This past weekend, Nairobi’s Baraza Media Lab transformed into a powerful gallery of resistance, love, and memory with the exhibition Gaza Habibti. Curated by independent Palestinian visual storyteller, Rasha Al Jundi, and rooted in the ongoing Untold Palestine project, the show brought together photography, film, and live monologue performances that echoed with both heartbreak and hope from besieged Gaza.
The exhibition featured the work of 22 photographers from besieged Gaza, artists who’ve been documenting everyday life under siege—long before the current genocidal assault. Their aim? To show that beyond the headlines and rubble, Palestinians live, love, dream, and resist through ordinary acts of survival.
What made Gaza Habibti especially moving was how immersive it felt. Visitors didn’t just view photographs—they walked through them. Performers delivered monologues in different corners of the space, responding to the images in real time. One of the actors, Mugambi Ikiara, was among those whose live readings invited the audience deeper into the stories behind the stills.
“The performers moved through the exhibition,” Rasha, the curator, shared, “doing readings beside the images—almost like they were in conversation with them. People even volunteered to read pieces themselves. It became communal.”
Complementing the photography was a short film—silent aerial footage of Gaza, transitioning into personal, intimate portraits of life and resistance. It used a blend of archival material and newer footage from this latest campaign of violence, grounding the viewer in the immediacy of the moment.
The exhibition was short-lived, only up for a few days, but its resonance was undeniable. As the curator noted, there are plans to take Gaza Habibti to other cities in Kenya, including Mombasa—ensuring that this moving tribute to Palestinian endurance reaches even more hearts.
With exhibitions like these, Nairobi continues to cement its place as a city that not only consumes art but wrestles with its global implications. Gaza Habibti wasn’t just an exhibition—it was an act of cultural resistance and solidarity.
