“Someone listens”: The fear and longing of Isil families held in Al Hall | Isil/ISIS NEWS

Many of the detainees at the camp had chosen to stay home on this dusty day, but ASMA decided to grind the elements and take advantage of a less crowded market.

With her four children close to her, she scans the underlying selection of vegetables at a small stall, and weighed what dishes she can collect with limited options on sale.

The oldest child of Asma, preceding a nine-year-old girl with a red-haired headband and a pink tracksuit, pressed the youngest child, a one-year-old one-year-old girl stuck in a padded jacket.

She corrects the hood of her sister's jacket, which slipped down, which made the young child tingle as the dust spins around her face.

She was pulling her little sister to her breasts protectively, taking a warm nod to approval from her mother.

Asma spends the bigger part of her days with her children because he does not feel the educational facilities in the camp to meet their needs.

As she spoke, her two sons erupted in a spontaneous game.

Her expression conveyed a deep melancholy. “It's hard to raise kids here,” she admitted, her gaze.

The monotony of everyday life in the camp, she explained, can often lead to the fact that children are fighting and it may be difficult for her to control her boys.

On top of that, for seven years in the camp, ASMA has seen prices raise so much that it is difficult to buy enough food now to feed their growing children.

The NGO is distributing daily food rations in Al-Hall, but many detainees complement these ready-made meals and basic ingredients with fresh production from the market, using money sent by relatives or earned from jobs in the medical and educational establishments of the NGO-operated NGO.

The ASMA family has experienced the latest camp period, which has observed more than 100 murders from 2020 to 2022 and left a deep psychological impact on the camps of the camp, which make up more than half of their population.

In 2021, according to “Children's Rescue,” two residents were killed every week, making camp, Per Capital, one of the most dangerous places in the world to be a child.

This is a period that Ahd, an Iraqi Turkmen welder from Mosul, who preferred to give only one name, kept his four children in his tent at any time.

When Al Jazeera met with the 39-year-old Abad, he worked under the shelter of family repairs on a side street near the market. The store, calculated together by pieces of wood and plastic sheets, serves any machines that the detainees in the camp need to fix.

He guided his son to the adult, who was in the early 20s, methodically through a complex welding process, the two smiled at each other as they shared a private joke and the war of the wind exposed their words from the ears.

Abed lifted a welding torch as his son kept a piece of metal in place with a pair of pinches.

He has taught his children in his trade, but that, he said, is simple so that they can “survive every day”, adding that this will not give them the tools to enjoy a full and executive life.

“My children are gone,” Abad said with a hint of bitterness in his voice. “They missed too much school.”

Several assistance organizations manage educational facilities, but it is known that ISIL's suspects are attacking them, so Abad thinks it is more fascinating to keep his children away until they can go home.

“We had a good life in Mosul. My kids went to school and everything was fine, but now – he took a deep breath, “It's been too long.”

“It's hard to swallow like a parent because school is everything.”