Ahmed Al-Najjar writes about the day his phone stopped working, and why that means so much more than it seems.
Khan Younes, Gaza – A dear companion doesn’t have to be human to be deeply missed when lost.
Sometimes, it’s a phone – a loyal witness to your joys and sorrows, your moments of sweetness and darkest chapters of pain.
In the harshness of life in the world’s largest open-air prison, it becomes more than a device. It’s an extension of yourself; your portal to the world, your way of reaching loved ones scattered across the prison or outside it.
Through its lens, you sometimes capture joy and beauty, but more often, it only captures falling rockets or the rubble of houses covering the corpses of their residents.
