Author: admin

Sisyphus

2 April 2024

 

Imagine that you had to live the same life, with the same details, with the same emotions, with the same movement, with the same smell, with the same atmosphere, like a minute-long movie, repeated over and over again as a kind of metaphor of the life of Sisyphus.

 

We all know who Sisyphus was, and that he was condemned to forever roll a stone from the bottom to the top of a mountain, only to see it roll back down at the moment he reached the top.

 

Just add to this story that each time he pushes the stone, Sisyphus loses a part of his body; he loses a finger, a piece of skin, a hand, an eye, an ear….

 

This has become the life of Palestinians in Gaza; waking up every day, going everywhere to look for an aid food parcel, or a tent to build for shelter, or selling recycled food items from the food aid, and trying to secure a meal for the family.

 

This is repeated over and over, over and over. But also, each day, they lose a part of their bodies, they lose beloved family members, friends, homes, and hope. They lose, every day, the most beautiful part of their bodies; they lose their children.

 

And the Israeli barbarian army, which believes that it has become Zeus, is just enjoying the results of the horror it made with its own hands.

 

World Theatre Day

27 March 2024

 

Today, the 27th of March, is World Theatre Day. Since 1962 it has been celebrated by International Theatre Institute Centres, IT Cooperating Members, theatre professionals, theatre organisations, theatre universities, and theatre lovers all over the world. This day is a celebration for those who can see the value and importance of the art form “theatre”. It acts as a wake-up call for governments, politicians and institutions that have not yet recognised theatre’s value to society and to individuals and its potential for economic growth. Theatre makers all over the world celebrate this day in different ways, some go to parties, some continue performing, some make big celebrations with readings of plays and a specially prepared homage written this year by Jon Fosse.

 

Here in Gaza, I mark this day by dreaming. I dream that what is happening to us is no more than a tragedy by Sophocles or Euripides, a play which aims to bring people to the level of purification of Aristotle, and that will end soon. And when it is over, each one will go home. There will be no people who have died, no children killed, no citizens forcibly displaced, no homes destroyed, no trees excavated, no borders closed, no children without milk, no sick people without health treatment, no hungry people without food, no thirsty women without water, no students prevented from reaching their universities, no pupils without schools, no athletes without playgrounds, no intellectuals without cultural centres, no theatre makers without theatre arenas.

 

I dream that all this bombing and shelling and the horrible sounds of the drones are part of the sound effects of this play. I dream that all this destruction around me wherever I look is part of the visual effects of this play.

 

I dream that all these poor, skinny people, all the poor, skinny, dirtily clothed children and women are part of the chorus of the play. I just dream to wake up in my bed, in my home, with my wife and my daughter Salma.

 

I dream.

Bad Omen

25 March 2024

 

During the last 2 nights, drones were over Rafah, occupying the sky and the space, with their sound, ugly sound, from dawn to sunset, without stop. I can’t sleep, and if I fall asleep for a little, this terrible sound wakes me up over and over again. It is the sound of death and agony. From time to time, besides the drone sound we hear an air strike followed in 10 to 15 minutes with the sounds of ambulance sirens. How many people were killed? How many buildings destroyed? How many people are under the rubble, dead or alive? Are there children among them? I can’t stop thinking about this until the drone sound brings me back from my thoughts to tell me that I am here! You won’t think of anything else; you won’t sleep!

 

My mother in the other room is crying from pain, the bed sores are spreading over her body, on her back, her shoulders, her bottom, and there is no medicine available in Gaza to help. The youngest child here, the daughter of my wife’s sister, is crying too, she wants to sleep and can’t because of the drone noise. It is very loud, very close, you feel the drone inside the house, inside the room, inside your brain, shouting at you! You won’t rest, you won’t sleep! I am here and I am allowed no other sensation but listening. The drone sound reminds me of the crow. The crow’s call is a bad omen in our culture. I used to hear my mother ask God to protect us from the devil when she head the crow call.

