This blog is written by Maryam Mohsin and Catriona Moss, Communications Officers for Muslim Aid who visited Gaza on 18th - 21st May 2009 to see how funds from Muslim Aid's emergency appeal in January 2009 were being used to support rehabilitation work in Gaza.

Gaza is good at hiding its past. Its energy and beauty fools you. I had expected piles of rubble, dust and debris but the beautiful azure sea complemented the colourful seaside cafes dotted along the sand. There were bustling restaurants, hotels and shops and markets bursting with fruit and vegetables.

Instead of the barren, colourless landscape that I had expected, the rich fertile sand gave life to palm trees, orange orchards and flowers.

Cars, motorbikes and donkeys jostled to avoid the huge potholes in the roads. Children and adults were meeting, greeting and playing as we turned every corner.

But looks can be deceiving. It's not long before the evidence of the conflict in January 2009 becomes apparent.

Buildings are flattened, a lone mosque turret stands idle in a pile of rubble, the debris of government buildings overspill into their courtyards. There is litter everywhere and the smell of sewage from damaged pipes stings the nose.

Eighty percent of Gazans are unemployed and over half of the population are children - there is nowhere for them to go except on to the streets to find work, to look out for each other and attempt the arduous task of rebuilding Gaza to its former glory.

Abdul Jolil, from our partner organisation Nour El Marifa, says that there is a real sense of community here. Over 1.3 million people are crammed into an area of 360 sqkm, so it's hard not to know your neighbours. Thousands live under conditions of siege but still find a way to carry out their most basic chores - "we even filled our cars up with vegetable oil when there were fuel shortages", he says.

Noor El Marifa School

We went to visit Nour El Marifa School to meet some of the 285 children being supported by Muslim Aid. Around 145 of these children are part of our Rainbow Family orphan sponsorship programme. The children study from 3 to 12 years old and then progress to secondary school.

They were so excited to see us as they had been practising a performance all week. Many of their songs were about wanting to be just like other children. That's the thing that is so tragic; when we spoke to these children they seemed wise beyond their years and incredibly articulate about what they thought and how they felt.

One girl Raghda, nine years old, said, "At the towers where I live, I was lucky as we were not in the war zone but I was very sad to stay at home and miss school when it closed".

One teacher at Nour El Marifa, Wafr Jabr, spoke about how the children had been affected since the conflict.

"Since the war, the children have become scared. Some of them have started to wet themselves, and others have become aggressive. We have tried to help them through counselling sessions and by the Grace of Allah, they are getting better".

Life in the Camps

Later the same afternoon, we arrived at Jabalia refugee camp. An area of rubble, debris and twisted steel. Aid agency tents flapping in the dusty dry wind. A barren land where children play in the remnants of the houses they used to know.

One lady pointed out her house - a mass of grey stone that over spilled into the path as if pointing out a tourist attraction.

We spoke to an elderly couple that had lived in the camps after their house was destroyed in the war. They sat in their tent - all but bare save an elaborately decorated chair - the rest of the family seated in the dust.

As they told their story, the lady spoke with such clarity and conviction that you felt that she was not affected at all. But if you looked closely, you could see that the tears in her eyes. She never let her voice quiver, or take a minute to compose herself, she just wanted someone to listen.

They told us that they have been saving for a new house but were not able get the construction materials into Gaza.

She showed us a bottle of water, three quarters full that she said was meant to last her the whole day in the immense heat.

"We have been disconnected from water for six days now," she said "How can we pray and perform ablution? The children are always thirsty. The little amount of water we get is not enough to quench our thirst. It's not acceptable."

The reality of this hit when I arrived back at the lobby of our hotel - I was tired from filming and conducting interviews in the scorching sun, and so desperate for a drink of water. I could not imagine not being able to quench my thirst and get rid of the dusty taste in my mouth.

Yet this is the harsh reality of the people surviving in Jabalia camp; three quarters of a bottle worth of clean water, a plastic bag full of clothes and enough medication to last a month, sitting in the shade of the ruins that were once your home.

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