05/05/2026
Every morning, Hamza wakes not to the sound of an alarm clock or a mother's gentle touch, but to the cries of hungry stomachs and the moans of children in the tent. A child not yet thirteen, yet he carries the spirit of an old man who has endured the horrors of time.
His father perished under the weight of the bombing, leaving behind hungry and thirsty orphans. Hamza did not hesitate. He set aside his childhood and donned the mantle of manhood before his time. With his small hands, he fashioned a rudimentary cart from scraps of wood and iron, not as a toy, but because it was the only way he could carry water to his siblings.
He walks among the rough paths, the rubble tearing at his small feet, the heavy cart straining his frail back. But he does not stop, he does not cry, he does not complain. He has saved his tears for his siblings, and hidden his pain from their innocent eyes.
Amidst the ruins and devastation, Hamza embodies the highest meaning of sacrifice. A child who has become a father, a brother, and a provider. Water is drawn out, just as life is drawn from the jaws of death.
"And you see the earth barren, but when We send down rain upon it, it stirs [to life] and swells."
Will your heart ever stir for them?
