August 22nd, 2014 by ANERA
Here are some words from our communications officer in Gaza, Rania Elhilou, who has asked that we share what she is going through.
Keep in mind that her story is just one from hundreds of thousands of ordinary people in Gaza who are fearing for their lives every day during this latest bombardment from Israel.
Friday, August 22, 2014
I am taking advantage of a little electricity to write this. Things are a little better with the electricity than they had been, but it’s really unpredictable. The worst is when it comes on at 2 AM. We scramble around boiling water to clean the baby’s bottles and pacifiers. We do laundry, clean and charge up our devices. It’s also an opportunity to get online. In the meantime, we try to be as quiet as possible because the kids are trying to sleep, and it’s already fitful for them because of the sounds that they fear from outside our home.
Last night we heard sporatic bombings. They feel more targeted, but still it’s unpredictable and we are scared all the time.
It was hard to look at their faces, where fear and anger has accumulated over the past 45 days. They were pale, sad and exhausted.
Two days I visited some sites where ANERA is delivering dignity kits to displaced women. It was hard to look at their faces, where fear and anger have accumulated over the past 45 days. They were pale, sad and exhausted. When they fled their homes, with only a minute or two to decide what to take, they all chose to bring things to take care of their children. They brought nothing for themselves. Living in shelters now, their personal dignity as women has been compromised and they don’t have the money to go and buy the things they need. The kits from ANERA came as a surprise to them. They’re full of things especially for women – toiletries, sanitary napkins, prayer dresses. One woman commented that she can breastfeed more comfortably now, because she has that dress.
The magnitude of the problems families are facing in Gaza is hard to overstate, but this small thing that ANERA is doing for 2,100 women has helped a little bit. This means a lot to me as a woman.
Thursday, August 21, 2014
In my neighborhood last night, things were pretty quiet. But my colleague Sabah al Moghrabi had a terrible ordeal. This is what she wrote to the ANERA staff in an email earlier today:
The windows imploded. There is glass on the floor and dust from the bombings everywhere, covering everything.
“While we were waiting for a truce or ceasefire or any good news, suddenly horrible airstrikes and bombings hit near my home. The windows imploded. There is glass on the floor and dust from the bombings everywhere, covering everything. We could not breathe, there was no electricity, and the noise of airstrikes and missiles made us crazy with fear. People were fleeing out onto the streets. We all thought that the same thing would happen to our neighborhood that happened in Shajayya. We thought about leaving our home, but where would we go? We heard many children all around us, in neighbors’ homes, shouting and crying. My son refused to go up to our roof to operate our small generator, because he was scared of what was happening outside. We all spent our night sitting in darkness in a corridor and we didn’t get any sleep until about 5:00 a.m.
We pray this very ugly war will end. Though I find myself asking, ‘What are we waiting for?’” We don’t know. There is no economy left and there is rubble everywhere.
Gaza has had to endure too much. We deserve a quieter, safer and better life.”
Wednesday, August 20, 2014
Once again things here are terrible. Negotiations have collapsed and the bombings began again last night at 11. We heard explosions through the whole night until the morning. During the day it’s been quieter, but I don’t see many people on the streets and our ANERA office is closed. It feels like we’re back to square one.
We take it day by day and hour by hour in this War of No Expectations — as some have dubbed it. We’re stuck inside where we pretend to live life in some sort of normal fashion. We cook, we clean, the kids play. But nothing’s normal.
Gaza is about the size of metro Philadelphia, with a similar population.
How much can people take. How much can this tiny land withstand? We are not a country. Gaza is about the size of metro Philadelphia, with a similar population. Imagine if there were a wall around Philadelphia and bomb after bomb was dropped into the area. How long before all of the infrastructure is destroyed and the people made homeless without water and other basics?
It’s horrible what’s going on. We have lost trust. We have lost hope of any kind. And, anyway, hopeful for what? Hopeful for little achievements that people outside of Gaza don’t give a second thought to: just a little breath of fresh air or a stroll down the street. Or a drink of water. We are not even allowed to hope for these small things.
I am not worried for myself. It’s the whole generation of children I worry about. This is all they know so far in their lives.
Tuesday, August 19, 2014
It’s been awhile since I’ve updated my journal, because we have had a ceasefire that has allowed us all in Gaza to go out in the streets and take stock of our situation. It’s grim. Piles of rubble are what’s left of so many buildings. In some places the smell of death is in the air. People are out trying to find the basics — food, water, etc. — and waiting for a peace agreement that will allow them to pick up the pieces and resume their lives.
Our ANERA Gaza staff is working at full capacity all the time.
Our ANERA Gaza staff is working at full capacity all the time. They’re delivering hygiene kits, water, food and medicines to hard-hit areas everywhere. I think I can speak for my colleagues when I say we are deeply depressed about what has happened to our communities, but our mission to help the people around us fills us with a great sense of purpose and pride.