 

In Gaza, I lived in the Alutaz building. Several families, around 80 people; men, women, children and old people never left the place. I know all of them, some are friends, and not just neighbours. We would check on them whenever communications were working. They went through fear, panic, starvation, thirst, but they were determined to stay in their homes, and they decided not to leave. Several armed confrontations occurred in the area, and they were stuck in the crossfire. Several buildings around them were bombed and destroyed and yet, they did not want to leave their homes. All the building’s windows were destroyed, several flats were shelled and burnt. They put out the fire and stayed.

 

The mobile connection is very weak, but it gets stronger from midnight until 6 in the morning. I downloaded the messages from the WhatsApp neighbour’s group, which was full of chats. I went over them:

 

19:35

– Does anyone have any news from the neighbours?

– Yes, they are all safe, but the situation is really dangerous, the Israeli army is on the street.

 

20:41

– May God protect them.

– I pray for their safety.

22:52

– I just received an SMS from a neighbour; the Israeli soldiers are entering the building.

 

22:55

– I tried to call my father there, his mobile is off.

– I tried to call Abu Kareem, his mobile is off, too.

 

00:20

– Does anyone have any update from the neighbours?

 

03:07

– All neighbours were forced to leave the building and they are walking on Al Rashid Street (the sea road) towards the south. [This is from the last call with the daughter of Abu Ibraheem]

– Have any of the neighbours been arrested?

– May God bring us good news of their safety

 

03:45

– The latest news about our neighbours, at 8 pm, the Israeli soldiers entered the building forcing all the neighbours out onto the street, ordering men to stand in a row on the left side of the street and women and children on the right side facing each other. They tell all men to take off their clothes, they were guarded by several soldiers pointing guns on them. There were 2 armoured tanks, one at the top of the street and the other down the street, a sniper from each tank was pointing their gun at the neighbours as well.

– From time to time, they heard small explosions inside the building. They believe that the soldiers were exploding the locked doors of the neighbours who’d left their homes at the beginning of the war. The neighbours were kept in that place on the street from 8 pm till 2 am, then they were asked to go to the south using the sea road. Walking without any belongings; no clothes, no food, no money, no Identification, nothing. They walked.

 

04:25

– My father is so sick, he is slowing the others down, they separated. My father, my mom, and my younger brother are at Al Nabulsi roundabout, where the Israeli army killed more than 100 people who were waiting for food supplies 2 weeks ago. The other neighbours already passed my family.

 

04:37

– Do you know where they can find cars or any means of transportation?

– Not before Gaza valley.

– That is 8 km from our home.

– Yes.

– I hope they will make it, children and old people can’t do it.

– They will, by the will of God they will.

– Near Gaza Valley, there is a spot where the World Central Kitchen is receiving people who were forced to leave Gaza City, and is providing them with clothes and hot meals, and there is a primary health care unit there as well.

– I hope they will make it there soon.

 

06:15

– Any updates my dear neighbours? Any news?

– Bakri family just arrived at my place in Zawaida.

– I talked just now to Dr. Nasri, he is ok, with his family, they are still walking toward Dir Al Balah. I believe he will go to his brother there.

 

07:23 

– My father did not make it. He died 1 km before the Gaza Valley. My mother and my brother carried him and made it to the World Central Kitchen.

– May he rest in peace.

– Oh my dear, so sorry for that, may God have Mercy on him.

 

Goodbye Abu Ashraf. God knows how good a neighbour, how good a man you were. Rest in peace, my dear.

Small Battles in a Big War

23 March 2024

“I have visited more than 25 pharmacies and 5 hospitals looking for medicine for my father. I could not find it. He is deteriorating, and I am very worried for his life, please help!”

 

“Since my wife died in the bombing of the Nuseirat market, I don’t know how to care for my little twins, who are 1 ½ years old. I am in a tent, alone with them. I must go out to look for food and to work. I sell recycled food items in the market, making 20 – 25 Shekels a day. My neighbours in the tent nearby visit my children, trying to care for them, but they also have their own problems and life’s complications. I don’t know what to do, please help!”

