Author: admin

Winter, wind and water

At 2am Abeer was calling me to wake up.  She went to the toilet and felt her feet wet.  She put on the light of her mobile, water everywhere.  Half my mattress, my blanket completely wet, the room full of water, the sitting room too.  We woke up everybody, trying to figure out where the water came from. We wiped up the water.  We moved the wet mattress and blanket.  Luckily it was only my stuff that was wet otherwise it would be a catastrophe; how could we secure mattresses and blankets for 11 people.  I share with Abeer her mattress, 60cm wide and her blanket.

It was very heavy rain last night.  The water entered through the balcony of the room.

Went out, I will visit some NGOs, maybe they can give me a mattress and blanket.

I also bought some honey for my nephew, Hisham, who got hepatitis.  My brother installed his tent in a small area 1km away from where I live.  In that spot there are at least 30 tents.  As I arrive there, people are moving everywhere, crowds and noise, many carrying wet blankets and mattresses, putting them on top of the tents to dry. To dry?? While it is still raining, the small camp of tents drown in the rain, including my brother and his family.  Now I have to look for mattresses and blankets.  I don’t know how.  I don’t know who to address.  Thousands and thousands of tents drown in the rain. What can people do?  Who can help them?  More than half a million people drown in the rain.  Tents did not help.  Poor tents flew away, broken by the wind and the rain.  Children and women everywhere crying, screaming, men moving astonished, helpless, tired, exhausted, sad, angry, unable to do anything, running after pieces of their tents, trying to fix what can’t be fixed, and still the wind and the rain go on.

I saw my problem as very small.  I can still share with Abeer the 60cm wide mattress and one blanket.  I still have a concrete roof over my head.  You see, I’m lucky! Should I be thankful??

Another day under war

My nephew called me yesterday, his mother who is receiving dialysis treatment got a chest infection.  She is at the hospital.  She is in need of medicine that is not available at the hospital.  He can’t find it.  I spent half a day moving from pharmacy to pharmacy, from UNWRA clinic to a government clinic and did not find it either.

Today my nephew called me again.  His younger brother got an infection, hepatitis A, like thousands of other people due to lack of clean water and hygiene.  Medication is not available. Doctors asked him to give his brother honey and sweet things that don’t include oil.  I don’t know if this is an alternative cure or what.  They can’t afford it.  I will buy it tomorrow.  There is a kind of low-quality honey in the market that arrived with some humanitarian aid and is sold at double the price or more.

Diseases of all kinds spread among people: hepatitis, skin diseases, chicken pox, skin inflammation, fleas, bugs and many other diseases I don’t know the English for.  The spokesman of the Ministry of Health is talking about more than 20 diseases spread among displaced people in shelters, schools, tents, overcrowded homes, with very limited quantities of unsafe water. Gaza used to suffer from scarcity and poor quality of water before 7th October.  Today when most of the people are pushed into a very small place, no electricity to operate desalinisation units, people  are obliged to use whatever water is available and only for life-saving needs such as drinking, cooking and cleaning if possible.

Today I received news of the killing of a father of a colleague in Khan Younis. Today I received news about a bombing of a very respected person, a professional psychiatrist who was on the roof of Al Aqsa University in Khan Younis trying to bring some water to the water tanks on the roof when a drone targeted him.  Today I learned that a theatre colleague in Gaza was killed with his family when Israeli air force struck his home.  Today a man was going back to Bani Suhaila in east Khan Younis to check on his father who remained there and he found him shot dead and wrapped in a carpet inside his home.  He tried to dig a grave at his home but the drones were in the sky.  He was afraid. He left his father’s body inside the house and came back to Rafah.  Today I went back with my wife, Abeer, to Sawarha near Nuseirat to bring her family some food and hygiene materials and what I saw on the road from Rafah was heart-breaking.  I passed by Tel Al Sultan in Rafah, then Mawasi near Khan Younis, then Deir Al Balah, then Sawarha.  Thousands and thousands of tents of all kinds, many were broken and torn by the wind.  These are windy and rainy days.  People looked so sad, desperate, children with very light clothes, many without shoes on their feet, sorrow, sadness and helplessness.

Death and agony, this is Gaza and nothing else.

