Author: admin

Sleepless

20 February 2024

In every culture there are old phrases, sayings, tales, and stories. My grandfather used to tell us that there are 3 who cannot sleep: the one who is hungry, the one who feels cold and the one who is afraid.

I am sitting on my mattress unable to sleep, not hungry, not cold, but afraid, afraid of the war, afraid of what might come after the war and what life would be in Gaza after the complete destruction of civil institutions, schools, universities, associations, hospitals, roads, and infrastructure. Afraid of the anarchy which we start to witness nowadays in the absence of any kind of authority.

But also thinking of those hundreds of thousands of families, who have the same fear as mine, but also feel cold in the tents, cold without proper clothes, cold without blankets. Those who are trying to sleep while they have eaten nothing; real starvation is happening in Gaza City and the north. People have finished eating the animal food and now they literally eat the grass. How can they sleep? Are they really able to sleep? I believe the saying of my grandfather.

Like every day, I was walking in the street, I mean the market where you find thousands of street sellers, when a young girl of around 9 years old stopped me and asked me to buy a bracelet from her, a bracelet made of cheap beads, a small bracelet for a young girl. She said, “It is only 4 Shekels, but I will give it for only 3.” Another girl, younger than the first one, also tried to sell me a bracelet, saying, “It is worth 3 Shekels, but I will accept 2 instead” And from nowhere, a boy, even younger appeared with another bracelet asking for 3 Shekels.

I don’t have a young child; my only daughter is 22 and she is not even here in Gaza. But who can send away such angels, their begging eyes could move a stone. Normally I refuse to buy from children because I know that some fathers are using their children, or they are exploited by an older child. But nowadays, I know that everyone is needy. 

I smiled at them and asked if they were sisters and brother, or relatives. They said, no. I wanted to believe them. I took the bracelets and gave them the price they asked for. I am sure I will find three little girls who would be happy to receive these bracelets.

I will try to sleep.

Appeals

19 February 2024

“Mr. Hossam, I got your name from a friend; he told me you can help. We are a family of 11 people, with children and a sick father. We are at Tal Al Sultan in Rafah without shelter, please help us get a tent!”

“Mr. Hossam, I got your name from a friend; he told me you can help. I have been displaced for the fifth time, Jabalia to Gaza, to Burij to Khan Younis, to Rafah. I can’t feed my children, can’t feed my family, please help us with a food parcel or anything, please!”

“I got your name from a friend; he told me you can help. I am a widow living with my disabled father. We are in Rafah, we’ve got nothing, please help us! I urgently need a wheelchair for my father, I can’t move him alone!”

“I got your name from a friend; he told me you can help. We are several families living inside a store 6×3 meters: 37 people, old, children, women, men. We have nothing, we need some clothes for the children, some milk for the babies, please help!”

“I got your name from a friend; he told me you can help. I can’t find any blood pressure medicine. They told us you can get it for us….”

I receive at least 20 similar calls per day. People are desperate. I work for an NGO, we distribute food parcels, some tents, some plastic sheets to make tents, but our capacity is very limited and the demand, the need is so huge. Together, all of the UN agencies and international and national organizations are unable to meet more than 5% of the people’s needs. I really want to help, but who am I? What can I do for all those needy people, while I am also becoming one of them?

I have good connections with many organizations, and I share these demands with others hoping that they will help. But I know that hundreds of thousands of people are left without any help. I know this because I see it every day in the streets, in the tents, in people’s eyes, in the miserable appearances of men and women in the streets, in the sad faces of the children who are not dressed enough for this cold, in the children who walk without shoes, in the huge lines standing in front of bakeries hoping to get some cheap bread, in the thousands of street sellers who are trying to make some income from their few poor, simple goods, in the disputes among people over anything.

People are getting frustrated, angry, nervous, out of control, and who can blame them after all that they have witnessed and have lived through during the last 4 months of killing, destruction, torture, loss of homes and businesses, loss of loved ones, of genocide? 

Who can really blame them? Can you?