 

“I leave my children in the tent at 7 in the morning until sunset to go and beg in the streets. My husband, my father, my brothers, my husband’s parents and his brothers and sisters, 22 people in all, were killed. I was in the market when they bombed our home. I don’t know how my children spend their time in my absence, they wait for me for food. I can only provide them with one meal per day, I did not receive a food parcel. Do you know how to register for food support? Please help me!”

 

“Mother, why is my bed wet suddenly? I am 16 years old; I never did this! I don’t want to wake up with urine in my clothes! Please help!”

 

“My breasts are dry, I can’t feed my 3-month-old baby, I can’t afford powdered milk. Please help me!”

 

“My name in Ali, I am 9 years old. My family were all killed, no mother, no father, no brothers, no sisters, no grandparents. I am afraid, please help me! “

 

“I am Jamila, I am 12 years old, I can’t sleep at night. I have nightmares, I am afraid of bombing! I don’t know what to do, please help me!”

 

A man fainted out in the street. People helped him to wake up, he opened his eyes, looking around like a lost person. He said with a very weak voice, “I am hungry, I have eaten nothing for three days, nor my children! Please help me!”

 

A man sitting beside a mosque with his wife and 3 children, 2 girls and a boy. The oldest is 13, the youngest is 3. He said, “I have no place to stay, no home, no tent, I have been in the street with my family for 4 days. Please help!”

 

“My son was injured and lost his legs 3 months ago. He is only 16 years old. I can’t find a wheelchair for him, and I can’t carry him to the toilet by myself! Please help me!”

 

I was at the market with my wife buying some locally made sweets, only 250g. This is very expensive. My wife asked me to buy another 250 g. I did, and she took it. There was a little boy who looked very poor. She gave him the sweets and asked him to share it with his brothers and sisters. The boy smiled and moved away fast.

 

I love my wife.

 

Why Does This Happen to Me and My Family? 

22 March 2024

A story from Gaza

Hossam tells another man’s story

I am 41 years old, born in Gaza, where I have lived all my life. I have always minded my own business, concentrating on building a career. I was never involved in any political activity, not even political talks, or chats. I spent my life denouncing violence. I worked hard until I built my own home. I got married and had 3 daughters, the oldest is 14 and the youngest is 4 ½. My wife is also well-educated and works in a bank.

 

This genocide started and I stayed at home in the Remal area in Gaza. I have no relatives in Gaza City, nor does my wife.

 

Last night there was heavy shooting and shelling around my home. I took my wife and daughters to the kitchen, away from windows. We lay down. Bullets struck the windows and the walls; my children and wife were screaming. I tried to calm them down. I was not any less afraid, I wanted also to scream! The shooting started at dawn, continued until 9 am the next day, when it became less intensive. Suddenly a knock at the door! Who is it? How could there be knocking at our door? Not opening is not a choice, opening is also a risk. The knocking continued while I was still reluctant.

 

I went to the door, and from inside I asked, “Who is it?” A weeping voice said, “Open please!” It was man crying, a broken voice from a broken human, the voice was carrying pain and agony. I asked again, “Who is it?” He said, “Please open, the Israeli army sent me to you, I have a message!”

 

I panicked! If I don’t open, they could come, and God knows what they would do! At least this is the sound of a man from Gaza. I opened the door. There was this man of around 50 years old, almost naked, in only his underwear, with his hands cuffed behind his back, trembling from fear and cold.

 

He said, “You and all males over 16 years old must come down and go towards the armoured tank on the left side of the street, and all women and children under 16 years old must come down and go to the right side of the street. You must come down to the street naked but for your underwear, otherwise they will treat you as a threat and shoot you on the spot!”

 

For few seconds I froze; frozen from shock, frozen from fear, frozen by a million thoughts and ideas passing through my mind, none of which I could keep in my head! The man was crying: “Please speed up, they gave me only 5 minutes to finish this mission! We must come down together!”