Sunday, August 10, 2014
Everyone is okay, but everything is very complicated. We’re in a state of no peace and no war. We follow the news for answers and are not finding any. Sometimes it seems negotiations are speeding up and something is finally happening, and then we hear nothing else about it. No one seems to be able to make any predictions or analysis.
I didn’t go into the office today, but I was working hard from home. ANERA is delivering a lot of relief all over Gaza and it’s real job to keep up with the stories, stats and progress. And, when I am at home, I rely on my mobile mainly as my tool for work. I am fortunate to have a tablet too, but I am in constant competition with the children for it. Normally I regulate their use of it, but now I let them have it a lot, since it’s one of the few distractions open to them while they’re stuck for days and weeks on end indoors.
You know, I have been thinking about what normal is. I am not sure I remember. The abnormal has become normal in life here. Is it normal for babies to sweat because you can’t take them outside for a breath of air or turn on a fan for a little breeze or give them a bath to cool them off? Is it normal to have a bag ready with your life’s essentials ready at all times in case you have to flee for your survival? Is it normal to cut short the rare visits from people outside of Gaza because you fear for their safety? It is here.
Saturday, August 9, 2014
We’re still hearing bombings all the time. It’s not as intensive as it was before the ceasefire, but it’s regular and frequent. I talked to my colleague Ahmad, who lives in Khan Younis and is helping with ANERA’s water tankering there – the water situation is really dire in those communities. He told me that two people on a bike were hit with a bomb and he saw their body parts all around. He finally felt too vulnerable being out and went back to his house.
My family and I are also back at home, hunkered down in the central rooms of the apartment. Every now and then I go to the window and look out. What’s amazing me is that I am seeing so many people still walking around on the street. They seemed to have lost their fear. Their presence strikes me as statement of defiance and resilience.
Gaza people are really creative and nimble.
With everything Gaza has gone through over the past 7 years – blockade, three wars, shortages of every kind – you might think we are all helpless victims. But no, Gaza people are really creative and nimble. I am always impressed by how we find a way to make things out of so little or how we find hope despite what seems like an impossibly bleak situation. We never give up. Proof of this for me today was the miracle of electricity. Somehow, someway, we got four hours of electricity despite the fact that Gaza’s only power plant was practically destroyed last month.
Friday, August 8, 2014
Well, I thought that maybe the ceasefire would hold but at 8:00 this morning, just when it officially ended, the bombings started again. It seems the Zaytoon and Tuffah areas are getting hit mostly. I am so glad my parents are still here with us, because their place is in one of the affected areas. They were able to visit their home earlier this week and saw it already had been damaged – windows broken, the water tank shattered, the roof coming apart, and their beautiful garden in a shambles. We hope that it will keep standing through this latest round of bombings.
Once again we are glued to the news for any encouraging sign of a sustained ceasefire. But every station says different things. We don’t know who we can trust for reliable information. We are back in a fog of confusion and unpredictability.
For the past three days we were able to emerge a little.
For the past three days we were able to emerge a little. We went out and saw the terrible destruction everywhere, and heard heart-wrenching stories from people who have lost everything and are desperate. There is sad and terrible story to be heard on every street and in every area of Gaza.
I am still one of the few ‘lucky’ ones here. I have a monthly income and home intact. Even so, when my father went out yesterday to find us some bread, he had to wait for hours in a line. And when I went to a store that used to be filled with products, I saw that their shelves were half empty and the place was filled with dust. Prices are going higher and higher for everything. How long before there is nothing left?
When I wake up and realize still have blood flowing through my body, as do my loved ones around me, it’s enough. There’s this collection of emotions moving around inside of me and they come to the surface for brief moments. Sometimes I want to cry. Sometimes to laugh. Most of the time I basically feel numb and lost.
Tuesday, August 5, 2014
Today I have been going from site to site where ANERA has been distributing food parcels, hygiene kits and water. It feels really good to be meeting people face-to-face and talking to them about their experiences, though what they say breaks my heart. Many people were very easily moved to tears after I was able to get them to start telling their stories. I spoke to some who spent everything they had – their life savings – on building home for their families. Now they’re rubble. Some people told me they didn’t even have ID cards anymore. They’re annonymous now. There are so many terrible stories…
But I still have my home intact and my family is okay.
“I am them.” This is what I thought all day. I could just have easily been telling the same story. But I still have my home intact and my family is okay. This is a miracle and a treasure.
My family has pledged to remove the word “complain” from our vocabulary. When you confront the prospect of death every day for 26 days, and you make it out on the other side, nothing else matters. There is nothing to complain about. All of the people who are dearest to us are alive. Now we have to help our sisters and brothers around us rebuild their lives.
Starting today there is a 72-hour ceasefire. I am going to be optimistic and believe that it will hold and maybe even morph into something long-term. So I am taking a little hiatus from my journal, since I am so swamped now with work reporting on all the things our Gaza staff is accomplishing – thanks to the generosity of ANERA’s amazing community of supporters. Keep checking the ANERA site for stories and photos. I am going to keep them coming!
