Content warning: this article includes details about the impact of conflict on children in war zones and descriptions of injuries that some readers may find distressing.
The first thing was that Abdelrahman's dad was killed. The family home was struck by an Israeli air strike. The boy's mum, Asma al-Nashash, 29, remembers that 'they brought him out in pieces.'
Then on 16 July 2024 an air strike hit the school in Nuseirat, central Gaza. Eleven-year-old Abdelrahman was seriously wounded. Doctors had to amputate his leg.
His mental state began to deteriorate. 'He started pulling his hair and hitting himself hard,' Asma recalls. 'He became like someone who has depression, seeing his friends playing and running around… and he's sitting alone.'
When I meet Abdelrahman at a hospital in Jordan in May 2025, he is withdrawn and wary. Dozens of children have been evacuated to the Kingdom from Gaza for medical treatment.
'We will return to Gaza,' he tells me. 'We will die there.'
Abdelrahman is one of thousands of traumatised children I've met in my nearly four decades of reporting on conflicts. Certain faces are embedded in my memory. Some as though I had only met them yesterday. They reflect the depth of terror inflicted on children in our time.
Figures underscore the sheer scale of the crisis. In 2024, 520 million children were living in conflict zones - one in every five children worldwide, according to an analysis by the Peace Research Institute Oslo. Prof Theresa Betancourt, author of Shadows into Light, calls this 'the largest humanitarian disaster since World War Two.'
The narrative continues to explore the psychological ramifications of war on children, indicating long-term impacts on their mental health and the importance of supportive environments to help them heal. The holistic needs of children in conflict zones demand attention beyond trauma, advocating for a stable return to education and community, underscoring the ongoing tragedy faced by millions each day.
The first thing was that Abdelrahman's dad was killed. The family home was struck by an Israeli air strike. The boy's mum, Asma al-Nashash, 29, remembers that 'they brought him out in pieces.'
Then on 16 July 2024 an air strike hit the school in Nuseirat, central Gaza. Eleven-year-old Abdelrahman was seriously wounded. Doctors had to amputate his leg.
His mental state began to deteriorate. 'He started pulling his hair and hitting himself hard,' Asma recalls. 'He became like someone who has depression, seeing his friends playing and running around… and he's sitting alone.'
When I meet Abdelrahman at a hospital in Jordan in May 2025, he is withdrawn and wary. Dozens of children have been evacuated to the Kingdom from Gaza for medical treatment.
'We will return to Gaza,' he tells me. 'We will die there.'
Abdelrahman is one of thousands of traumatised children I've met in my nearly four decades of reporting on conflicts. Certain faces are embedded in my memory. Some as though I had only met them yesterday. They reflect the depth of terror inflicted on children in our time.
Figures underscore the sheer scale of the crisis. In 2024, 520 million children were living in conflict zones - one in every five children worldwide, according to an analysis by the Peace Research Institute Oslo. Prof Theresa Betancourt, author of Shadows into Light, calls this 'the largest humanitarian disaster since World War Two.'
The narrative continues to explore the psychological ramifications of war on children, indicating long-term impacts on their mental health and the importance of supportive environments to help them heal. The holistic needs of children in conflict zones demand attention beyond trauma, advocating for a stable return to education and community, underscoring the ongoing tragedy faced by millions each day.
