Marie-Claire Feghali

The Sanayeh Park: The Lawn are Mattresses and the Trees Ceiling

The smell of displacement and poverty emanates from the Sanayeh Park ten meters before we reach it. At first sight, the children’s view, running after a flock of pigeons nibbling the bread crumbs, doesn’t tell that those children hadn’t have any sleep for days, after they have been ripped off from their little pillows and toys. Mahdi, a young kid at the age of six, complains, while devouring his “Mankousheh” (thyme sandwich), only from the mosquitoes and fleas that are biting his little body and the strong heat. His brother Ali, eight years old, looks more in control. He says firmly “our house is just below the bridge leading to the Airport, when Israel attacked us, we came here..”