Monday, August 4, 2014
My family was shocked today when I suddenly decided I had to go to our ANERA office and visit some of the sites where we are helping. I looked out my apartment window this morning and saw a lot people walking up and down the street. Seeing them gave me the courage to venture out myself.
The city I traveled was not the same one that had been there 26 days ago. Everywhere there are piles of rubble where buildings used to be.
The place was absolutely packed with people who fled their homes in terror and with no place to go.
I went with my colleagues to a church that has offered refuge to displaced families. This is one of the sites where we are delivering food parcels today. The place was absolutely packed with people who fled their homes in terror and with no place to go. I was able to sit with the women to hear their stories. One woman said they have no money and cannot afford to buy bread. So, out of desperation, she risked going back to her home and to make some bread. But the bombs started falling and she had to take the bread out of the oven before it was finished and run back to the church. Her family ate it, even unfinished, because they were so hungry.
I was proud to be there at the church on behalf of ANERA, because we are making a direct difference to the families I met. Today we gave 588 families at the church food parcels, including bottles of water. And we’re on our way to distribute another 2,500 at nearby schools where more families are getting shelter.
One thing that struck me today is how people’s dreams have shrunken.
But, of course, these efforts are only the beginning of a long job to rebuild our lives. One thing that struck me today is how people’s dreams have shrunken to the basic necessities of life. They want water to drink. They want to bathe. They want food. One elderly man was terribly worried about not being able to get medicines for his diabetes. And all of them just want to go back to their own homes.
Sunday, August 3, 2014
There is barely enough water to drink, let alone wash.
I spoke with a doctor for a story about the medical supplies ANERA has provided her hospital with today. She told me that they have had over 4,000 injured people come in for emergency treatment since the bombings began. 40% of those have been children. She’s been seeing a lot of infections and other complications from lack of hygiene. This is really turning into one of our major problems here in Gaza. There is barely enough water to drink, let alone wash.
I also spoke to a woman whose family received some water from ANERA yesterday. She said that they haven’t bathed for many, many days. Her young son developed red sores all over his body and even had some bleeding. She had to take him to the hospital which was overflowing with people needing treatment. She has no money, and so she relies on the charity of the doctors, who are working non-stop to keep up with it all.
Every time I speak with displaced people, I cry. They don’t have any of the basics for maintaining the barest minimum of dignity – no food, no water, no clothes, no cleanliness…
I can’t overstate how much it means to me to be part of an organization that is doing something tangible to help.
Thank goodness for my work and for the work of ANERA. I can’t overstate how much it means to me to be part of an organization that is doing something tangible to help. When I spoke to the doctor today, for instance, she said that the antibiotics ANERA has just delivered stave off infections that could be life-threatening. Without ANERA’s help, people could literally be dying.
Finally, to my community of readers, I want thank you for letting me tell you my story. I feel committed to you all in a special way and I draw a lot of strength from knowing you’re out there. Don’t forget us here in Gaza!
Saturday, August 2, 2014
There was lot more shelling and bombing last night. The electricity has been out for many days. I am looking out the window right now and it’s eerily quiet here. There are many people out on the street. I see a donkey cart with wilted vegetables. There’s a man walking quickly with a couple loaves of bread in his arms. A boy is sitting on the sidewalk selling flipflops. While there is relative peace here at the moment, I know that Rafah in the south is being pummeled.
We keep hearing reports of more and more families displaced. It’s hard to keep up with the numbers. My aunt still has displaced families living in her yard. It’s a challenge for her to keep giving them food, clothes and especially water. They can’t bathe and they have nothing, but she tries to help however she can. We all do.
Do we all (try to) sleep in separate rooms so we have less of a chance of dying at the same time?
We are still 9 people in our apartment: me, my husband, our two children, my brother, his wife, my sister and my parents. Last night we had a very serious conversation: do we all (try to) sleep in separate rooms so we have less of a chance of dying at the same time? In the end, we decided to all be together, sleeping shoulder-to-shoulder in the same room. We need the strength of our love for each other right now.
Saturday, August 2, 2014
Last night we stayed awake counting the minutes to the ceasefire.
Last night we stayed awake counting the minutes to the ceasefire. We thought it would be the start of the end to the terrors we have been suffering. My family and I even prepared some coffee this morning and, for the first time in 26 days, we sipped it peacefully near a window with the sun coming in. But then our hearts were broken when we learned the ceasefire was breached. I think it is worse to have these moments of hope come and then be crushed. For a minute we open our eyes and see beyond this horror. But now we have to close our eyes again and go back into the darkness.
The ceasefire wasn’t even long enough to get humanitarian supplies, even as the humanitarian situation continues to deteriorate. The latest worry is sewage: how long is it before our waste starts running through the streets?
