walking away from his Gaza home in December with his father and mother, he said.

"I was lying on the ground, I didn't know what hit me, I didn't know that I lost my arms" Reuters quoted Ajjour as saying.

He was operated on in Gaza with limited anaesthetic, waking up from the operation in great pain and with his arms gone, his mother said.

Yet he is one of the lucky ones, escaping the shattered territory, where many hospitals have been destroyed and doctors say they often have to perform surgery without any anaesthetic and pain killers.

Qatar has taken in some injured Gazans for treatment as it tries to mediate a ceasefire between Israel and Hamas along with the United States and Egypt that would see the release of hostages held by Hamas in Gaza and some Palestinian prisoners held in Israel. There is still no sign of agreement.

Ajjour longs for Gaza, which was vibrant before the conflict despite widespread poverty and high unemployment in what was one of the world's most densely populated places.

His home was destroyed in the Israeli offensive triggered by an Oct. 7 attack by Hamas-led fighters who killed 1,200 people and took more than 250 hostage, according to Israeli tallies.

The offensive has killed at least 41,118 Palestinians and wounded 95,125, according to the Gaza health ministry. Nearly two million people have been displaced and the territory has become a wasteland.

"I want Gaza to be beautiful again," Ajjour says.

At the long-established Palestinian School in Doha, he sits patiently while his classmates write things down and raises his voice alongside them as they answer a teacher's questions.

The school psychologist, Hanin Al Salamat, sees in him a source of inspiration. "He gives us strength," she says.

He refuses to let physical limitations define him.

"I will keep trying everything," he says with conviction. "I will become a pilot, and I will play soccer with my friends."



Family Returns to their Lebanese City to Find a Crater Where their 50-year-old Home Once Stood

Family Returns to their Lebanese City to Find a Crater Where their 50-year-old Home Once Stood
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Family Returns to their Lebanese City to Find a Crater Where their 50-year-old Home Once Stood

Family Returns to their Lebanese City to Find a Crater Where their 50-year-old Home Once Stood

In eastern Lebanon's city of Baalbek, the Jawhari family gathered around a gaping crater where their home once stood, tears streaming as they tried to make sense of the destruction.

“It is heart-breaking. A heartache that there is no way we will ever recover from,” said Lina Jawhari, her voice breaking as she hugged relatives who came to support the family. “Our world turned upside down in a second.”

The home, which was a gathering place for generations, was reduced to rubble by an Israeli airstrike on Nov. 1, leaving behind shattered memories and twisted fragments of a once-vibrant life.

The family, like thousands of Lebanese, were returning to check on their properties after the US-mediated ceasefire between Israel and Hezbollah went into effect early Wednesday.

Intense Israeli airstrikes over the past two months leveled entire neighborhoods in eastern and southern Lebanon, as well as the southern suburbs of Beirut. Nearly 1.2 million people have been displaced.

The airstrikes have left a massive trail of destruction across the country.

A photo of the Jawhari family's home — taken on a phone by Louay Mustafa, Lina’s nephew — is a visual reminder of what had been. As the family sifted through the rubble, each fragment recovered called them to gather around it.

A worn letter sparked a collective cheer, while a photo of their late father triggered sobs. Reda Jawhari had built the house for his family and was a craftsman who left behind a legacy of metalwork. The sisters cried and hoped to find a piece of the mosque-church structure built by their father. Minutes later, they lifted a mangled piece of metal from the debris. They clung to it, determined to preserve a piece of his legacy.

“Different generations were raised with love... Our life was music, dance, dabke (traditional dance). This is what the house is made up of. And suddenly, they destroyed our world. Our world turned upside down in a second. It is inconceivable. It is inconceivable," Lina said.

Despite their determination, the pain of losing their home and the memories tied to it remains raw.

Rouba Jawhari, one of four sisters, had one regret.

“We are sad that we did not take my mom and dad’s photos with us. If only we took the photos,” she said, clutching an ID card and a bag of photos and letters recovered from the rubble. “It didn’t cross our mind. We thought it’s two weeks and we will be back.”

The airstrike that obliterated the Jawhari home came without warning, striking at 1:30 p.m. on what was otherwise an ordinary Friday.

Their neighbor, Ali Wehbe, also lost his home. He had stepped out for food a few minutes before the missile hit and rushed back to find his brother searching for him under the rubble.

“Every brick holds a memory,” he said, gesturing to what remained of his library. “Under every book you would find a story.”