Scarface

18 February 2024

“See yourself for 1 shekel!” A child in the market is holding a 15cm² piece of mirror, calling people to look at their faces or to see their bodies for 1 shekel.

No, there are no mirrors to purchase in the market. With a million people in tents, with nothing, no means of life, a mirror is absolutely not something you would think to look for or to have when you don’t have food, water, electricity, milk or diapers for children, a washing machine or a fridge, a mattress or blanket, a door for privacy or a toilet, an oven to cook on or a plate to put your food on. A mirror is something you forget about, your look and appearance in front of others is not something that matters.

The boy is trying to make living by offering a very rare service, I have not seen my face since l arrived in Rafah, no mirror. I called to the boy, “Do you really make money out of this service?”

“Yes, many people want it, I make at least 30 shekels per day ($7.50)”

“Good for you.”

“You see that man?” (He pointed to a man 20m from us, walking the other away.}

“What about him?”

“He looked at his face in the mirror and he give it back to me, but he did not pay me anything, he just gave me back the mirror and walked away. I did not stop him. While he was looking into the mirror, I asked him, ‘What is that?’ He had a cut on his face from front of his head down to his chest, a long cut, ugly cut, not healed well yet, a very long ugly scar. I think it was from an injury or shrapnel. He looked at his scar and gave me back the mirror. I saw tears in his eyes, so I let him go, I did not ask for the 1 shekel.”

I did not comment. I took the mirror, looked at my face, it has gotten very skinny. I shave without a mirror, so some of the hairs on my face are longer than the rest, and my face looks like a scar. I did not cry. I gave the child 2 shekels and continued walking.

On the road

Going from Junaina area, east of Rafah where I live now, crossing the main road of Rafah, to Tel Al Sultan, west of Rafah, is about eleven kilometres, from the border of Israel towards the sea. The road crosses the main market. Stores are open on both sides, on the pavement on parts of the road and on the central island of the road, are thousands of street sellers.  No regular cars or taxis anymore.  Trucks, big vehicles usually designated for goods or animals, become the normal transportation. Each vehicle is full of at least 50 or 60 people, some sitting on the edge of the truck and many standing in the empty space in the middle. Like other people I use this type of transportation, taking my place I look around at the sellers in the street, the faces of the passengers on the truck, listening to people talk.

The majority of the talk is about when this war will end.  Will there be a truce soon? We’ve had enough. We’ve lost enough. A man gets frustrated.

A: Why don’t they kill us all at once? Why 200 per day?  Why 300 per day?  Why don’t they kill us all and finish our misery?

B: Believe me, they would like to do so. They dream of the day that no Palestinians remain in Gaza or any other place in Palestine.

C: It is all the fault of Hamas. Since they controlled Gaza we never saw a peaceful day.

D: Yes. What they did is not resistance.  The resistance that is the cause of this killing, damage and destruction is not resistance.

E:  Agree, but the Israelis are much more terrorists than Hamas.

B:  No doubt. The Israeli crimes against us have not stopped since 1948 and even before.

F:   Does anyone know where I can get or register for a food parcel?

G:  Many NGOs distribute them.

H:  You should know someone.  They’re all corrupt.  They steal all the aid and sell it to us.  Don’t you see these street sellers.  All that they sell is aid items.

I:  You are right.

J: Is there a distribution of bread flour by UNWRA? 

K: Yes, they are distributing for families of seven now.  

J: My family has five members.

K: You should wait then.  They might start addressing families of five members within the coming two weeks. 

J: How can we live?  What do we eat in these two weeks.

Silence.

A man sitting in the middle of the truck looks familiar.  I said:

‘Hi! Aren’t you the uncle of my cousins?’

Uncle: ’Yes, Hossam.  You forgot me’.

‘No, I did not but you’ve changed’

Uncle: ’The war changed us all.’

‘You are right’

Uncle: ’Where do you live now?’

‘I rented an apartment in Junaina.  You?’

Uncle: ’I’m in a tent in Tel Al Sultan. Did you know that Waleed, the eldest son of your cousin was killed?’

 

‘My god. I didn’t.’

