October 23rd 2024.
I cannot believe how much my life has changed in just a few short months. It feels like I have aged a hundred years. My sister-in-law has been telling me repeatedly for the past year, "If something happens to me, take care of my children." This has become a common conversation among Palestinians in Gaza, as we have been living under constant threat and danger for over a year now.
I used to love looking up at the night sky, marveling at the stars and feeling a sense of peace. But now, that same sky is filled with Israeli drones and war planes, constantly watching and monitoring our every move. Ever since that fateful day on October 7, 2023, my life has never been the same. I feel like I have aged a hundred years in just a few short months.
My home in Deir Al Balah City has become a safe haven for my family members, as we have been forced to flee multiple times due to the Israeli army's actions. I have hosted a total of 16 family members, and it has become a routine for me to bake bread for everyone. They all joke that I have become quite the expert at it. However, it was my turn for displacement when an Oxfam colleague called me with urgent news on a Friday in August.
He asked me which block I was in, and I told him I was at home. Ever since Israel announced their "grid" evacuation plan, we have all memorized our designated blocks. Mine was 127. His urgent words hit me hard - "You need to go. Now. Your block is marked for evacuation." I was shell-shocked, and so was my entire family. We discussed what to do, and I couldn't help but think of my cousin who had already suffered so much during this war.
She had suffered a broken leg, lost her sister, and her mother was still recovering from a broken pelvis. Both my cousin and aunt were rescued from under the rubble after an Israeli strike hit the building they were living in. They have been forced to flee eight times since then. With no time to spare, we quickly packed our most essential belongings into emergency bags and started walking. There were no paved roads, and we walked for a long time before finally finding a ride.
My cousin insisted on eating first before leaving, which felt surreal in such a terrifying situation. We walked on foot, knowing we couldn't carry everything with us. We had to leave some of our belongings on the street, including our winter clothes. After a journey of 3km, we reached relatives of my in-laws in another block that was not under an evacuation order. My sister found shelter with her husband's family, and my own relatives were already hosting nine other evacuees. Five more joined us, and it became clear that these forced expulsions were affecting all of us in Gaza.
After two weeks, we were able to return to our family home when the Israel troops left our block. The whole area was damaged, and it felt apocalyptic. Though my house was still standing, we couldn't live in it as its main pillars were affected. We could visit our old home, but for now, we had to stay in another block with no sign of when we could return.
The past year has been a rollercoaster of emotions, with each season bringing its own hopes and disappointments. I thought Christmas and New Year would bring peace, and I hoped that Ramadan and Eid would mark an end to the war. But time and again, I have been left heartbroken. I have barely felt safe, constantly hiding my fear as airstrikes and shells exploded nearby.
There are no safe zones in Gaza, as the Israeli military continues to issue evacuation orders that empty entire blocks. This war has become a vicious cycle of forced displacement, with people being forced to move from one place to another with no safe place to call home. People are desperately searching for any place to stay and setting up tents wherever they can find shelter.
I have seen families sleeping on the streets with nothing but thin sheets to protect them. They are constantly moving from one spot to another, never finding any security in this upside-down world. Being displaced and witnessing the destruction caused by Israel's bombardment means living without clean water, waiting in long lines for a toilet, and showering becoming a distant dream.
My days now revolve around baking bread, fetching water, and hand-washing. I cannot believe that a year has passed, and the war is still ongoing. The destruction and suffering seem endless, and it is heartbreaking to see my homeland in ruins. Hope is fragile, but it is the one thing that keeps me going. I try to hold onto it, even though it feels like a distant dream.
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