Here is what happened in Nariman session :
Some conversations do not need many words to stay with you.
During our meeting with Prof. Nariman, the children were asked to choose a color and a word that represented them that day.
Haya chose pink — the same color she was wearing.
With a gentle smile, she said, “I am happy.”
Ahmad chose blue, his favorite color, and said it felt like him today. ????
Then Prof. Nariman asked them a question that quietly changed the room:
“What would you like the world outside to know about you?”
Aya spoke first, and her words carried the weight of a childhood interrupted.
She said the suffering has not ended.
That they are still struggling every day.
With tears in her eyes, she spoke about her father, who traveled to Egypt before the war. She said she misses him. She misses sitting with her family around the dining table. She misses the kind of ordinary moments that children should never have to describe as memories.
Haya then shared her dream of becoming a doctor when she grows up.
She also told us that sometimes words are not enough. But when she draws, her feelings find their way out.
She showed Prof. Nariman the artwork she created while living in a displacement camp — drawings shaped by color, patience, and a child’s quiet hope. Prof. Nariman was so moved that she said she wanted to place one of Haya’s drawings in the room. ????????
Aya spoke again about what the war has taken from them.
She misses her friends.
She misses her teachers.
She misses the days when school, home, and family felt complete.
And then came Mohammad.
He looked around and said, simply:
“I’m happy to be here with you today.”
He chose yellow as the color that represents him now. ????
When Prof. Nariman asked him what he misses most from before the war, his answer was only two words:
“My bicycle.” ????
A pink dress.
A blue favorite color.
A yellow feeling.
A drawing made in a tent.
A father missed across borders.
A dining table waiting for a family to gather again.
A bicycle still alive in a child’s memory.
These are not small details.
They are the language of childhood.
And in every color, every drawing, every simple answer, the children were telling the world one thing:
They are still here.
Still dreaming.
Still holding on to the childhood every child deserves.
