I VISITED my grandmother this morning to ask her to talk to me about the Nakba.

I was worried that it might hurt her to remember these terrible events, but she told me: “Between the chaos of war and the chaos inside me, I forgot everything and left. I left my most precious things: My beautiful memories!

“My hometown Bettima was very beautiful. The morning sun rose. For the first time, the sunrise was strange and lonely.

“My eyes did not sleep for a single moment that night, and the sound of knocking on the door in the morning was a warning. It was all over.

“I only remember the sound of the cries of children and the women mourning over the martyrs. Amid this terrible scene, and the chaos of the catastrophe, I forgot my child indoors.

“I returned almost paralysed with fear that they might have taken him, or killed him, or maybe the house had collapsed on top of him because of the bombing.

“I arrived at the house and found him crying alone. I picked him up and fled the house.”

As my grandmother spoke, I cursed the Nakba and the occupation.

“I was walking on the rough road with my family, friends and neighbours. We stayed homeless, for our soul was stolen from us. Our land was gone!

“A young boy walked in front of me, and I could see sadness in his eyes. With dirty hair and mud-covered face, he was looking left and right, not knowing where he was.

“‘Where is your mother, baby?’ I said.

“‘My mom went to heaven, and I stayed with my dad,’ he replied.”

Many children lost their beloved ones, either a father, a mother, a brother, or a sister. Their bodies remained buried in the ground, and yet we were not allowed to stay.

I cursed the occupation again!

“I remember that we walked for long hours feeling tired. Our feet and bodies were tired but eventually we reached Gaza.

“People stayed in the camps with nothing for many months until the United Nations arrived to help the people and give them homes.”

This was the story my grandmother told me — her Nakba. I cursed the occupation one more time, kissed my grandmother’s forehead, and told her that we will return, God willing.

Khetam Sabbah, 24, lives in Gaza where she works as a psychologist at a school for disabled children.