When the airstrike hit, I never imagined that the place I once called home would turn into a mound of shattered concrete and twisted metal. In the span of a few seconds, the walls that held years of memories – laughter, family dinners, my children’s first steps – were reduced to debris scattered under the open sky.
I stood there with my children, watching smoke rise from the ruins. My youngest kept asking, “Where will we sleep now, Baba?” I had no answer.
Since that day, my children and I have been living without proper shelter. Our temporary tent barely protects us from the cold winds and heavy winter rains. At night, the children curl up close to me, shivering as I try to warm them with my own body.
We lost everything
We lost everything – our home, our belongings, even the feeling of safety. I’m trying to rebuild something for my kids, but the needs are far greater than what I can face alone.
Despite the hardship, I continue to search for ways to secure food, warmth, and a stable place for my children to sleep. Every day is a new battle for survival.
My only hope is that someone out there will hear our story. I just want my children to have a roof again… a place where they can feel like kids
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