At dusk, the beach outside Gaza City is packed. Thousands of bodies cram the narrow Mediterranean shoreline, while bellowing touts ply candied apples, cotton candy, and baked yams. Rawand Abu Ghanem and I are sitting by the water.
The 13-year-old looks up at me from where she has been tracing patterns in the sand. “What do you wear when you swim in America?” she asks. I hesitate before replying, “Not much.”
Rawand nods sagely. “When you surf in America, do people stare at you?”
“No,” I answer.
“They do here,” she sighs. More...
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The 13-year-old looks up at me from where she has been tracing patterns in the sand. “What do you wear when you swim in America?” she asks. I hesitate before replying, “Not much.”
Rawand nods sagely. “When you surf in America, do people stare at you?”
“No,” I answer.
“They do here,” she sighs. More...
Don't miss:
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