The next day, the old school felt different. The anticipation in the air lingered in the center of the dusty playground, a man with a red nose and colorful, patched clothes was juggling worn-out tennis balls. He was a former teacher who’d done kids’ parties before the world fell apart, and he’d happily traded his clown costume for an extra portion of food.
The sound of children’s laughter, real and unfiltered by fear, filled the air as they danced and clapped around him. For a little while, the grim world outside the school walls ceased to exist.
Inside the cafeteria, a different kind of energy was at work. Large pots bubbled on portable stoves, filled with a hearty stew made from the canned goods and rice. Shihab and Jawad, their sleeves rolled up, were working alongside a group of wome