Miracles

Miracles are countless in the bible, in the Quran. In methodologies, the saviour always appears to rescue the poor ones; the sea is separated by a touch of a stick to save poor people;  heroes and prophets appear from nowhere to save them.

In Gaza: no saviours, no heroes, no prophets.

Children are dying and no miracle; men, women and old people are dying and no miracles!  People displaced once, twice, four times, twelve times and each time they have to start from scratch, looking for shelter, food, water and no miracles.  Diseases spread among people with no cure or health services and no miracles.  Fields are destroyed and no miracles; factories are bombed and no miracles;  roads damaged and no miracles; animals slaughtered and no miracles; trees grasped from the roots and no miracles;  graves destroyed and corpses brought up and no miracles; life stopped and no miracles;  schools and universities destroyed and no miracles.  How does God see this and do nothing?

I hate miracles

Abu Hamza

Like every evening, some people gather in the side yard of Abu Khaled’s home. The fire is lit, the tea pot on the fire, men come, men go until 8 or 9pm, until the last guest leaves.

Abu Hamza was one of the guests this evening. A 55 year old man, tall, big, with a beard. I entered while they were talking. Abu Hamza was telling them what happened to him last night in Khan Younis.

He has a 3 storey home near the Mawasi area in Khan Younis not far from the sea. The area that the Israeli army kept telling people to go to and considered a safe area. 

Abu Hamza speaking:

“It was a hell of a night. Bombing, shelling, striking, heavy shooting did not stop for a single minute, very near to our home.

   

We are about 70 people. Several families gathered together after many of us were displaced                                from Gaza and the middle area. The oldest of us is over 80 years old and the youngest is 3 months. Boys, girls, men, women, all ages. 

Out of fear, we gathered in two rooms on the second floor. Suddenly, around 2am, we heard a huge noise. Crash. A bulldozer broke through the wall of the house on the first floor. Heavy shooting inside our home from more than an hour. We don’t know how this hour passed.

After an hour, we heard movement inside the house. Many people are invading the house, climbing the stairs, the doors of the rooms where we hide are broken by a group of Israeli soldiers. Shouting in a strange language, the soldiers started to push us downstairs. Children scream, women cry, men pray and soldiers kept shouting and pushing us downstairs and out of the house. In the street there were several tanks and armoured vehicles. They separated us; the women and children on one side, the men on the other. A soldier speaking Arabic, addressed us shouting all the time:

• Take off your clothes. All your clothes.

Another 2 soldiers beside him were shouting around us and in the air. We started taking our clothes off except for our underwear. He kept shouting:

• Everything, take off everything.

Some soldiers started beating us randomly with their feet and guns. 

• Lie down! Lie down!

He kept shouting,

• Face down! Everyone lie face down! Hands behind your backs! Hands behind your backs!

Our faces to the ground and the screaming, the crying of our women and children, is passing through our ears like knives cutting our hearts.

They left us for around an hour in this position. Then they start to retreat. We could not see; it was one of the darkest nights, no moon, no stars and of course no light. As they left, the one who spoke Arabic kept shouting:

• Go to Rafah! Don’t stay! You will die if you stay! Go to Rafah!

And this is what we did. We came to Rafah. 

It was 4am, the very slightest light of dawn when we entered our home. We entered through the front door, we ignored the big hole in the wall they had made, we considered there to still be a wall there. We gathered whatever we could; mattresses, blankets. personal things and we moved to Rafah.

We arrived at 6.30am. Now we are in several different houses, temporarily separated. Full houses that can only receive us for a few hours. We need to rent some flats. At least two.”

Abu Khaled was, as usual, doing what he knows best, trying to help, calling people he knew to see if they had empty flats for rent. It became late. They did not find a place today, maybe tomorrow.

Abu Khaled said:

• Abu Hamza, please bring all the women and children here to my home for tonight. I think the men can manage. I wish I had enough place for all of you, but you know that the house is already full of displaced people. We can receive the women and children here until you can manage.

And this is what happened. All 30 women with their children came and spent the night at Abu Khaled’s home. Don’t ask how they managed without mattresses or blankets or even enough space to absorb them. They managed.

Writing and painting

Basil Marquosi, my life-long friend, the artist, the painter, put a statement on Facebook saying: 

I am painting to feel alive.

