shatila refugee camp

Shatila Beach, it is 3 p.m., the sun is at its zenith. You can hear the sound of the water, but it is not the sea. A young man looks at us puzzled as he tries to fill a plastic tank on the roof of his house with a large pitcher. There is no sand on the terrace, but a thick layer of dust covers everything. We are on the roof of the Guest House. One more floor and a