The Israeli blockade and years of fighting have taken their toll on Gaza’s schools, where failure rates are rapidly rising

The lesson was coming to an end, the last for this class of
15-year-olds before their annual exams in a few days’ time. The girls
are keen students and answered correctly nearly all of the questions
put to them by their teacher, Nahida al-Katib, even though the subject
this time was the intricate grammar of classical, Qu’ranic Arabic, a
key part of their Islamic studies course. Whenever she asked a question
their hands stretched into the air and they called for her attention in
English: “Auntie, auntie.”

Al-Katib, 47, turned to the class
before they closed their notebooks. “Work hard, study well,” she told
them. “I know it’s not easy. If there is no electricity, use a candle.
Don’t sleep in the day. Study instead and sleep at night. Don’t think
about what’s going on around us. Just think of getting high marks.”

Her
words were not idly chosen. The cumulative effect of years of conflict
and now severe economic crisis brought on by Israel’s blockade of Gaza
have penetrated deep into society, deeply enough to seriously affect
children’s performance at school. For the Palestinians, who place a
high value on education, this has brought deep concern.

The
Al-Majida Waseela School for Girls, is a standard state school in Gaza
City. It has 525 children aged between 12 and 16, and 22 teachers, all
from different backgrounds. In al-Katib’s class of 33 girls, most wore
jeans under their school smock and all but three had their hair covered
in a white headscarf. On the walls are Qu’ranic prayers in Arabic, and
dozens of maxims in English: “East or West, home is best,” and “All is
not gold that glitters”.

The school runs two shifts, one in the
morning, one after lunch, each with a different set of children,
teachers and administration, maximising the use of the site to meet the
demands of this most overcrowded strip of land.
On this morning
there was no electricity for the first four hours of school, there were
no lights and staff had to use a whistle instead of the electric school
bell. There was no running water, save what had been held in reserve in
a spare tank at the bathroom. There was no bread for sale in the
canteen because of shortages at the bakeries, even though many of the
children rely on the small school shop to buy their breakfast. This, a
result of the Israeli economic blockade of Gaza, was an ordinary day in
extraordinary times.

More worrying are warning signs of a broader
disintegration of society, such as those seen in exam results. Last
autumn, the UN, which runs some of the best schools in Gaza, noted a
sharp increase in exam failures. The failure rate in Arabic between
ages nine and 15 was between 34.9% and 61.1% . In maths at the same age
the failure rate was even higher at more than 65% , peaking at around
age 11 with an astonishing failure rate of 90%. That compares with a
failure rate of just 10% at UN schools in Palestinian refugee camps in
Lebanon and Syria.

“There’s been a big change. There’s no
enjoyment in the children’s lives, no going out, no picnics. There’s a
lot of pressure on them and I can feel it in the class,” said al-Katib.
“They don’t do their homework, they make any excuse – no electricity,
or they were sick, or tired. They are less attentive in class than they
used to be.”

The girls tell her they often sleep in the
afternoon after school, sometimes for two hours or more. The exhaustion
stretches to the teachers as well. Fuel shortages mean fewer buses and
taxis. Al-Katib walks 40 minutes to school every day. Classes have been
put back at least half an hour in the morning as a result and
timetables re-arranged so that teachers living furthest away have
classes with a later start.

Al-Katib is unmarried and spent
several years working in Saudi Arabia and then taught at kindergartens
in Gaza after her return. Recently she decided to take a university
degree in Islamic studies and became a school teacher just three years
ago. She is already one of the most popular teachers in the school. “As
Palestinians we have to depend on our education,” said al-Katib. “Of
course we depend on God, but we have to get something for our future.
An exam certificate shapes our future.”

She voted for Hamas in
the elections two years ago and would again. She believes Israel
carries the largest responsibility for the current crisis enveloping
Gaza, but adds that the Palestinians in the West Bank and Gaza also
carry a share of the burden, as does the rest of the Arab world for its
silence. But she says her perception is that support for Hamas has not
fallen. “Everyone here knows the truth of what’s happening. The people
who were with Hamas before are with them still. Let them squeeze us as
they want,” she said.

The conflict pervades school life. Recently
one of the children’s brothers was killed in an Israeli incursion and
there are regular sessions with a school psychiatrist for the children.
They are encouraged to talk about their experiences, to write stories
and draw pictures. The teachers have also noticed changes in the way
the children play. An ever popular playground game has been a
re-enactment of the conflict – “Arabs and Jews,” the children call it.
More recently they have found children re-enacting the large street
funerals they see in Gaza most days, carrying each other on their
shoulders through the schoolyard.

“You can see how it affects
them. They are living here, watching the news, seeing how it affects
their families,” said al-Katib. “They are children but they are not
acting as children. Here they play at funerals, in the rest of the
world children play with toys. This is their reality.”