It seems I am doing the same; I am writing to feel alive when life has stopped having any meaning, when life is only a daily journey to look for food and water like any animal in the wild. When life has no purpose, writing gives me some purpose, a kind of reason to stay alive.

Basil lives with his family, his wife, 3 or 4 children, a daughter-in-law and her baby child and 2 strangers, friends of his son, who have lost contact with their parents for more than 2 months and have no place or anyone to take care of them. They all live in a tent, a poor plastic sheet tent. He has no income, has no money, spending his whole day trying to secure some food from charity or humanitarian aid. 

At night, by the light of his mobile, he paints. He has no colours, he has no canvas, he has no paint brush, he uses whatever paper he finds and with a pencil or a pen he paints. This is the time he feels alive still.

I am in the rented flat, writing, trying to describe what I witness or what I passed through during my day.

In the morning, I took my wife to her work, it’s in Zorob Square, normally a 7 minute drive from where I am in Junaina neighbourhood in Rafah. It took at least 40 minutes due to the huge crowds on the roads, especially outside shelter-schools. Thousands of people in the street, making driving almost impossible.

Not far from Abeer’s workplace at Humanity and Inclusion Organisation, there is an aid distribution store. Yesterday, I received a message to go to that address to get a food parcel. I went there, they gave me some vegetables and some tins of food – 2 kg of tomatoes, 3kg of potatoes, 1kg of eggplant, 5kg of green peppers and 1 kg of lemons, 2 tins of brown beans, 2 tins of white beans, 2 tins of tuna. They compared my name on the list with my name and ID number, then asked me to sign. This is the first time I receive a food parcel since I arrived in Rafah. I asked:

• Is this a regular food parcel? Weekly, bi-weekly or monthly? 

They answered:

• There is no schedule. We can’t guarantee receiving this aid and we try to reach as many displaced people as we can.

Displaced people? They are more than a million. There were about 200 parcels in the store. When will they be able to reach all the displaced people? And what will people do until they reach them? How are they going to eat? And if the food parcel is finished, when can they get another one?

I left with my food parcel back to Rafah town. My older brother is calling:

• Yes?

• Our middle brother and his family, 4 boys and 1 girl, escaped from Khan Younis and they are on the streets.

• Oh God, not again. What can I do?

• They are in need of a tent.

• Is there a space for the tent? It took you 3 days to find your space.

• I reserved a place near me for them.

• But I have no access to tents.

• Please try.

• I will do my best.

I don’t know what to do. This is too much. Where can I get a tent? The first one was a challenge, not easy. I must call some people, I don’t know if I will succeed this time. Also the mattresses. the blankets, the food??!!

My nephew is calling:

• Yes dear?

–  My mother (the one who has kidney failure) has a chest infection and we can’t find the medicine

• What medicine?

• Lorex, Augmentin, Azcir – any of these three.

• Ok my dear, I will try my best.

Oh God, is there any end to this nightmare?

Game of death

When the life of a whole nation becomes only the quest for food and shelter, running away from death that chases them from place to place, from Gaza City and the North to Nuseirat, from Nuseirat to Deir Al Balah, from Deir Al Balah to Khan Younis, from Khan Younis to Rafah, from Rafah to nowhere. No escape anymore. 1.2 million people squeezed into a very tiny place, and still the bombing, the shelling, the air strikes following them, killing them, cutting them in pieces, deprived from shelter, from food, from healthcare, from water, from safety.

Then what is the purpose of life?

Our life reminds me of cheap movies about some rich businessmen who pay to have the chance to chase and hunt to death some poor people. The organiser of these games makes it easy for the rich to succeed and never easy for the poor to escape. In the end, the rich men succeed and kill the poor ones.

We are the poor people. We run. We try to escape. We look for a place to hide, to survive, and during this odyssey many fall dead, many fall injured, many fall sick, many fall hungry, many fall handicapped, children become traumatised, dignity becomes a luxury, having a shower becomes a dream, using a toilet like a human is a myth, sleeping on a mattress is difficult, finding a blanket is a challenge. Agony and death are the only sounds in the air.

Solidarity and other things

Since I arrived in Rafah, I’ve witnessed all types of solidarity; welcoming support. Hundreds of families opened their homes for displaced people from Gaza and the North, for free, sharing all that they have with them. Abu Khaled Abdelal, the man who received me with my mother, was no exception, hundreds like him. Hundreds of landowners gave their land for displaced people to build their tents. Hearing such stories makes you feel good, relieved; you believe that humanity is still there despite the war, despite the fact that these homeowners are also suffering the war, the famine, the agony and the daily search for food and basic needs.

