Fatmeh has lived in Shatila for over twenty years… she is yet uncertain of this figure. She also doesn’t know her exact age "around sixty, I never knew exactly when I was born.” She has the tired eyes of someone who has often been afraid but displays the serenity of someone who has had a fulfilled life: that of a woman dedicated to her husband having raised five beautiful children. "When I look back at my childhood, I recall in particular the difficulties I endured, the need for money, insecurity, relocations", she said. In between invasions and wars, her life has been made of a series of departures and start overs in the four camps where she had lived before moving to Shatila and winning the sad privilege of becoming both a “refugee” and a “displaced” person.

Daily, Fatmeh would have "loved to work, but my husband has constantly refused " she confesses, unresentful. Her sister gently adds: "Fatmeh wanted to be a seamstress, she had the fingers of a fairy, she wielded the needle and the string like none of us could.” Fatmeh agrees with a soft smile, almost embarrassed by the compliment. She only sewed for herself and her family. The two sisters do not say it, but we gathered that the weight of tradition did not allow Fatmeh to enforce her choice. At that time, only women from the villages used to work in the fields with their family. Coming from the city, it was unthinkable for a man to let his wife be exposed to other men, and he would also have been ashamed to show that he could not support the needs of his family single-handedly.

Fatmeh’s husband says as if to justify himself: "I have always been lucky to have a job, unlike many others in the camps", he adds with pride looking at his wife: "I have chosen her; she was so beautiful when she was young that I feared that another man would steal her away from me ". We don’t know whether his refusal to allow his wife to work is a result of jealousy or pride. This mystery flatters both.

In a "before" that seemed to be distant, Fatmeh remembers: "We sometimes went to the theatre, the movies and to the circus, too. We used to go out more freely ". And then the television replaced the big outings, it helped them "escape" and be entertained when fear prevented them from crossing the camp gates, the political situation was too unstable and money began to become scarce. Today, Fatmeh rarely goes out of Shatila, the opportunities to do so are getting fewer and fewer anyway. "I cook my country’s specialties, chat with my daughters, and look after my grandchildren." All things considered, a traditional grandmother’s life. She sometimes buys cloths, a coloured veil, wears "Some red for my husband every now and then". When we evoke Palestine, Fatmeh nostalgically remembers the stories her mother told her about her country as well as the pictures of her village that she regularly showed her when she was a child. "All these pictures burnt when our house was destroyed in 1985" she said with sadness. She worried a bit that the disappearance of the ancients would dry up the verbal source of their history of exiled people which constitutes their sole heritage and their "act of resistance". "Today, young people spend their time in front of TV screens and are not interested anymore in the stories of the elderly" she regretfully says . She cradled her children to the tunes of Palestinian songs which she now sings to her grandchildren. This is her way of transmitting some of her identity.

What does she hope for today? "When I was a child, I dreamt of a simple life, like that of my mother and grandmother: get married, have children, live with my family": a dream that came true. Life has taught her not to let herself be deluded by illusions, but after a moment of hesitation, she adds with a touch of audacity: "I would like to acquire new furniture perhaps….and then discover the world". One day, she also would want to see her country again and have her fairy fingers touch its soil.