 

Like a robot, I went in, told my wife what was happening and what we should do. I was very neutral. My children were crying from fear, as they had already been doing all night, and I could not do anything to calm them down. I calmly told them the message and went to the door. I looked back at my family wondering if this would be the last look, the last time I would see them? I don’t know what is happening to me, suddenly I feel nothing, and I am telling myself, go hug them, go kiss them! I hear myself, inside my head while my body moves mechanically towards and out the door. As I went out of sight of my wife and children, I took off my clothes and went down with the naked and handcuffed man.

 

Down we went to the left side, where there were several tanks and armoured vehicles, not just one. The street was full of soldiers with guns. There was lots of rubble, I did not realise how many homes had been destroyed, it was like stepping into hell! A fluent Arabic-speaking soldier asked us to stop. I stopped. He told me to lay down with my face on the ground. I did. He told me to put my hands behind my back. I did. All of this while countless guns were pointed at me and my other naked neighbours, who had arrived before me. Suddenly a soldier approached me, pulled my arms brutally, tied them together behind my back, and blindfolded me with a piece of cloth. He told me to stand. It was not easy from my position; the soldier helped me by kicking me in my thigh! It helped; the pain obliged me to jump! They took me a few meters away, put me on my knees facing a wall, and started to ask me about myself, my family, about the activities of armed men in the area, about tunnels. With every answer of “I don’t know,” I was beaten. What could I do? I didn’t know!

 

After 20 minutes, they turned me to face a small drone which was flying near my face, scanning it, and then flew away. Then they put me back on my knees facing the wall. Little stones scratched my knees. A small stone was almost entering my skin under my knee. When I tried to move a bit to avoid it, it didn’t help, I felt more pain! It was not the only pain, they had cuffed my hands with plastic strips, very tight, so that I felt no blood reaching my hands. It felt very cold and painful in my back. Suddenly the pain began to move to every single part of my body, and I felt very cold everywhere. A light rain started, I felt the drops of water on my head and my back first, then my whole body became wet. I could not move, it was very cold, I started to feel freezing. I really don’t know, in fact I can’t remember if I cried during those hours facing the wall, I am trying to remember what I was thinking of during this time, but honestly, I don’t remember.

 

Did I think about death? Did I think that they were going to arrest me or to execute me!? Did I think about my wife and my girls? Did I think about my home, my friends, my job, my past life, or my future? I don’t know. Maybe I thought about all of this and more, I don’t remember….

 

At 4 pm they told me to stand, and God only knows what effort and pain it took for me to stand! I first threw my body to the side, then struggled to be on my back, then I realised this was not helping, so I turned again to face the ground, putting one leg forward and pushing against the ground with all that remained of my strength, until finally I stood, with many new scratches all over my back my chest, my bottom, my legs and my hands. A soldier took the blindfold off my eyes from behind. For few seconds, it was not easy to face the light of day. There was another soldier in front of me, pointing his gun at my face. He said sharply, “Go towards Al Rashid Street, the sea road! Walk towards the middle area! Walk and don’t stop, walk, and don’t look behind you, not a single time! Walk until you reach Nuseirat Camp. Go!

 

It was obvious that there was no possibility to argue or even to ask about anything, not my family, not my home, not my clothes, not even about the plastic cuffs around my hands.

 

It is 13 km from my home to Nuseirat Camp. I started walking. I walked and walked, with nothing around me but destruction, bombed buildings, smashed homes, uprooted roads, water and sewage leakage everywhere, dogs and cats, from time to time, dead human bodies in the streets, some with dogs on them.

 

I walked and walked, naked, cold, the rain was heavy for 15 minutes, then light, then it stopped. I wanted to wipe the water from my eyes and my face, but I could not with my hands cuffed behind me. I walked and walked, from time to time passing by armoured vehicles and tanks. Night fell, it was dark, I could barely see where to put my feet, but I walked, I had no other choice. I started to think, “I am alive, they won’t shoot me, they would have done it already if they wanted me dead, right? Where is my family? My wife and my children? Are they still in Gaza? Were they allowed to go back home? Were they forced to walk like me to Nuseirat? If yes, where would they go? We, they, don’t know anyone outside of Gaza City!”