I said hundreds. In Rafah, there are thousands of homes that are not the same. Again like in every crisis, in every war, there are always the ‘war advantage takers’. Many homes are provided for free, many other homes are rented for huge amounts of money and those who have the ability to pay are very limited. Normal rental price in Rafah is $100 – $150. Some ask for $1000, like the homeowner who rented me this flat. Some even ask for much more.

This is only one image of ‘war advantage takers’. Since mid-November, some local businesses were allowed by the Israelis to import food items and all that they brought was sold at 10 times the original price. Moreover, they did not think about what people need, they thought about what is more profitable for them. While there is bread flour scarcity, they import biscuits, selling a $0.5 biscuit bar for $2. Instead of importing cooking oil, they import the cheapest cans of juice, selling them for 5 or 6 times the original price. Those businesses are an extra burden on the starving people. And while the authorities have collapsed – no monitoring, no accountability – they do what they want.

 

Writing Again

For a while I’ve been trying to write but something is pushing me back. Am I busy? Yes, but over the last days I was over-busy yet I was able to write.

In Rafah I could not write more than 5 or 6 times. Something prevented me. I think the situation around me here in Rafah is beyond words or description. When one million people are squeezed and pushed into less than 5km square, the image cannot be reflected in words.

Thousands of tents with thousands of families everywhere, in every empty space, in the streets, on the pavements, without water, without toilets, without food, without blankets, without beds or mattresses, without privacy and without dignity. Walking around I can see nothing but misery and heartbreak. Thousands of children in the streets, thousands of street sellers and the majority are children and young people. Mosques, almost every hour, are calling out names of lost children looking for their families. Crowds and crowds. Walking 100 metres takes more than 30 minutes. Using a car is impossible and there is no fuel anyway. Some cars are using cooking oil instead of fuel making the price of cooking oil increase by treble the original price, like everything in the market. Scarcity in all types of basic needs.

10 days since Abeer arrived with her family and I found them this terrible place, a closed store, like a prison cell. At least they have a roof above their heads. I left them there and went back to Abu Khaled Abdelal’s home to stay there with my mother. The second day I passed by them, brought them some food and went to the UNRWA clinic in Tel Al Sultan in west Rafah. The UN agencies are taking a space there for humanitarian coordination meetings. I went to one of these meetings. No point in mentioning anything about it – complete catastrophe and helplessness – all UN agencies are unable to help or do what they should be doing. UNICEF, the WHO, the World Food Program and many other agencies and International Humanitarian Organisations – they do their best and their best meets almost 5% of the real needs of the people. They are weak, they have no power over the Israelis, to oblige them to allow humanitarian aid to enter Gaza, so they coordinate and distribute whatever the Israelis allow into Gaza.

I went out, walking, in the place that has become the most crowded spot on Earth. Tel Al Sultan neighbourhood in Rafah – almost half a million in 1km square – and in this crowd, from nowhere, someone is calling my name. It is the oldest son of my brother who I left in Deir Al Balah at Al Aqsa Hospital.

• What’s up?

• They are bombing beside the hospital and sent messages to people to leave. We left yesterday, we spent the night in the street near Alnajjar Hospital in Rafah.

• Where are your mother, father and brothers now?

• They are still there.

• What are you doing here?

• Some people advised me to come to Tel Al Sultan to look for a place.

• Ok. I will leave you for now, I will call you back.

I did not know what to do  I must find something. I start calling friends, looking for a tent. In the afternoon, a friend working for a local organisation called me to say that there is a small tent available.

I went to him and called my nephew. He came and took the tent. I gave him some food and some money, asking him to find a place to install the tent and call me back about the place he found.

The next three days trying to call my brother, his sons, could not reach them. I got so worried. Finally, he appeared, for three days he was busy looking for a spot in Rafah to install the tent. He had not found a place yet. He was also busy with his mother’s dialysis treatment which takes hours and hours of waiting as all the dialysis patients are gathered in one hospital in Rafah.

Back to Sawarha again

On Thursday I went to Sawarha with some supplies for my wife and her family – some food and hygiene items.

