In a quiet community on Doha’s edge, Gaza’s wounded and orphaned learn to heal
Once built to host football fans during the 2022 World Cup, the site has since taken on a very different role.
It now functions as an emergency housing and medical rehabilitation centre, with living quarters, a 24-hour primary health centre, physiotherapy and prosthetic rehabilitation units, counselling and social support spaces, and buildings repurposed for children’s activities.
Al-Thumama shelters between 1,700 and 2,000 evacuees from Gaza, including more than 700 children – many of them orphans now in the care of relatives or guardians who accompanied them from the Strip. The complex was originally built to accommodate 1,500 people.
Here, daily life is shaped by both recovery and remembrance. Many residents are undergoing medical treatment, ranging from surgery to long-term rehabilitation and prosthetics.
Everyone who arrived there was diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder, say social workers, the trauma complex – displacement, bereavement, medical suffering and sudden separation from home, converging all at once.
It was against this backdrop that Annalena Baerbock, President of the UN General Assembly (PGA), visited the community on Monday. Her visit unfolded quietly – without speeches – to listen to families, caregivers and health workers. UN News was there to witness the conversations as they unfolded in small rooms and shared spaces.
Simply being children
As the briefing concluded, several women and children entered the room to greet the delegation. One girl wore a sweatshirt printed with the word “Brooklyn”, a borough in the New York City, not far from the UN Headquarters. When told this, she smiled shyly, tugging at the edge of her sleeve.
Nearby, a small girl in a white floral dress, her hair tied neatly with a ribbon and golden shoes catching the light, moved with a slight limp, yet her face shone with unguarded delight. She greeted visitors and caregivers alike, happily posing for photos, her smile lifting the room. She was simply present – simply a child.
A grandmother sat nearby, carrying a boy not yet three years old, tall for his age. His right arm was amputated, and on his left remained only a single index finger, his small hands marked by the deep scars of war and medical treatment.
He fussed constantly, wriggling to break free and dash across the room – sometimes briefly succeeding before being gathered back into her arms – determined, like any toddler, to test the limits of the world around him.
Both he and the small girl carried visible wounds, yet in their movement and laughter, they were simply being children.
Then, a boy of about twelve or thirteen stepped forward – neatly dressed in a turquoise button-down shirt and dark trousers, composed and confident beyond his years.
He explained that he had written a book – A Biography of Childhood and Heroism: Memoirs of a Child from Gaza. He presented a copy to the PGA, who asked him to write his name inside. She told him: “I am taking your name, Ramadan, so I can tell the story about the strong children from Gaza, the brightest children I’ve met.”
After the visit, Ms. Baerbock – who is in Doha to attend the Second World Summit for Social Development – said the encounter underscored the stakes for the future.
“Speaking to children, speaking to families at the Al-Thumama complex underlined how important it is not only to reconstruct Gaza, but to give support to a traumatized generation – children who have lost everything, their mothers, their fathers, relatives and friends, their arms, their legs, but still keep on fighting and wishing for a final future in peace.”
A heart and a sunflower
Across the street stood an off-white building, where staff from the Qatar Red Crescent run mental health and psychosocial support services.
Inside the first room, a woman was working with a long strand of wool, guiding it through a handheld device to embroider a heart shape onto a carpet mat.
Nearby were two completed pieces: one a pink-and-white sunflower, the other a cheerful multicoloured one, the sort a child might draw.
In the next room, several older women sat together around a table, embroidering by hand. One had a mobile phone in front of her with a pattern. The woman’s hand deftly needled the thread through the fabric, tracing an emerald and violet flower. No one spoke loudly; the atmosphere was one of gentle concentration.
A display case on the wall had small items the women had made: keychains, soft toys, and cloth purses – each arranged with care.
Outside, the small details told their own story: every entrance had both steps and a ramp – a reminder that many residents are still learning to walk again, or move with assistance.
Nearby, an older woman in a wheelchair waited. From a bag, she offered small plates of homemade sweets. The exchange was simple and warm.
Please ring the bell
A short walk away, another building housed a 24-hour primary health centre. Posters on the walls – on flu symptoms, vaccination reminders, and handwashing – could have been found in any clinic anywhere in the world.
Doctors in scrubs greeted the delegation, explaining the kinds of treatments provided, and how it coordinates with other, more advanced medical centers in Doha.
In one room, a nurse sat at a standard check-up desk; in another, a treatment room held a rolling hospital bed, a blood pressure monitor, a thermometer, and an oxygen cylinder standing ready at the wall.
Next door, the laboratory provided diagnostic services, and around the corner, a small pharmacy displayed a sign that read: “In case of emergency, please ring the bell.”
The ordinariness of the setting – the routine, the small objects, the soft-spoken interactions – stood in contrast to the extraordinary circumstances that brought everyone here.