Before starting her lessons for the day, Aseel Alwan heads for the kitchen to make coffee, placing a kettle on an open flame to boil the water it pours in a cup with an instant coffee. Then, she heads to her room, where she begins the daily hunt for an internet connection – a great education in her family home in Gaza City.
The 21-year-old works on his baccalaureate in English literature at Al-Aqsa University. It is one of the thousands of university students in Gaza who are trying to continue their studies despite the current war.
Alwan and his family are among the lucky few whose houses are still standing. They refused to leave Gaza City for the South because they say that their safety is at risk, no matter where they are in the strip.
Ahmed Junina, professor of English literature at Alwan, says that university registration numbers have decreased “considerably”. Almost a year and a half after the start of fighting, most of the Gaza universities were destroyed, including Al-Aqsa, stopping studies for some 88,000 students throughout the enclave, according to Palestinian education officials.
“I think it is not unexpected, we are talking about students who have been forced to flee their lost family or family members,” said Junina.
He made an effort to stay in touch with his students throughout the war and estimates that almost 90% of them were moved while following online lessons.
Even Alwan, whose house is still standing, has sometimes been forced to leave due to nearby attacks. And although she has always been able to come back so far, all of this has wreaked havoc. What she and her family thought once was temporary, became a daily struggle when they try to spend their lives while universities, schools and even hospitals are bombed.
“It’s honestly heartbreaking, seeing the university you have been going on for the years crushed to the ground is not at all easy,” Alwan at CBC News Freelance told Videast Mohamed El Saife.
“It’s like years and years of knowledge and hope … A future is destroyed.”
Find a connection
This is why Junina, who was previously a guest professor at Laval University in Montreal, has been responsible for continuing to support the 600 students he currently teaches on three courses.
Work, he says, is “more motivated by personal and collective responsibility than by the structure or institutional requirements”.
And this is often done without appropriate compensation – Junina says that it is currently around 30% of what he would have before, and payment can be irregular.
“Many of us continue to teach and support students not because we are properly remunerated, but because we think that education must continue and we must support students even in wartime.”
Alwan is grateful for the possibility of continuing his studies, but is often overwhelmed by fear and uncertainty and says that what she and others have endured is something “that no student should cross”.
She says that internet access is the biggest challenge she has faced to continue her studies.
“The internet was either too low or completely cut,” she said, noting that during a trip, she had to walk 45 minutes to find a good stable signal.
“And it wasn’t even a real place. You had to stand in the middle of the street and try to do your thing.”
Although she is now back home, Alwan normally studies in a cafe near their building because he has a better internet. But last Friday, after a week of heavy bombing, she decided that it would be safer to work at home.
Before she can start her lessons for the day, she must connect to the Internet. To do this, she goes to the window in her room where the signal is stronger. There, she uses her phone to scan a QR code that loads an application and gives it a number to enter. This system allows it to have a more stable connection.
Once connected, she strikes a vocal note from Junina. It is one of the many messages that will compensate for the lesson of the day.
Lessons by voice message
The professor says that the war has changed his life massively.
“Now, instead of coming to your university, your class, to meet your students in person, my daily routine has changed.”
Junina now teaches her home mainly, sitting on an office with her laptop and manual. He keeps his accounts WhatsApp and Telegram open to his phone where he records conferences. Sometimes his recordings capture the noise of buzzing drones in the distance, a constant recall of war.
When it has finished saving, it compresses the file, it is easier to download and send the voice note to its students. He then draws another lesson on his laptop.
Because electricity is not always reliable, when the time comes to load its devices, it heads for a cybercafé, passing in front of the ends of endless rubble. In the ruins of what was formerly residential buildings, businesses and universities, plants develop through the concrete blocks.
When Junina arrives at the coffee, a large open space with rows of offices occupied by people carrying headphones, he takes place and draws his laptop to continue his work.
Sometimes his students meet it here because they need a stable internet connection to complete the exams and the quizs sent via timed links.
Junina believes that war has forced universities to extend online learning and adapt to the current situation, but he thinks that it is something that will ultimately be beneficial to them.
“I imagine a future where online platforms continue for a while to complete face-to-face education,” he said. “Because even if the war ends or stops tomorrow, I do not think that students will be ready to take up an education in person immediately.”
In the meantime, there are many students like Alwan, who devote themselves to their studies.
She remains not discouraged by her situation and says that she plans to finish her studies and request a scholarship to study abroad.
“My only motivation is that I think education is a strong tool and a weapon against this occupation.”