On Friday Abeer called, very anxious and panicked. The bombing, shelling and air strikes did not stop in Nuseirat near Sawarha. People started to evacuate from there. There was random bombing near the house, they did not sleep. The news is that the sea road is safe from north to south but no-one is allowed to move from south to north or the middle area. 

They can’t leave alone. Our car is there but with no fuel. I spent all day looking for 6 litres of benzene, just enough to drive from Sawarha to Rafah in the south. Knowing the risk I am going to take by going north, I did not think for a single minute not to go. They can’t manage, they are 10: 3 children, 4 women, an old man and a young man, paralysed with fear – I know that he won’t be able to help. Could not secure the fuel until 9pm, never mind the price, (normal price is $2/litre, I paid $34/litre for 6 litres).

A friend of Abu Khaled, his business partner, a man I had never met before these days, offered to take me in his mini-jeep to help bring the family and whatever belongings we can bring such as mattresses, blankets, food, cooking gas and a gas cylinder and the gas itself, some kitchen items. If we don’t bring these things we will not find any at all in Rafah.

I can never thank him enough. He knew the risk. He could lose his car in a bombing, yet he did not hesitate. He even said that it was full of diesel so I shouldn’t worry about it.

Driving very early Saturday morning at 6am, the main road between Rafah and Khan Younis is completely empty. Avoiding Khan Younis city as there is the military invasion there, we turn west 2km before Khan Younis towards the sea road.

Since I was here the day before yesterday, new homes and buildings were destroyed. Parts of the roads were almost blocked by fallen rubble. But we managed.

Along the sea road, some movement – all kinds of cars, vehicles, trucks, jeeps, full of belongings and people all going south. Some people are in the streets. Driving and expecting the worst, but no choice. We continue. By Deir Al Balah, the city in the middle area, huge crowds of people are blocking the road, moving everywhere, looking for something called safety and shelter. Many can’t find it.

Normally it is only 22km from Rafah to Sawarha and takes 30 minutes to drive but today is different. I arrived at 8.25am. They were asleep after a long night of bombing, shelling and heavy shooting shaking the house all night. They fell asleep out of tiredness and fear. The good thing was they had prepared everything. All the stuff they need to take was packed and ready to be loaded on the cars. I put the benzene in our car, packed the stuff, distributed the people in the 2 cars and started the trip to Rafah. Rafah, where there is no place at all any more.

Rafah, the last city in the south of Gaza with borders with Egypt, inhabited by 200,000 with poor infrastructure, similar to all Gaza Strip cities and camps. Now hosting one million two hundred thousand people. Don’t ask how. For sure not in the houses – they are completely full. Wherever you look, in every empty space, at every roadside: tents, all kinds of tents, tents (good ones) received from humanitarian aid organisations, tents made from plastic and nylon sheets, tents made from pieces of fabric. More than 1 million people in tents, without toilets. People, mainly women, knock on doors asking to use the toilet, men are in lines at the mosques waiting to use the toilets. Without any facilities, in front of some tents, people make small fires to heat or cook. Hundreds of families on the streets did not receive a tent. They don’t have money to buy wood and plastic sheets to make their own – these cheap materials became more expensive than gold for poor people. 

Here in Rafah I must bring my wife and her family. I think I was an angel in another life – I don’t know. I don’t really believe that.  But I was planning a meeting with my staff who are providing psycho-social support in shelter-schools for children. I was planning to meet them on Saturday to hear from them and to provide them with some support, to check if there is anything I can do to facilitate their work. So I called one of them to ask him to postpone the meeting for another day. I’m busy bringing my wife. 

This wonderful colleague from Rafah started to call people, looking for a place for them to stay. I was driving back, near Deir Al Balah, when he called me to say that he’d found a store, 6m by 2.5m square, including a toilet. It is in the centre of Rafah, in the middle of the main market. What luck! It is a 15 minute walk from where I am staying at Abu Khaled’s home. Adjacent to Al Awda Hospital in Rafah. We arrived around 2pm. In front of the store, a bombed house, rubble in the street. The owner had brought some workers to clean up. The door of the store was damaged. He brought a blacksmith to fix it. The family waited in the cars for an hour until the place was almost ready. Some works still need to be done inside, never mind, Abeer’s brother will do it. They were exhausted. I brought them some food and left. I could not stay any longer, I should go and check on my mother.