Uncle: ‘How come?  He was killed more than a month ago now.’

‘Where? How?’

Uncle: ’In Gaza. He was out looking for bread flour, when he was targeted by a drone.  He was shot dead.’

‘I’m so sorry.  I lost contact with my brothers, sisters and cousins in Gaza months ago. May he rest in peace.’

Uncle: ’Take care of yourself and your family’

Then he asked the truck driver to stop.

Uncle: ’I’ve arrived at my destination.  Good to see you and hope to see you again.’

He left and left me sad and angry.  I have no words.  Yesterday I learned that the brother of my sister’s husband and his son were also killed, in Jabaliya. How many more people will be killed?

When will it be enough for the Israelis?  If they’re vampires they should have got enough of our blood.  Maybe it will never be enough for them until they see us all dead.

Not a diary, just statistics

16th February 2024

128 days of war on Gaza.

35,176 people killed and missing under the rubble or not reached yet due to military operations.

28,176 killed people reached the hospitals, among them:

• 12,300 children
• 8,400 women
• 340 medical staff
• 46 civil defence personnel
• 124 journalists

7,000 people missing, 71% of them children and women.

67,784 injured, 70% of them children and women.

11,000 injured in need of treatment outside Gaza – dangerous injuries in need of life-saving treatment.

10,000 cancer patients facing death due to lack of treatment.

700,000 infected by contagious diseases.

8000 infected with hepatitis due to displacement and malnutrition and unsafe water.

60,000 pregnant women are at risk due to lack of proper health treatment.

350,000 patients at risk of health deterioration or death due to lack of medication and proper health treatment.

2 million dispossessed people (internally forced displacement).

142 governmental facilities destroyed.

100 schools and universities totally destroyed.

295 universities and schools partially damaged.

184 mosques totally destroyed.

266 mosques partially damaged.

3 churches destroyed.

70,000 housing units totally destroyed (housing around 150,000 people)

290,000 housing units severely damaged (housing around 1,450,000 people)

66,000 tons of explosives hit Gaza.

30 hospitals are out of service because of the Israeli military attacks.

30 primary health care units are out of service because of the Israeli military attacks.

123 ambulances targeted and destroyed.

200 sites / buildings of architectural / historical interest – destroyed.

Hospital

In Rafah, there are no real hospitals, only four centres which are called hospitals, but are much less than a real hospital, a bit more like a primary health care centre. One of them is a maternity unit only.

Last night my mother got very sick again, with uncontrolled vomiting causing internal bleeding. It’s a nonstop vomit mixed with blood, comes out dark, the colour of coffee, with pain. It started at 6:25 in the evening, there was nothing to do, it was dark, fear, movement is very risky. No sleep at all, waiting for daylight. At 6:25 the next morning, I went to the nurse, the neighbour, who helped give my mother the medication through her veins. It’s happened twice since I arrived in Rafah, this is the third time. Normally as soon as she gets the medication, the vomiting stops.

I did not find the nurse at home, he is on a night shift at the hospital and he won’t be back before 10 am. I am in a strange city and I don’t know enough. But I know Abu Khaled Abdelal, I approached him, asking for a doctor or a nurse to help my mother. Immediately he called a friend, an old, experienced nurse, Abu Wasfi. In less than 15 minutes he was here, he did what should be done, he gave her the medicine in her vein. The vomiting continued; I thought it would take some time until it worked but it did not work this time. It was now 11 am, and she was still vomiting and bleeding. No choice, I must take her to the hospital. The hospital was not the first choice because we all know that due to the huge demand on hospitals, the huge number of injured people, and the collapse of the health system, doctors are obliged to prioritise to whom they give service. An 83-year-old woman will not be a priority.

I went to the hospital, entered the emergency room. It is so difficult to explain what it looks like. The emergency room is a hall of around 14 x 6 meters with 20 hospital beds. Hundreds of people in the place, all beds are occupied, many patients are on the ground, doctors and nurses are moving everywhere treating injured people and sick people wherever they are, on beds, on the ground, in the corridor. The floor is very dirty, needles, cotton balls and bandages full of blood, dirt, spilt water, making the place dirtier. All the while there are two workers cleaning, doing their best to collect whatever they can, yet the place is a mess. 