We do not hear bombings at the moment, but we know that there is intensive shelling in the south. I spoke with a journalist friend in Khan Younis and she told me that children have taken to making shirts out of black plastic garbage bags and writing “TV” in big letters on them. They think that this designation of “TV” gives the wearer protection so, out of desperation for their safety, they are giving it a try.
Thursday, July 31, 2014
We passed another night and we’re still alive. It was quieter. Course, I think you now understand that when I say “quieter,” it’s all relative. Last night there were a mere 4 targets bombed in my neighborhood. This is nothing compared to the way it was over the previous two nights. And nothing compared to the intensive assault happening in Khan Younis in the southern part of Gaza.
The connection and supply problems continue to worsen. We are now even having troubles contacting one another internally. But the ANERA Gaza staff (16 people) manage to find a way to check in with each other every day to make sure people are okay and to coordinate our work – though most of us aren’t leaving our homes.
I include a photo with my journal today. It’s a common sight right now in Gaza City: people wondering around with empty containers searching for water where ever they can get it. We also are seeing huge lines at bakeries. Bread-making on a large scale is a real challenge without electricity to run the mixers. My father went out and waited for an hour to get two loaves of bread.
There is a real humanitarian catastrophe brewing in Gaza
There is a real humanitarian catastrophe brewing in Gaza - little water for drinking and bathing, no electricity, weak network connections, trickles of fuel, few safe places to take refuge, low stocks of food…I could go on.
My mother, father, brother and his wife have all moved in with us because they have learned a mosque near my brother’s place (where they’d been staying) is going to be bombed. It’s a bittersweet thing, having them here. There’s no happy reason for their being with us and we worry about their home, but having my parents with me is so nice. I trust them completely and feel looked after and loved when I have them near.
Wednesday, July 30, 2014
Yesterday was just another day of of brutal attacks and heavy bombing. There was supposed to be a humanitarian ceasefire from 2:00 to 7:00 today, but I am hearing explosions in Gaza City, so it doesn’t seem to be holding.
The issue of hygiene is a growing health problem and infections are starting to spread.
My husband works for UNRWA as an architectural engineer. He was called in today to work on installing indoor and outdoor showers at the UN schools where displaced people are taking shelter. The issue of hygiene is a growing health problem and infections are starting to spread. So, I am glad that my husband can go and make a direct difference to suffering people. But I am very scared, because conditions are extremely dangerous. Yesterday three humanitarian relief workers were killed, two of whom are from the UN. This morning a school was bombed.
Another fear I have is getting totally cut off from the world. It’s clear that the power plant is not going to supply any more electricity until serious repairs can happen. And now I am noticing that my phone is getting a low signal, which probably means that the mobile networks are taking a hit. We still are able to get a luxurious two hours a day of electricity in my building, thanks to our generators. But how long will the fuel hold out? I have started to take handwritten notes, keeping my notepad near me all the time and writing with it held up close to my face so I can see what’s on the page. This way I capture my thoughts and have them ready either to type out quickly or to relate to a colleague in Washington.
I want to end this entry with a special appeal to people who are concerned about what’s happening in Gaza: PLEASE help displaced families. They are deprived of their dignity and humanity. We’re talking about hundreds of thousands of people seeking refuge where ever they can find it. For those who can get shelter in schools, it’s not uncommon for six families to be crammed into one school room. They’re scared and they have nothing. Please don’t forget them.
Tuesday, July 29, 2014
Last night was unbelievable, insane, horrible, huge… The escalation of bombings was intense in Gaza City. We literally cowered in a corner of our apartment all night. We didn’t sleep at all and the children screamed. It was truly terrifying.
Midnight was like midday as illumination flares were dropped to light up the city.
Midnight was like midday as illumination flares were dropped to light up the city. Though the illumination flares don’t kill, they make exactly the same noise as those that do, so they’re just as scary. At the same time there were loud explosions all around and very close to us.
The main fuel reservoir for the power plant was hit. So now I don’t think we will even be getting the few meager hours of electricity a day that we had been getting. I heard on the radio that the repairs to the power plant could take a year to complete.
Monday, July 28, 2014
Last night it was quiet enough that I got my first night’s sleep in 22 days. I am suffering from such extreme tiredness and exhaustion that I thought I might sleep myself to death.
It feels a little like I have come home after 22 days away…
My brother-in-law and his family have returned to their apartment to clean and take stock of the damage done by some bombings on their street. Now we’re just the four of us in our home. It feels a little like I have come home after 22 days away, even though we’ve physically been here for most of the time. One of the biggest inconveniences for me, as a woman, was the lack of privacy. We were all together in a couple rooms – men, women and children. Now I can dress comfortably and not worry about staying covered.
Though my heart is not into it, I am making a few efforts to observe Eid Al Fitr in our home. I am making dishes for our meal, from whatever we happen to have in our kitchen. I am letting Joudy play dress-up in my clothes. I have also done some cleaning, but nowhere near what I think is acceptable. The apartment just doesn’t look like it should on this special day.
