When night falls over northern Gaza, the landscape of crumbled buildings and piled wreckage fades into an overwhelming darkness.
For Rawia Tambora’s young sons, living inside the ruins of their home, the night is terrifying.
To comfort them, she flicks on a flashlight and the dim glow of her phone – until the batteries die.
After 16 months of war, Tambora has returned to what remains of her house.
But normal life is a distant dream.
There is no running water, electricity, or heat – just shattered walls and an uncertain future.
Nearly 600,000 Palestinians have flooded back into northern Gaza under the month-old cease-fire, according to the United Nations.
The initial relief of being home, even to rubble, has given way to harsh reality: survival in the ruins with little hope of rebuilding soon.
“Some people wish the war had never ended,” Tambora said. “They feel it would have been better to be killed. I don’t know what we’ll do long-term. My brain stopped planning for the future.”
The six-week cease-fire is set to expire Saturday, with uncertainty looming over whether it will be extended or fighting will resume. If war reignites, those who returned could find themselves caught once again in the crossfire.
A report last week by the World Bank, U.N., and European Union estimated that Gaza’s reconstruction will cost $53 billion after entire neighborhoods were decimated by Israeli bombardments targeting Hamas.
But for now, there is neither the capacity nor the funding to launch significant rebuilding efforts.
Gaza’s immediate priority is simply making life livable.
In February, Hamas briefly threatened to stall hostage releases unless more temporary shelters were allowed in.
The releases resumed only after Israel permitted mobile homes and construction equipment into the strip.
Humanitarian agencies are stepping up, setting up free kitchens, water distribution stations, and handing out tents and tarps to hundreds of thousands, the U.N. reports.
Meanwhile, U.S. President Donald Trump has suggested removing Gaza’s population permanently and redeveloping the territory under U.S. control.
The proposal was swiftly rejected by Palestinians, who insist they need help rebuilding their own land, not relocation.
Despite limited resources, Gaza City’s municipality has started clearing rubble and repairing water lines, spokesperson Asem Alnabih said.
But the effort is crippled by a lack of heavy machinery.
Of its 40 bulldozers, only a few are still operational.
According to U.N. estimates, removing Gaza’s more than 50 million tons of rubble would take 100 trucks working at full capacity for 15 years.
Tambora, who worked as a nurse before the war, lived in the Indonesian Hospital after an airstrike destroyed her home in Beit Lahiya.
With the cease-fire, she and her family moved into the only room left standing.
The ceiling is caved in, walls are cracked, and without water or electricity, their fridge and sink are useless. Sheets and blankets are stacked in the corner – their only possessions.
Her 12-year-old son hauls heavy containers of water twice a day from distribution stations. They scavenge for firewood to cook. While aid shipments have stabilized food prices, groceries remain expensive.
With the Indonesian Hospital too damaged to function, Tambora now walks an hour each day to Kamal Adwan Hospital for work.
She charges her and her husband’s phones using the hospital’s generator.
Many of her relatives returned to find their homes completely wiped out.
They now live in tents pitched atop the rubble, vulnerable to winter winds and rain.
For some, the emotional weight of destruction is unbearable.
Asmaa Dwaima and her family returned to Gaza City but had to rent an apartment after their Tel al-Hawa home was reduced to charred rubble.
“I was afraid to come back,” the 25-year-old dentist said. “I had this image of my home – its beauty, its warmth. I was afraid to face the truth.”
It was not the first time they lost their home. In 2014, Israeli airstrikes leveled it during a previous conflict with Hamas. Now, they have no means to rebuild. Even retrieving belongings is impossible without heavy equipment.
“They don’t just destroy stone,” Dwaima said. “They are destroying us and our identity.”
For Huda Skaik, 20, life has been reduced to a single crowded room in her grandparents’ Gaza City home. It’s an upgrade from the central Gaza tent camps where they spent most of the war, she admitted – at least here, they have walls and family nearby.
Before the war, Skaik had just begun studying English literature at Gaza’s Islamic University. Now, she relies on online classes the university is trying to organize. But the internet is spotty, and solar-powered electricity isn’t reliable.
“The worst part is realizing we lost everything,” she said. “The destruction is massive, but I’m trying to stay positive.”
