Gazanas face a difficult choice as their future is discussed on the global scene

Jabalia viewed from the air is breathtaking.

Insofar as the eye can be seen, similar to Hiroshima wasteland. The concerned carcasses of buildings flood the landscape of the outburst, some of which bend under crazy angles.

The large wavy waves of rubble do everything, but it is impossible to understand the geography of this once lively, tightly packed refugee camp.

Nevertheless, as the drone camera flies over the remains, it selects blue and white splashes, where small tent bearings are placed in spots of open ground.

And figures that climb over broken buildings moving through the streets of dirt, where food markets curl up under the calf roofs and awnings for canvas. Children using a collapsed roof as a slide.

After more than six weeks of the fragile cessation of Gaza's fire, Jabalia slowly returns to life.

In the neighborhood of Al Casasib, Nabil returned to a four -storey house, which somehow still stands, even if he lacks windows, doors and – in some places – walls.

He and his relatives have made rough balconies of wooden pallets and stripes to protect the elements.

“Look at the destruction,” he says as he explores Jabalia's ocean from the ruin of the gaping top.

“They want us to leave without restoring it? How can we leave. The least we can do is restore it for our children.”

To prepare food, Nabil lights a fire on the naked staircase, gently igniting with pieces of torn cardboard.

On another floor, Laila Ahmed Skasha is washed in a sink, where the faucet dries months ago.

“There is no water, electricity or sewage,” she says. “If we need water, we have to go out to fill buckets.”

She says she cried when she returned to the House and found him destroyed.

She accuses Israel and Hamas of destroying the world he has ever known.

“Both are responsible,” she says. “We had a decent, comfortable life.”

Shortly after the start of the war in October 2023, Israel told the Palestinians in the northern part of the Gaza Strip – including Jabalia – to move south for their own safety.

Hundreds of thousands of people listened to the warning, but many remained, decided to earn the war.

Laila and her husband Marvan clutched until October last year when Israeli military reinvited Jabalia, saying Hamas had restored warfare in the narrow streets of the camp.

After two months of shelter at the nearby Camp Shati, Leila and Marvan returned to find Jabalia almost unrecognizable.

“When we came back and saw how it was destroyed, I no longer wanted to stay here,” Marvan says.

“I had a wonderful life, but now it is hell. If I have the opportunity to leave, I'll go. I will not have another minute.”

Stay or go? The future of Gaza's civil population is now the subject of an international debate.

In February, Donald Trump suggested that the United States take over Gaza and nearly two million Palestinian residents have to leave, probably for good.

Faced with international outrage and fierce opposition from Arab leaders, Trump later seems to have shifted from the plan, stating that he recommended it, but would not force him to anyone.

In the meantime, Egypt has led Arab efforts to come up with a viable alternative to be presented at an emergency Arab meeting in Cairo on Tuesday.

Most importantly, she says that the Palestinian population should remain inside the gas while the area is reconstructed.

Donald Trump's intervention brought out the famous stubborn side of Gaza.

“If Trump wants to make us leave, I'll stay in gas,” Laila says. “I want to travel on my own free will. I will not leave for him.”

Beyond the road is a nine -storey yellow block of apartments, so spectacularly damaged that it is difficult to believe that it has not collapsed.

The upper floors have escaped completely, threatening the others. He will surely have to be demolished in time, but so far he is home to more families. There are sheets in the windows and washing hanging to dry in the late winter sun.

The most uncomfortable of all, outside of a makeshift plastic door on the corner of the ground floor, next to piles of junk and garbage, stands a mannequin without a head wearing a wedding dress.

This is the Sana Abu Ishbak Dress Shop.

The 45-year-old seamstress, a mother of 11, created the business two years before the war, but had to abandon it when she fled south in November 2023.

She returned immediately after the reconciliation was announced. She and her daughters and she was busy clearing debris from the store, arranging dresses on hangers and preparing for a business.

“I love Jabalia's camp,” she says, “and I won't leave it until I die.”

Sana and Laila look equally determined to remain placed if they can. But both women speak differently when they talk about the young.

“She doesn't even know how to write her own name,” Laila tells her granddaughter.

“There is no education in Gaza.”

The girl's mother was killed during the war. Laila says she still talks to her at night.

“She was the soul of my soul and she left my daughter in my hands. If I have the opportunity to travel, I will do it in the name of my granddaughter.”