Normally, Eid is a day when people go out and visit relatives for celebrations. Today, people are going to graveyards to visit the dead, or to their destroyed homes to salvage what they can of their belongings. I look out the window and see kids walking barefoot down the street. They have no place to go. Once again I am aware of how very lucky I am – I still have a home, I have a little electricity, my family is okay.
In the meantime, we keep checking the news for word of a ceasefire. But all of the different channels and sources contradict each other. We have no idea at all what is going to happen. Will I be able to get another night of sleep tonight?
Sunday, July 27, 2014
After the ceasefire officially ended, the shelling began again. It’s the particularly scary type – random and arbitrary. It seems to be coming right now from the east. Our apartment lies between the middle area and the sea and you could say we are at the gateway into the city. So we feel very vulnerable. No one is safe. Many hospitals and clinics have been bombed. Journalists and emergency relief staff have been killed.
In the meantime, it’s the eve of Eid. I was just remembering last year. I went out onto streets packed with people and filled with the holiday spirit. I shopped for our big meal and bought sweets and a new dress for Joudy.
When it gets dark, we just let it be dark.
Now, the streets are totally empty of people. There is no one. And there is no electricity. I look out my window and I see no lights in the neighborhood. When it gets dark, we just let it be dark. We don’t use candles because, with four children in the house, we are afraid that an accident could too easily happen. There is no light and no hope.
Recently I have noticed that the three preschool-aged children in our apartment are using some unusual vocabulary: ceasefire, truce, treaties, etc. They can distinguish between an immediate truce and a long-term ceasefire. They are prematurely aging. Despite our best efforts, they are becoming aware of the bigger world around them – a frightening world that is outside their parents’ control. As a mother, it’s terrible to feel slipping away from you the ability to give your children a sense of security and protection.
Saturday, July 26, 2014
Today, during the 12-hour ceasefire, people went out on the streets and did errands. Kids were on bikes. All of a sudden, despite all the terrible destruction everywhere, I saw something hopeful in those streets that temporarily came alive.
Today was the first time I saw my parents in 20 days.
We have had our Iftar. It’s still quiet outside. Today was the first time I saw my parents in 20 days. They have been at my brother’s – just 5 minutes away. My mother and I had warm hugs, as did the kids. I want to say that I was happy to see her, but when I dug inside myself for the emotion, I realized that wasn’t on the list of what was available to me anymore. Happiness is gone. Instead, what I felt was relief that she’s still alive. We were only there for a half hour. And when we parted from each other, we both wondered if we’d ever see each other again.
Friday, July 25, 2014
Every time I write this journal, I want to start it with, “I’m still alive.” We survived another day. Nothing ever gets any better. We wait and wait for crumbs of positive news, any hint that a ceasefire may come, but there is nothing. Meanwhile, we’re crammed into the apartment and can’t go out. We heard on the news that some mosques have been bombed during Friday prayers.
This is a time when we have to come together and take care of each other.
My aunt called to say that she has allowed displaced people from Shaja’ya to camp out in her backyard. She said they were in need of everything and wondered if we had some clothes we could donate. I put together a bag of things and was able to find a taxi to drive it over to her place. This is a time when we have to come together and take care of each other.
The electricity situation continues to be terrible. I have noticed that there are about 8 wires now that are strung from our building over to the one next door. This is to share with our neighbors the meager couple of hours of power that we get from our generator. We are the lucky ones. Most people have zero power. The power plant isn’t supplying it and fuel for generators is nearly impossible to find. I have now started using the battery from the car for recharging the phone. I don’t know how long we can go on before we don’t even have two hours of precious power.
You know what I just realized? It’s Sobhi’s and my seventh wedding anniversary today. Normally this would be an extended weekend of celebration. We would have done something nice to celebrate our special day and then we would have enjoyed our Eid on Monday with our families. But there is nothing to celebrate. We are perpetually in mourning.
Thursday, July 24, 2014
Things are still really bad here. We keep hearing about the heavy destruction in the north, south and east. I continue to hear the bombs as I write this. We had a HUGE explosion near our place yesterday. And we have also heard that an UNRWA school, where people were taking refuge, was hit. 17, so far, are known to have died from that one attack.
I can now see people from my window the displaced people from the Shaja’ya neighborhood, the one in the east so heavily bombed. They have nowhere to go and are walking up and down our street.
I think this may be the worst bombardment we have ever had, even worse than in 2008-09.
Yesterday we heard this little announcement on the radio about an upcoming 5-day humanitarian ceasefire, but when we cross-checked different news sources, we could find nothing. It was a phantom story. Instead, we heard that the ground incursion will widen. I think this may be the worst bombardment we have ever had, even worse than in 2008-09.
There is no electricity coming from the power plant at the moment. As I wrote earlier, it was badly bombed and those who might be able to make repairs are afraid to go to the facility. We were lucky to have our two hours of electricity from the generator last evening, during Iftar. Otherwise we live in the dark.