 

It was 9 pm when I saw on the horizon the shape of a man coming toward me. I had already passed the Gaza Valley, I was near Nuseirat, maybe 1 km only. The man approached me, and I fell into his arms. Another 2 men reached us, they uncuffed me, one of them had a coat and put it on me. I wanted to cry, I looked for tears to cry, I tried to hear myself crying, but no sound came out of my mouth. l think I was crying inside me, my tears were dropping inside my eyes instead of outside. It burned, I felt it burn like hell! They had a small car, they put me in the front seat. We drove for 5 minutes, and reached a school, a shelter, where they provided me with some clothes. They brought me some food, but I could not eat. They insisted, but really, I could not. I asked about my family, my wife, and children. They did not recognise the names. Maybe my family is back home, how can I know? I asked for a mobile to ring my wife. Trying once and again, and again and again, it didn’t work! I did not know what to do! They brought me to a place, a tent in the middle of the school’s front yard. There were 4 men inside the tent, they welcomed me, and they pointed to a mattress that I could use to sleep. I lay down, I slept.

 

Here I am for the 5th day in the school, in the tent, trying to find my family, trying to call. I went to all the schools in Nuseirat, in Deir Al Balah, in Zawaida, in Sawarha, looking for my children and my wife, and I can’t find them! I went to the UNRWA Operation Centre, I went to several NGO’s, I called the ICRC, and yet still can’t find my family! I don’t know if they are alive or dead. Tomorrow I will go to Rafah, to look for my family amongst the 1.3 million people there. Please pray for me that I will find them! Please pray for their safety! Please….

 

Birds in paradise

When we were young and a child in the family or in the neighbourhood died, adults would tell us that this child is in heaven, he will be transformed into a beautiful bird in paradise. 

We liked the idea, yet we had doubts. If it is something so good, why are mothers and fathers weeping, mourning, crying?  Why do mothers keep wearing black dresses for months, why do they not smile anymore? Why is no-one laughing, and if any of us laugh they tell us to be quiet? 

UNICEF and the Ministry of Health has said that 13,000 children were killed in Gaza by the Israeli army during the last 5 months. 

This is too many birds; I think paradise is full of birds now. 

Isn’t it enough?

18 March 2024

I Lived

I consider myself to be a lucky Palestinian, a lucky resident of Gaza. I am 56 years old, and I can consider myself lucky because I have had many opportunities which the majority of Gazans under the age of 35 never had.

Examples:

I have traveled to more than 12 countries, while most Gazans have never seen any place beyond Gaza.

From the age of 17, I have always had work, and was never unemployed. 72% of Gazans under 35 are jobless and unemployed.

I got my own home when I was 40 years old. Most Gazans under 35 years of age do not have their own homes and are still living within their extended families.

I have my own car. 75% of Gazans under 35 have no cars.

I am married and have the most beautiful daughter in the world! The majority of Gazans under 35 can’t afford marriage expenses and can’t raise a family.

I have wonderful, loyal friends in Gaza and in many other countries, including those on this list to whom I send these journals, who think about me, and who support me with what they can. Most Gazans under 35 do have friends for sure, but they are limited to Gaza.

It is no wonder Gazans under 35 are not as lucky as I am, we are under occupation!

We are under fire, under bombardment, under shelling, exposed to famine, starvation, and genocide. We have no means to treat the daily hundreds of injured, and every day we bury hundreds of our children and women and men. We have no way out. We are trapped in Gaza.

So, why should we not sing? Gazans under 35 must sing: “The sky is blue, the grass is green… and I say to myself, what a wonderful world!” 

What a wonderful world…

15 March 2024

Talking about Me

My name is Hossam, I will be 56 years old this coming July. I am married to Abeer, my beloved wife and we have one lovely girl, Salma, 23 years old.