Two hours later, I passed by to see how they are. For sure no-one is happy. They are all so tired. Even our dog Buddy was quiet, sitting in the corner, and did not come to me when I arrived as he would usually. The place is hell. Not good, not comfortable, no light, some candles, yet a million times better than a tent on the street. No complaints.

I left them around 5pm. It gets dark, I could not stay. I must be beside my mother now. 

Next day….another story…

Agony

Today I went to Sawarha to see my wife Abeer and bring her some food and hygiene items which became very difficult to secure in Sawarha. I left home at 8.30 am.

In Rafah, the crowds are unbelievable. Moving, walking 100 metres takes at least 10 minutes. A city of 200,000 inhabitants with very weak infrastructure, received 1 million people. (I will late about Rafah at another time).

Looking for a taxi to Sawarha. The normal cost of one is $1.5. The first taxi asked for $150. I left him for another one, arguing the price, finally there was no-one cheaper than $65 with the condition that he would take other passengers on the way. I have no choice. We start moving. 30 minutes to get out of the city toward Khan Younis but not really reaching Khan Younis as there is the Israeli invasion there. Before reaching Khan Younis City, the driver rook roads that I never knew about, until we reached the coast road. 

Tents everywhere, people everywhere, street sellers of food items received from humanitarian aid are everywhere, making the road busy and crowded. The car on many occasions moved at the speed of a man walking.  We reached Deir Al Balah, then Zawaida, then Sawarha. A distance of less than 3km took more than 1hour and 20 minutes. A long line of cars, trucks, donkey carts, all types of vehicles are full of people, mattresses, stuff, cooking gas cylinders, jerrycans for water, bread flour, vehicles full to bursting, stuff tied with ropes, all are moving to the south, evacuated from Nuseirat. The image is like Judgement Day. People look very tired, very desperate, very unclean. Men are unshaven, young children crying everywhere, very afraid. You could feel the fear. You could touch the fear. They are going to Rafah, not knowing what they are going to do there. Everybody knows that Rafah is completely full; not only the houses, buildings or the public institutions but the streets, the parks, the side roads are completely full with tents and people. They are escaping from the bombing and the military invasion. They are running for their lives but have no idea where and what could happen to them. 

Some volunteers were trying to help facilitate the traffic but it was an almost impossible mission. Some cars stopped due to engine problems; no side roads to push them into out of the line of traffic. The road also passes by shelter-schools on the sea road which makes it more difficult; hundreds of street sellers in front of the schools, thousands of people move in and out, blocking the road. I am worried about being late. I must be back at 1pm otherwise my mother will worry.

From Rafah to Sawarha normally takes 20 minutes even with a normal traffic jam. Arrived at 11.30. Sawarha was quiet. It is 2.5km from the centre of Nuseirat, but the invasion continues. The Israeli army started the invasion in a small part of Nuseirat 2 weeks ago. Now they’ve almost invaded the whole camp, leaving behind them huge destruction and hundreds of people killed. Bombing, shelling, heavy shooting. 

I agreed with the taxi driver to take me to Sawarha and bring me back to Rafah, so I met Abeer for less than 10 minutes. Checked on her and the family, everyone is still alive but no-one is ok.

Buddy, my dog, was so happy to see me. I was so happy to see him too. He kept jumping on me and running around. I don’t want to leave. iIwant to stay with my wife and my dog. I want to go back home. I want to settle down, to lay down on my bed or sit on my balcony with my wife, my daughter and my dog as we used to to every evening, having some coffee. I need some rest and tranquility. Nothing more.

I discussed with Abeer the plan of their arrival to Rafah. Her parents completely refuse to leave until they see all the people in the area leaving. Abeer is unable to leave them alone, I don’t know what to do. What a complex situation. Trying to convince them is not helping. I understand that they are tired of moving and being displaced. They are too old for more agony. It is their only way to show that they are giving up. Time is running out. It will take me at least another 2 hours back to Rafah, to my mother. I left the stuff at the front door and left with the agreement of Abeer to communicate further on the mobile. 

The journey back to Rafah was the same, the same crowd, the same sad people, the same traffic of displaced people in cars and vehicles full of their basic needs, full of hundreds of street sellers of food aid items, full of agony.