Last night Joudy, my five-year-old, said she didn’t want to go to sleep, that she was afraid. She has never actually said that word before. So I laid down with her and said, “Let’s close our eyes at the same time and imagine something happy we did together before all this began…”
Wednesday, July 23, 2014
When the lights come on we all rush to the outlets to plug in our cell phones to get charged up while we can.
Gaza’s main power plant was bombed and badly damaged. This has made an already bad situation worse. Now most people are without electricity entirely. Some, like in my building, are lucky enough to have a little fuel for their generators and therefore a couple hours of electricity a day. When the lights come on we all rush to the outlets to plug in our cell phones to get charged up while we can.
We still are able to listen to the news on our battery-operated radio. And it’s not good. UN schools are filled with people displaced from their homes. Hospitals are overwhelmed with the injured and low on supplies. Innocent people are getting killed all the time. I keep hoping for news of a ceasefire, but there is nothing.
One thing that is giving me strength is the work that ANERA has been able to do. My colleagues are braving dangerous conditions to go to our warehouse and to coordinate delivery of food and medicines at a time when they are desperately needed. It really means a lot to be part of an organization and a team that can make positive things happen in the face of so much adversity.
Tuesday, July 22, 2014
Well, I am so glad we decided to come back to our apartment. Near my brother-in-law’s building, which we left a couple days ago, there were very big explosions and we have learned that some of the windows in his place have been blown in. There is also damage to his balcony. I know I keep saying it, but no place is safe.
I even heard on the radio that a cemetery was bombed. Even our dead are not safe!
She said she literally had to walk over dead bodies to get away.
Today I wrote a story about ANERA’s distribution of food parcels to 500 families in Khan Younis and Rafah. I talked by phone with a couple different families and learned about the tragedies they are suffering. One woman talked about fleeing from their homes so quickly that they didn’t have time to put on shoes and they all scattered in different directions. She said she literally had to walk over dead bodies to get away.
The bombings continue just as intensively as ever. There was supposed to be a humanitarian ceasefire today from 9 to 3, but I don’t think it happened. The bombs just kept on coming. You know, we are becoming experts in diagnosing the sounds of bombs. We can tell what type is falling by the noise it makes. We also know what they hit by the sound of the explosion. Oh, that was a car. That hit a house. That one was a big building. We are acquiring some strange knowledge.
In one kind oddly bright piece of news, a local church has opened its doors as a refuge to all who are fleeing from their homes. Muslims and Christians are feeling their brotherhood. We are bonded over this and I, as a Muslim, feel it’s a very powerful and meaningful thing.
My daughter just ran over to tell me tell me something funny and she made me laugh. At these precious moments I think about how my emotions have been frozen by this terrible thing that is befalling us. You should see my face. It’s pale and expressionless. I stay stoic and strong for the children, but I know that this is not healthy for me. Sometimes when they are getting some rest I wish I could cry. I feel my heart crying but no tears ever come out of my eyes.
Monday, July 21, 2014
A few minutes ago there was a massive explosion right near our building. I heard on the news that some boys were playing soccer on the roof and they were killed.
We’re getting no rest at all. Things are changing and moving all the time and we are trying to keep up with it all.
This morning we smelled the smoke coming from Shaja’ya, the neighborhood that has been intensively bombed and is burning. I also have heard that phosphorous bombs are being dropped again, like in 2009.
Anyone can be killed at any time.
We feel that no one is safe. No one. There were reports that a clinic serving 200,000 people got bombed and doctors were killed as they treated the wounded. Doctors, journalists, mothers, children. Anyone can be killed at any time.
In the meantime, my children continue to scream through the night. My baby cannot be consoled. My five-year-old wants to sleep facing me and in my arms. She doesn’t want me to be out of her sight.
We are now 12 people hunkered down in the center of our apartment. My brother-in-law and his family have now come to us. The journalists in our building managed to get enough fuel to run the generators for a couple hours each day. So you see, we go back and forth between their apartment and ours. Back and forth we go, trying to guess where we might be safest or where we might be able to get a little electricity or water to sustain us.
Sunday, July 20, 2014
The sky was lit up with flames. I keep hearing reports of the dead and injured.
I feel like every day I say that the last 24 hours were the worst so far. You think it couldn’t get worse and then it does. Last night was really bloody and scary. There was heavy targeting of Shaja’ya, a neighborhood in the northeast of Gaza. The area was cut off and even ambulances couldn’t get in, despite the urgent requests of the ICRC. The sky was lit up with flames. I keep hearing reports of the dead and injured. Over 60 people so far have been found dead and there will certainly be more in the rubble of the houses. Hundreds of people have camped out in front of Al Shifa Hospital. They have lost members of their families, their homes and possessions. They have no where to go and are desperate. It breaks my heart.
My parents live very close to the affected area. So, when finally there was a brief ceasefire this morning, they left their home and went to my brother’s. Things have to be very, very bad for my parents even to consider moving from one place to another.