I was born as a Palestinian in Gaza; I did not choose that. I grew up in a large poor family, I did not choose that, either.  My father is a bit educated; my mother is not. I did not choose them, I simply accepted all of that.

I grew up realising that we are under occupation with strange soldiers speaking a strange language in our streets. Stopping people in the streets, searching them, humiliating them, arresting them. My father used to warn us not to get close to the soldiers. Why? I don’t know.  And as a child, I did not understand why and what was happening. I thought that this is life, and that this is how it is all over the world. At that time, as a young boy, to me the whole world was Gaza City. In fact, all that I knew were some streets in Gaza City. So, I had no opinion.

At the age of 16, I wanted to go to Israel, many people did. So, I took a taxi to Tel Aviv. It was that simple in the early 1980s. Tel Aviv, what a city! It is so big, so beautiful, so clean. High buildings, shiny stores, sparkling beaches, new cars, traffic lights, painted pavements! Why wasn’t Gaza like Tel Aviv? I did not know. In Tel Aviv there are people, normal people, yes speaking a strange language but normal people. Why can’t we live there? Why don’t they live among us in Gaza and the West Bank? Why must we get permits to enter Tel Aviv? Why can’t we live together?

They look human like us, we look human like them. 

I grew up more and realised that a military occupation means slavery and no rights for the occupied people.

Then, when I worked in Israel for 5 years from 1985 to 1990, I realised that we are welcomed there, as long as we are obedient under the occupation. We are good, as long as we accept being cheap labourers without rights. We are then well treated like a good slave or a nice pet.

We could not accept this. In 1987 the first Intifada took place, a public uprising against the occupation. It took several forms; throwing stones at soldiers, writing anti-occupation graffiti on the walls, setting fire to car tyres in the middle of the streets to block army vehicles from passing, and calling for a boycott of Israeli products.

This movement was met with severe violence; shooting, killing and arresting thousands of young men.

I was one of these young men, and I was arrested in 1992 for 9 months, accused of protesting against the Occupation and throwing stones at soldiers.

(In 2012, | went to the USA. On arriving at the Washington DC airport, I was stopped by the visa controller and asked if I had ever been arrested, even though I had put the answer in the visa application, so he knew. | said yes, and he asked, why? I said, because I threw stones at Israeli soldiers in 1992. He asked if it was wise to throw stones against a machine gun, and I said, it seemed very wise at that time. He laughed and allowed me in.)

In 1993, I became involved in theatre, and humanitarian work. It changed my life, I decided to continue resisting the occupation as an individual with my own words, by my acting on the stage, by my efforts to help people in need, and by trying to bring awareness of our cause to Europe and any other place I could get to. For all my life since then, I have denounced violence. I can’t see it as a solution to any conflict or disagreement. Yet, for all of our lives we have been exposed to severe violence by the Occupation, all types of violence, killing, injuring, arresting, starvation, depriving us from basic human needs or human rights, treating us as nothing, less than people, less that human beings.

Terror! What is terror if it is not the Occupation?! What is terror if it is not blocking people at checkpoints, depriving them of their identity?!

The first time I ever travelled abroad was to Spain in 1995. We did not yet have the Palestinian passport. Instead, we had something called a ‘Laissez Passer’ issued by the Israeli authorities: Name, ID number, photo, birth date, and the nationality: Unidentified.

This is exactly what they wrote in front of the nationality identification: Unidentified.

It was a shock, it hurt, it was humiliating, it was and still is not fair.

I came to understand more as I witnessed the arrival of the Palestinian Authority; the corrupt one. Are we free? Are soldiers out of Gaza? No! They are there at Nitzareem Junction, south of Gaza City, with their tanks and guns and checkpoints. They are there at Abu Holy in the middle of Gaza Strip, with their tanks and guns and checkpoints and armed observation towers. They are there at Rafah crossing, and they still have full authority to allow or prevent anyone from crossing in or out.

Again, everything is in their hands. Our export, import, travel, movement, taxes, water, electricity, communications, all are controlled by the Israeli occupation.

