Children play in the only free remaining space in the Shatila Palestinian refugee camp on Nov. 27, 2025. (Credit: Matthieu Karam/L'Orient Today)
It's nine in the morning, but any sign of direct sunlight has already vanished from Shatila's narrow alleys. The damp, concrete buildings are too tall and the tangled electrical wires too thick, shrouding the camp in premature darkness.Aya lingers in an alleyway, donning pink sandals, her long hair and face hidden by the hood of her sweatshirt. The 12-year-old Syrian girl from Deir al-Zor knows the camp's dingy arteries by heart. She spent her childhood roaming them, currying from trash can to trash can to collect bits of plastic and sell them at a boura (trash trading site) outside the camp.She nonchalantly dodges the speeding scooters and throws amused glances at the shopkeepers killing time lounging on plastic chairs. Turning her back on a garage with soot-stained walls, she slips under an arch and emerges into an open...
It's nine in the morning, but any sign of direct sunlight has already vanished from Shatila's narrow alleys. The damp, concrete buildings are too tall and the tangled electrical wires too thick, shrouding the camp in premature darkness.Aya lingers in an alleyway, donning pink sandals, her long hair and face hidden by the hood of her sweatshirt. The 12-year-old Syrian girl from Deir al-Zor knows the camp's dingy arteries by heart. She spent her childhood roaming them, currying from trash can to trash can to collect bits of plastic and sell them at a boura (trash trading site) outside the camp.She nonchalantly dodges the speeding scooters and throws amused glances at the shopkeepers killing time lounging on plastic chairs. Turning her back on a garage with soot-stained walls, she slips under an arch and emerges into an open...