In one tiny bit of good news, we were able to get our water tank refilled. So now at least we have drinking water for a while. We have to conserve, though, on using water for cooking and cleaning. We don’t know when we’ll be able to get more.
I’m losing control of my children. Their screaming goes on for much of the night now and I am unable to calm them down. This ground incursion means that the threats and explosions are all around us, coming from every direction. Everyone feels vulnerable and no one knows what’s coming next. Will it be our neighborhood?
Saturday, July 19, 2014
We are back in our apartment. Yesterday we decided to come back in the hopes that the electricity situation would be better here. Our building has a lot of journalists in it and usually there are generators running more than in most other buildings. But we returned to find that the situation is no better than at my brother-in-law’s. There is no fuel for running the generators.
All day my husband has been calling the water supplier to get water delivered.
Without electricity, water can’t be pumped to our apartment. All day my husband has been calling the water supplier to get water delivered. It’s summertime. It’s very hot and we have about one day’s supply at our place. It is rapidly becoming our top concern. The little stores around the area that everyone relies on for basics are running out of everything.
Now we are debating about what to do. Do we go back to my brother-in-law’s? The reason is he is nearer to the main road, so if we need to evacuate quickly, it would be easier from his place than from ours. There’s also a little more water there – though for how long, who knows?
We’ve packed a small suitcase with some essentials. It’s ready by the door. Joudy, our daughter, asked “Where are we traveling to, mama?” If only…
Friday, July 18, 2014
One of my worst fears from the beginning of these bombings has come true: there is now a ground incursion into Gaza. We are being hit from three sides – north, east and west. Last night the shelling from the sea was particularly intense. Somehow those bombs feel more random and so they are much more frightening to us.
We heard on the radio that 80% of the electricity grid has been destroyed.
We heard on the radio that 80% of the electricity grid has been destroyed. Since no one can go out right now, it is impossible to do any repair work. Not having electricity means that we also will be running out of water, because our apartment buildings rely on electricity to pump the water into the apartments. Normally we might call a water tanker truck to come and fill our water tank on the roof of the building, but it also is not safe for them to go out.
So, now in addition to everything else, we are worried that we are going to run out of water. We have enough for 3 or 4 days, but then what?
One thing that has given me strength through all of this is the amazing outpouring of love and support I have gotten from relatives, friends and colleagues from outside of Gaza. People have been keeping in touch with me in every way they can find and I feel less isolated because of it. I thank you all for sharing these updates and for caring about what Gaza’s people are suffering through. Pray for us.
Thursday, July 17, 2014
Well, I am still at my brother-in-law’s house for the time-being. The bombs continued last night, but we just had a ‘humanitarian pause’ in the fighting so we could do some errands. I saw a lot of people leaving their homes during these hours. They are going to stock up on food, get money and check in on family. I did not go out. It is hard for me to believe that a ceasefire can be trusted. So I stayed indoors. We cleaned, bathed and watched some news while we had a little electricity. We also were able finally to sleep some.
Time has lost all meaning for me.
Time has lost all meaning for me. I have to think – this is Thursday, it’s the 20th day of Ramadan and the 9th day of bombings. I am exhausted to the core and find that my mind isn’t working very well. Like the words I am writing now are not easy to find.
In the past few nights, our 5-year-old has been waking up screaming several times throughout the night. She screams, then she goes right back to sleep. It’s like she is storing the fear she feels all the time and lets it out in these bursts she can’t control. Will she ever recover from the psychological wounds she is suffering?
Wednesday, July 16, 2014
At midnight we evacuated our house. From the building behind ours, women and children were streaming out crying and in a panic. We yelled to them from our window and found out that someone had gotten a call from the Israelis saying that the building should be evacuated. When that happens, you have :58 seconds to get out before the bombs start falling.
It is hard for me to find words to describe how it felt to be running from our apartment and making a split-second decision about what to take with us.
It is hard for me to find words to describe how it felt to be running from our apartment and making a split-second decision about what to take with us. Or how it felt to think that we might never see any of our things again or this place that holds so many special memories for our family.
We rushed on foot to my brother-in-law’s apartment, holding our children and our few bags. When we got there, we watched the news carefully to find out if our area was bombed. Thankfully it wasn’t. Turns out that the whole thing was a terrible misunderstanding.
In more peaceful times, I remember going through emergency drills with all of these unfathomable scenerios. But I just experienced it for real: I had to leave my home fully believing I’d likely never see it again. At least it’s still there. For many in Gaza, the worst has happened and their homes and family are gone.
Tuesday, July 15, 2014
Today should should have been a day of celebration in our family. My husband’s niece got the highest score – 99.7% – out of all of Palestine on her Tawjihi [exam at the end of high school]. My colleagues also have children who did really well. But I heard someone say that our happiness today is courted by sadness and death. This is a perfect description of how we are feeling as the bombs continue to fall.