The noise is a mix of cries of pain, shouts of people calling doctors to take care of their beloved ones, talks, chats, electronic sounds of medical machines. After more than 30 minutes, I was finally able to talk to a doctor about my mother. She was in her wheelchair, and he walked with me while I was explaining her situation and what we gave her. He looked at her, and then approached a nurse asking her to take some blood from my mother for CBC and chemistry tests. Then he left, the nurse was busy with other patients and injured people, she came back after 20 minutes, checked my mother’s blood pressure, and she inserted the cannula in her vein, took the blood sample and asked us to take it to the lab. The doctor came back 20 minutes later, he checked my mother’s chest, and he asked the nurse to give my mother some medication through a vein. 

After 2 hours, the blood test results came back, there is inflammation in her blood, we need a specialised doctor to decide the right medicine. They ask us to wait until he comes; they said he will be there in 10 minutes. One and a half hours passed, and no one showed up. I kept asking about the doctor who was supposed to check on my mother, but no one had any answer, they don’t know, maybe he is in another section, maybe he left. I searched for him in all the hospital sections but could not find him. All this time my mother was becoming weaker and more tired. She wanted to leave, she could not stay in the wheelchair anymore, it was so painful after more than 3 hours.

Finally, we decided to leave. My mother hadn’t vomited for an hour and a half, so we hoped for the best and decided to look for a private doctor tomorrow.

While I was there at the hospital, three injured people died; two were severely injured, and the third had internal bleeding, while the outside of his body was not hurt.

It is 9:32 pm, I am writing this piece and my mother is on her bed again vomiting and barely able to breathe.

The last shelter / the last resort

“Civilians will not be harmed. We do not intend to harm civilians. This is a war against terrorists. All civilians must leave Gaza City and the north of Gaza and go to the middle area and the south, to Khan Younis and Rafah. These are the safe shelters.”

From most of Gaza City and the north, more than a million people left for what was called ‘safe shelter’.

The middle area, the south, Khan Younis and Rafah. Were they really safe? Bombing and airstrikes followed the civilians, leaving thousands dead and huge destruction.

A month later, all civilians in the middle area were required to go south to Khan Younis and Rafah, safe areas, safe shelters.

People fled from the middle area, dispossessed, forced to leave, to survive. They saw what had happened to those who did not leave Gaza City and the north.

But Khan Younis and Rafah were not any safer. Killing, bombing, shelling, airstrikes followed them, again leaving thousands dead and huge destruction.

A month later, all civilians had to leave Khan Younis and go to Rafah. Rafah is safe.

More than two thirds of the Gaza Strip population is squeezed into Rafah. The last resort, the last safe place for the civilians of Gaza. Is it really safe? Still bombing, shelling, airstrikes follow people, leaving thousands of dead and huge destruction.

Last night was an example of what is coming to Rafah. 162 people killed in 2 hours, as usual the majority women and children.

People are stuck and paralysed. People have no choice at all.

Since they began talking about invading Rafah, the city changed; the market is less crowded, there are fewer street sellers, no one is moving once dark comes.

At home, most of our talk is about what to do, where to go. Shall we stay? Shall we move again? But to where? And we end the conversation without any answer. We are stuck.

Everyone I meet raises the same questions: Are you staying? Are you planning to leave Rafah? Where would you go?

I don’t know.

We called our daughter Salma, who is in Egypt now. For more than fifteen minutes she was only crying, afraid for us, and we are afraid too. She asks the same questions, and we could provide no answers.

We don’t know.

Why should any human being have to go through this horror? Why?

Rafah is the last city, the last resort. Then the border with Egypt; the border with high walls, huge barbed wire, many observation towers, no access.

Now they call for a military operation in Rafah. Where will people go?

The terrifying stories from Gaza, the north, the middle area and Khan Younis leave people in an unbearable state of panic.

People don’t know what to do, where to go.