Realising that this was the result of the Oslo Agreements makes me feel even more humiliated.

In 2000, the second Intifada, again, a public uprising against the Occupation began. This time, some Palestinians had guns, and they used them. Hamas started its terror attacks and suicide bombings. And, as if the Israelis were waiting for this to happen, their retaliation had no limits; bombing, killing, closing whole neighbourhoods, blockades, arresting thousands of people.

Why do they think that any nation will accept to be enslaved forever? Why don’t they realise that the only solution is to set people free so that they can decide and determine their lives and their future for themselves?

And now I have come to see Hamas taking over Gaza, with the same practices of corruption, even worse than with the Palestinian Authority. Moreover, they treat people with clear discrimination, if you are not Hamas, you are a stranger. Speech censorship. How many times have young people protested for unity between Gaza and the West Bank, between Hamas and the Palestine Authority, only to be met with the iron hand of Hamas?

I have come to realise that the main cause of Hamas’ creation is the Occupation itself. Israeli policy for the last 17 years has been to keep Gaza and the West Bank separated so as to undermine any possibility of unity and the development of a Palestinian state. For years they allowed Qatar to fund Hamas. They wanted Hamas there to claim that they can’t negotiate peace while a terror organisation is in control.

I am now witnessing the complete destruction of my city, witnessing the assassination of more than 30,000 of my people, the injuring of more than 70,000 of my people, the destruction of 60% of my town’s houses. Living the fear, the terror, the starvation, the famine and the slow death of 2.3 million people.

The last few days I don’t feel well at all. The least effort I make makes me feel tired, exhausted. Today I found someone with some scales in the market, with a piece of paper on which was written: weigh yourself for 1 Shekel. I did, I am 69 KG. The last time I weighed myself, before the war, it was 85 KG. This is a severe drop, unhealthy, I know, because of the type of food we have; with no meat, no chicken, no fish, no fruit, no nuts, and unsafe water. Yes, I am sick.

15 March 2024

White Page

Opening my laptop, opening a Word document, trying to write something about our frozen life, a life that is limited to looking for a food parcel or waiting for some news about a ceasefire.

The thoughts in my head are scattered, I am unable to concentrate on one idea or one subject. My dog lays his head in my lap, making the writing difficult. Poor dog, for two days, he has not been feeling good. He has a stomach pain, it is stomach pollution, the doctor said. The food we eat is not healthy. What alternatives do we have? None. I took my medication and tried to sleep. My mother, in the other room, does not stop whining in pain too. She gets worse and her health is deteriorating fast. Nothing can be done. Helplessness is killing!

All talk is about invading Rafah, making the subject the most talked-about by everybody. They are terrified. Where to go? How to survive under the continuous bombing? Every day there is a targeted bombing or a random bombing, people are killed and injured without a stop.

The two little girls living with us (the daughters of Abeer’s sister) are much quieter than usual, they look very sad, most of time sitting doing nothing. What children of 14 and 8 can stay still doing nothing for hours? There is no playing, no going out, no school, no friends, no relatives visiting, no walking in the market, no going to the beach. Just staying at home doing nothing. Nothingness is a slow killer; it kills the spirit and the soul first. What can I do? I brought them some toys, some paper, and colours. Then what?

I received a call from a colleague in one of the shelters, about another unaccompanied child, a 14-year-old girl. She said that she escaped from Gaza, she was 3 days in the street. She is afraid and knows nothing about her family. She wanted to go back to Deir El Balah, where she has relatives, but she could not name them. I called the Ministry of Social Development and SoS. I don’t want to go, it is only heartbreaking, and I can provide nothing. Helplessness is killing!

A mother is carrying a little child, a few months old, holding another child of 3 with her hand. Behind her is another child of 6, begging, asking for food. She is very dirty, and her children too. They look very poor, very skinny, what will a few Shekels do for them? I give her 5, which means almost zero. Helplessness killing!

This page is not white anymore, there are many words in black. I hate black, next time I will use another colour, maybe it will help me feel better.

Good night