'The tent has listened to the names of thousands of victims,' says the watchman at Al Madam Ghost Village
KT Photos: Muhammad Sajjad
One year has passed since the Gaza war began on October 7, and the echoes of grief continue to resonate in the Ghost Town of Al Madam in Sharjah. The mourning tent, erected as part of the Sharjah Architecture Triennial early this year, still stands, now bearing silent witness to the endless names of innocent children, women, and civilians who lost their lives in Gaza.
Since the war erupted, the tent has become more than an art installation; it is a place of mourning, reflection, and confusion for many visitors.
“The tent has listened to the names of thousands of victims,” says the watchman at Al Madam Ghost Village. “People visit, and they sit quietly inside. Some are unsure why the tent is here, in this forgotten, abandoned place, but their emotions speak louder than their words.”
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This tent, created by artists Sandi Hilal and Alessandro Petti as part of a project reflecting collective mourning and the refugee experience, now holds a deeper, more painful significance.
Originally constructed in the Dheisheh refugee camp in Bethlehem in 2015, it was meant to symbolise temporary refuge, gathering, and protest. But as the war in Gaza continues, the structure has become a symbol of the staggering loss of life.
In the year since the war began, families from across the UAE and beyond have come to this lonely spot to remember those they have lost. Many arrive with personal stories of grief and horror from the conflict. The tent, surrounded by the desolate, dusty landscape of the ghost town, reminds people of those who lost their lives in the war.
“We have seen people from different walks of life come here,” the watchman said. “They pray, cry, or just sit. They have lost relatives, friends, homes. For many, it’s a space where they can mourn in peace, away from the chaos of the world.”
Niki Agonov, a Russian tourist who had come to the UAE as part of his tour, found himself unexpectedly drawn to the tent. As he stood before the structure, quiet presence in the desolate landscape stirred something inside him.
“When I first came here, I didn’t understand why this tent was placed in such a desolate, abandoned village. But people here told me why this tent was erected. I sat in silence.” Said Agonov.
“I didn’t come here expecting to feel so much,” said Agonov. “I was just exploring different places as a tourist, but when I saw the tent, I couldn’t ignore it. There’s a heaviness to this place. It’s strange because I am so far from home, but the sorrow here feels universal. The names of the children who lost their lives in Gaza; it’s overwhelming. The tent is so simple, yet it holds so much grief, so much pain.”
People often come with the weight of their sorrow, sitting quietly as they mourn. For many, the tent has become a place of solace. Surrounded by emptiness, it allows them to connect with their pain. “I have lost my brother and cousins in Gaza,” said one visitor.
“It’s quiet, it’s respectful, and in this silence, I feel closer to them,” said the visitor who lost his uncles, aunts and cousins.
The tent has heard many such stories, serving as a space for collective mourning. It stands as both a memorial and a sanctuary for those grappling with the aftermath of war.
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SM Ayaz Zakir is a Senior Correspondent with a flair for extraordinary stories. His playground? Every corner of the UAE. He often ventures into remote corners of the country to capture compelling news and human interest stories.