{"id":20182,"date":"2026-01-26T12:00:29","date_gmt":"2026-01-26T09:00:29","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.greenpeace.org\/mena\/%d9%82%d8%a7%d8%a8%d8%b3-%d8%ac%d9%86%d8%a9-%d8%a7%d9%84%d8%a3%d8%b1%d8%b6-%d8%a7%d9%84%d9%85%d9%81%d9%82%d9%88%d8%af%d8%a9-%d8%a8%d9%8a%d9%86-%d8%ac%d9%8a%d9%84-%d8%a7%d9%84%d8%a3%d8%ac%d8%af%d8%a7\/"},"modified":"2026-02-24T12:48:27","modified_gmt":"2026-02-24T09:48:27","slug":"gabes-a-lost-earthly-paradise-between-the-forefathers-generation-and-generation-z","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.greenpeace.org\/mena\/en\/gabes-a-lost-earthly-paradise-between-the-forefathers-generation-and-generation-z\/","title":{"rendered":"Gab\u00e8s, A Lost Earthly Paradise: Between the Forefathers’ Generation and Generation Z"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
Taysir is an art student in her early twenties who feels out of step with her time, lost between eras she never lived except through the stories of others. She wishes she had lived in a time when Gab\u00e8s was called \u201can earthly paradise,\u201d before the noise of industrial change arrived.
On the same land guarded by Uncle Saleh through his living memory, Taysir is trying to rewrite the scene. While Uncle Saleh lives in a time of regret over decline, Taysir lives in a time in which she seeks to transform this catastrophe into a cause for change, becoming the voice of her generation.<\/td><\/tr><\/tbody><\/table><\/figure>\n\n

A Lifetime\u2019s Testimony: Memories on the Line Between Story and Reality<\/strong><\/p>\n\n

\u201cGab\u00e8s\u2026 it was a paradise on earth,\u201d said Uncle Saleh, his voice tightening as his eyes glistened with tears. \u201cWhenever I remember my childhood here, I feel that my beautiful years have vanished forever.\u201d Uncle Saleh, an eighty-year-old man and a farmer from the indigenous community of Chenini in Gab\u00e8s, finds no solace today except in the memory of the past, repeating to us with deep sorrow: \u201cWhen I recall my early days, I fall into bouts of crying over years of life that will never return.\u201d<\/p>\n\n

Uncle Saleh witnessed an era in which the title \u201cparadise\u201d was not merely a literary expression, but a unique geographical reality. Gab\u00e8s is the only coastal oasis in the Mediterranean basin, where palm trees embrace the sea\u2019s waves \u2013 a rare ecological balance that grants it exceptional fertility and economic abundance, based primarily on farming, agriculture, and fishing.<\/p>\n\n

Historically, this description took root in the words of travelers and chroniclers. In the twelfth century CE, the geographer al-Idrisi described it as \u201ca large city with many farms and abundant fruits.\u201d In the fourteenth century CE, al-Tijani confirmed this image, calling it \u201ca place that is a paradise on earth.\u201d<\/p>\n\n

Before the industrial decades, Gab\u00e8s was a dynamic coastal region rich in oases, sustained by abundant freshwater springs of high quality in areas such as Ghannouch, Oudhref, and Chenini. This water stability supported plentiful production of dates, henna, pomegranates, peaches, grapes, and other fruits and vegetables. Gab\u00e8s\u2019 agricultural fertility created a sustainable society long before its development model was replaced by intensive industrialization.<\/p>\n\n

Along the coast, the Gulf of Gab\u00e8s (known as the Lesser Syrtis) contained the largest seagrass meadows (Posidonia oceanica) in the Mediterranean. These meadows formed a vital marine habitat for commercial fish species, on which artisanal fishing relied during the summer as a secondary activity alongside agriculture.<\/p>\n\n

To recount the history of Gab\u00e8s before the 1970s, Uncle Saleh welcomed us to his plot in the old oasis of Chenini. There stands his concrete house, which he turned into both a home and a refuge, fleeing the noise of the \u201cindustrial encroachment\u201d that altered the city\u2019s features, and seeking an isolation that reconnects him with his past and keeps it alive in memory, in the face of pollution that has choked the air of the oasis.<\/p>\n\n

Uncle Saleh says, \u201cMy whole day is here, and even in my sleep I dream that I am tilling the land.\u201d Those were years of abundance: fertile soil, fruits hanging from branches, and plentiful springs where the family gathered to work. Today, this man carries in his heart the unique taste of vegetables and fruits, standing as a guardian of the original seeds of the lost paradise, refusing to give up land that is no longer what it once was.<\/p>\n\n

At the same time, Taysir, the young art student, sees herself as alien to her era, lost between times she knows only through others\u2019 stories. She longs for an age when Gab\u00e8s was called \u201can earthly paradise,\u201d before the clamor of industrial transformations.<\/p>\n\n

On the same land guarded by Uncle Saleh\u2019s living memory, Taysir is attempting to rewrite the scene. While Uncle Saleh inhabits a time marked by mourning decline, Taysir lives in a time in which she seeks to turn this catastrophe into a cause for change, to become the voice of her generation.<\/p>\n\n

Today, the cause brings together two generations separated by time and united by destiny, each of them using the tools of their own era as a path of resistance. In a step that breaks the wall between past and future, the young Taysir chose to join training workshops in the oases of Chenini, drawing the secrets of the land and the deep-rooted traditions of farming directly from Uncle Saleh\u2019s hands. When we asked her about the secret behind this commitment, she replied: \u201cI love Gab\u00e8s, and I dream of seeing it one day return to being a paradise, as it once was.\u201d<\/p>\n\n

When Generations Meet: Different Tools, One Cause<\/strong><\/p>\n\n

The difference between generations does not lie in the degree of love for the land or the sense of loss, but in the mechanisms of action and response to crises. Each generation is shaped by the tools of its time, the limits of its influence, and the space available to its voice.<\/p>\n\n

Uncle Saleh belongs to a generation that gave its best using the tools of its era: experience, patience, and inherited knowledge. A generation that learned directly from the land, instinctively protected natural balance, and worked in long, quiet perseverance, relying on inheritance, patience, and daily attachment to fields and seasons. For him, protecting Gab\u00e8s was an act of life; safeguarding the land was not a slogan, but a way of living: respecting natural cycles of water and resources, diversifying crops, and avoiding soil depletion. What studies today call \u201csustainability\u201d was, for him, simply an agricultural instinct.<\/p>\n\n

By contrast, Taysir belongs to Generation Z \u2013 a generation often described today as aware, pragmatic, and capable of change, able to turn environmental anxiety into action. It is a transformative generation, not an idle one. A generation that treats environmental crises as social issues rather than natural occurrences. It does not settle for observation or nostalgia; instead, it seeks learning, organization, and the building of practical alternatives, from field workshops to community pressure and the crafting of digital narratives. It is a generation that sees the environmental crisis as a matter of justice and of the future, not merely as a loss of the past.<\/p>\n\n

Despite their different approaches, the two generations meet at the same source: a deep love for the land and a shared desire to save what remains of it. Uncle Saleh guards memory and seeds. Taysir, in turn, transforms memory into action. He carries wisdom; she carries energy. He is a witness to what was, and she is the voice of what must be.<\/p>\n\n

Gab\u00e8s as Inherited by Generation Z: The Language of Numbers<\/strong><\/p>\n\n

What Uncle Saleh recounts through memory is now confirmed by figures and reports. The generation that inherited pollution confronts it with data, turning it into a tool for accountability.<\/p>\n\n