From 9 to 2 today, we had some peace, while there was talk of a ceasefire. We didn’t exactly sleep, but we got a little respite from the terror we’ve been experiencing. Now the bombs are back and my husband and I are having a serious conversation about what we should do in the case of a ground incursion. We think we may need to leave our home. But where do we go? Where is safe?
As I write this, my daughter is asking if she can put on a dress and go outside to play with her friends. Such a simple request! But doing the simplest things now look like bold acts of courage – or lunacy.
Monday, July 14, 2014
Yesterday, there were bombings in a nearby neighborhood where my brother-in-law and his family live. They had to leave their home and have sought refuge here with us. We all keep listening to the radio, hoping for some news of a ceasefire but up to now, there is nothing, just bombs falling all the time, day and night.
I have no words to describe what is happening here. How do I answer my daughter’s questions, why this is happening to us. She is only 5 and already she has lived through so much. What can I say to her? I try to keep her busy but the bombings never stop and she’s scared.
We call around to check on our friends and family and my colleagues from work but what can we say to each other? The number of deaths and injuries keep rising.
Everyone is exhausted. I feel hopeless and helpless, wondering what will happen to my life and my children.
Sunday, July 13, 2014
When I spoke with my parents today, they told me they were seeing scores of families walking past their house. They are fleeing from their homes in northern Gaza, because they got warnings from the Israelis that the whole area will be targeted. It is unclear where they are all going. I have heard that UNRWA is opening up 8 of their schools for people to get shelter.
We’ve had no sleep for 7 days.
Things feel even scarier now. We have heard that 2 UN humanitarian coordinators were not allowed to pass into Gaza today and that the US embassy has asked all Americans to leave Gaza immediately. Will there now be no international witnesses to the things that are happening to us here?
We’ve had no sleep for 7 days. Yesterday was really intense: there were bombings from the sea and air and I also heard the sounds of rockets launching. I see smoke billowing from the middle area and beaches of Gaza. A house on my brother’s block was bombed yesterday.
We always live ready to flee in a second. Our bags packed with passports, money and valuables. We never change into pajamas – ready to go outdoors or to meet God.
Saturday, July 12, 2014
I can hear explosions as I write this. They are so close, the furniture rattles and the lamps shake. It’s like I am living in a horror movie. You know, I have impacted wisdom teeth and I was supposed to have an operation last week (which I had to cancel because of the bombings). But the terror I am experiencing every day now is actually making me forget the pain of the wisdom teeth that was so excruciating before the bombs began.
We are glued to the radio, where we are now learning of medical facilities that are being targeted by bombs. Can you imagine, now we can’t even feel safe going to a hospital?
It feels like there is no end in sight. We are not hearing of any ceasefires. In the meantime the crossings and borders into Gaza are only sporadically open. Very little food or fuel is coming in. The damage is really extensive – to farmland, buildings and a lot of other infrastructure.
We’ve been getting about 6 hours of electricity a day, but yesterday ours went off after 2 hours because a bomb apparently hit some infrastructure that delivered it to our place. We now camped out in the center of our apartment, as far away from the windows as possible. Flying glass causes the most injuries.
I keep thinking about the fact that Gaza was already in a terrible state before these bombings. Unemployment was high, food aid was common, people were living in poverty. So you can imagine how much worse it is now.
My daughter has been through three of these bombardments – first in my womb in 2008-09, then in 2012 and now in 2014. I can see the question marks in her eyes. What do I tell her? Is there an adequate word to describe this situation?
Thank goodness for ANERA. I know I am working for an organization that is actually doing something to help people. It gives my life meaning.
Friday, July 11, 2014
I keep thinking, who is paying for this desire for blood and retribution? The children, that’s who.
Well, we’re alive. It was another terrible night. The park behind our apartment building was bombed and the explosion rocked the whole area. The noise was deafening. There isn’t a single street in Gaza that’s safe. I keep thinking, who is paying for this desire for blood and retribution? The children, that’s who.
This, of course, means constant worry and no rest for parents. Last night our chidren were really anxious and couldn’t sleep.
This morning we saw we are really low on milk. My husband ventured out to a nearby store. While he was away my heart pounded with worry and I watched for him every second he was away. Turns out that the errand was all for nothing, as the store is out of milk. Now we have to find other options for feeding our baby.
Thursday, July 10, 2014
For the third day the bombings have been incessant. I haven’t been getting any sleep and, last night, the kids didn’t. I hear explosions constantly.
I do my best to keep the children busy with with activities, to get their minds off of what’s going on outside our building. We play games, color, read stories. I want to make sure their fear doesn’t turn into trauma. I am not sure where I am getting the strength to hide my fear and play games – maybe it’s because I feel that the children are more important than anything else.
In the meantime, here it is Ramadan, our most spiritual time. It’s supposed to be a beautiful time of reflection and peace. But now, in Gaza, people are taking their first sip of water to break their long day of fasting while bombs are falling all around them.