Empty head, full heart

My head is empty.  There is nothing in it, like a stone, closed, blocked, do not receive, do not send.  My heart is full, can’t take the pain anymore, can’t be moved anymore.  I am not going to talk about people I meet anymore, like my colleague, Shereen whom I meet today for the first time since October 5th.  I could not recognise her, very thin, very small, very dark face, the very best image of a broken human being.  I am not going to tell any more about how many times she had to evacuate, from Beach Camp to Nasser Street in Gaza,  from Nasser to Bureij Camp in the middle area, to Zawayda, to Khan Younis, to Rafah and with each displacement losing part of her family, losing part of her soul.

What am I doing?  I said I don’t want to talk about these things.  My head is empty and my heart is full, no more space for any sad stories.

I want to dream. Yes. I will dream.  I dream now. I am dreaming that I am having a nice meal, a big meal, a meal with no canned food, only fresh food, fresh chicken, and a steak, a very soft, juicy steak of meat. Beside it a big plate full of all types of fruit, bananas, apples, oranges, strawberries.  And the dessert is a big cup of ice cream, topped with a shiny, red cherry.  Yes, this is what I want.  

I don’t want to think about the dead around me.  I don’t want to know how many were killed today.  I don’t want to know that there is no more blood to spare at the Nasser Hospital in Khan Younis and that injured people are bleeding to death.  No, I don’t want to talk about people in Gaza City, more than 600,000 people are starving to death because the Israelis do not allow food aid to reach Gaza and the north. I don’t want to talk about people outside with no shelter, no food, no clothes, in the cold, under the rain.  I don’t want to talk about the children who suffer hunger, pain, fear, panic and no-one can assure them safety or secure them food.

I want to dream.  I dream now.  I am with my wife and my daughter driving on the sea road, having hot cups of good coffee, listening to music, recalling nice memories and laughing together, yes, together, myself, my wife, Abeer and my daughter, Salma, having fun, with no fear, no worries, just having a good time.

I am not going to talk about the hundreds of messages I receive every day from people I know and people I don’t know, asking for help, asking for a tent, or plastic sheets, or clothes for their children, or food, or any kind of life-saving items. I am not going to talk about my feelings when I receive these messages and I can’t meet 1% of these needs.

I want to dream, only dream, dream that I am waking up at 6.30 am in my bed, in my home, taking my dog for a walk and then come back, have a shower, have my morning coffee, getting dressed and going to my job.  Nothing more.  This all I dream about.

Message from a dear friend

I am writing some diaries during a war. I share them with many friends in the UK, Belgium, France, USA, Austria, Australia, Sweden, Switzerland and some other countries.  They share them widely. They translate them into their languages and share them more.  Some great old and new friends read them and share them on their FB pages.

One of these friends is Marianne Blume, a very dear and very close friend from 1995, when she came as a teacher of French language to Gaza.  We met.  We became friends.  She connected us with theatre makers in Belgium, Phillipe Dumoulins and Claudine Artz, and through this connection we were able to perform in Belgium, France and Luxembourg for several years.

Marianne is reading my diaries and she sent me this voice message a few days ago.

Marianne:  ‘Hossam, you write a lot but you don’t tell what you feel, how you feel.  Personally, I know that you watch horrible things and you want to tell us how you live but how is Hossam inside?  This is what I want to know.  Big, big kiss.

Dear Marianne, I am trying my best to ignore my feelings. I don’t have the luxury or the opportunity to think of me or my feelings.  I can tell you and you only, that I am afraid. I look strong but I’m very weak, afraid for my family, for Salma, if something happens to me.

For my old mother, what would happen to her if I die?

I try not to think, because thinking will kill me.  I get involved in my job and in helping people so I don’t have time to think.

I am tired and want to rest.

I want to cry and can’t find my tears.

Only now, while writing this to you could I cry, I’m crying now and thank you because I need it.

Marianne:  My dear Hossam, I understand but I was feeling that you were there in your texts but absent from yourself.  Take care.  All my thoughts are with you.

I thought that my other friends should also know how I feel, so I wrote it down and am sharing it with you.