Gaza City – Amani Dweima has come to the salon with her 16-year-old daughter, Aya.
The 39-year-old wants her eyebrows shaped, and Aya wants a full face of makeup; there’s a wedding planned for that evening after iftar.
“My niece’s wedding,” Amani says. “We’re celebrating the bride with a small family gathering before the groom takes her to their tent.”
Noor’s Salon
The salon is a small blue tent with a single table inside topped with a damaged mirror, depilation tools, moisturisers, and some makeup.
Outside the tent in al-Shujaeya east of Gaza City, a white handwritten sign reading: “Noor’s Salon” hangs near the curtained entrance.
This is Noor al-Ghamari’s salon, a dream project for the young woman who quit nursing college to pursue her love of hair and makeup.
She set it up about three weeks ago on a destroyed pavement, the only option available when she and her family returned to the north from their displacement to the south.
After greeting Amani and Aya, she starts softening a small piece of sugaring paste, gently kneading it in her hands, and begins working.
“Since I opened, so many women have come to me with heartbreaking stories … about losing their families and loved ones. They arrive exhausted, their faces drained of light,” Noor said.
The idea of a beauty salon in the midst of war may seem odd, Amani and Noor agree, but the act of self-care can help women.
“Women come to me from tents, overcrowded schools, or the ruins of their destroyed homes.
“I try to offer them a moment of comfort, a small escape. My main goal is for them to leave feeling even just a little lighter, a little happier.”
Amani, who was displaced to Deir el-Balah and has recently returned to the north, as well, didn’t think about going to a beautician at all in the early days of the war.
Eventually, she came across a similar salon in Deir el-Balah and started to go as regularly as she could.
“Looking after myself changes my mood, especially when I see my reflection in the mirror. I always want to look presentable.
“The tragedies around us never end. Visiting a beauty salon is … a small escape from all the hardships around us,” she adds.
Back in the north, she was “thrilled” when she saw Noor’s Salon and immediately spread the good news to her neighbours and relatives.
Beauty amid war
Noor believes the war has been particularly cruel to women in Gaza – stripping them of their homes and security and of their capacity for self-care as they poured their energy into survival.
“I saw many women whose skin was completely burned by the sun from living in tents, constantly cooking over wood fires, washing clothes by hand, and carrying heavy water containers,” she says.
“On top of that, they have no privacy in the overcrowded displacement camps, not to mention the fear, bombings, and all the horrors of war.”
And yet, she says, she has had clients of all ages who feel that self-care is essential for them.
“I met many women who couldn’t stand a single stray hair on their face or eyebrows. Some came to me every week, others regularly or occasionally,” Noor says.
She recalls a client she got once, a woman in her early 30s who had been through a huge trauma when her parents and all her siblings were killed in an Israeli air raid.
Coping with her loss meant the woman lost all desire to do anything.
“I felt so deeply for her,” Noor says.
“I gave her a full treatment – threading, eyebrow shaping, a haircut, even a free face massage and masque.
“When she looked in the mirror, her eyes filled with happy tears.”
Holding on to dreams
Israel’s war on Gaza began right as Noor was dreaming, laying out the plans for her own – bricks-and-mortar – salon.
Like everyone in Gaza, her life and plans were turned upside down as she, her parents and her eight siblings were forced to flee south after Israeli evacuation orders.
For the first two months, her only thoughts were of survival and helping her family, she says.
“But after the initial months, when we settled in a displacement camp in the south, I heard women say things like: ‘If only there were a hairdresser or a salon nearby so we could take care of ourselves a little.’
“I would respond: ‘I’m a beautician!’” Noor laughs.
“The women would grab me like they had just found a treasure, and I would start working immediately.”
Some women came to her, while she went to others in their tents – depending on their needs.
Now, her work has become an essential source of income for her and her family during the war, even though she can’t charge her five to eight customers a day much.
“I live here, I understand the reality,” she says, explaining why she keeps her prices low.
‘War aged us’
Amani seems restless as Noor finishes threading her face.
She asks if Noor can dye her hair, but Noor can’t.
“There’s no water in this area,” she explains. “Dyeing needs running water, and my tent is on the pavement, surrounded by destruction – there’s no water, no electricity, nothing.
“I make do with the simplest equipment and only offer basic services.”
Amani sighs, running her fingers through her greying hair beneath her hijab.
“I only used to have a few grey hairs. But now, it’s everywhere. This war aged us,” she says with a sad smile.
Noor shifted her attention to Aya, discussing the colour of her dress to choose matching makeup.
“I brought my daughter today so she could take care of herself a little – as a way to lift her spirits,” Amani said, smiling at her daughter, whose eyes are closed for eyeshadow application.
“I want her to grow up knowing that she should always take care of herself, no matter what.
“I also want to bring her some joy. What we’ve seen during this war has been beyond devastating.”
As Noor adds her final touches to Aya’s makeup, she talks longingly about her dreams.
“More than anything, I want this war to end so I can expand my business, move to a proper salon, and offer more services.
“But my message to all women is this: Take care of yourselves, no matter what. Life is short.”
