Maram Humaid
Al-Jazeera / August 22, 2024
Deir al-Balah, Gaza – Like a scene from an endless horror movie, new orders for evacuations were issued on Wednesday morning for residential areas in Deir al-Balah.
“Every day brings a new catastrophe,” we despaired as we studied the latest Israeli map, its lines now looming dangerously close to our home.
The sounds of tanks grew louder, and the crack of gunfire echoed nearer.
A question has haunted us, and everyone in Gaza, for more than 320 days of war. The question we ask the world but never get an answer:
“Where should we go?”
A question echoing in the void as people steadied themselves again for the eighth, ninth or 10th displacement.
“Where should we go?”
The question reverberates in our minds and hearts, capturing all our anguish, loneliness, oppression and helplessness.
I’ve never felt so worthless as a human being as I do these days.
A single Facebook post from an Israeli military spokesperson can upend our lives in an instant.
A cruel game of squares
On Wednesday, I was putting the final touches on an article we were preparing, balancing work with my children’s needs and the pressures of displacement.
Then came the news of the evacuations.
We were all in denial, wanting to believe it was just a rumour, but the reality unfolded too quickly.
People began fleeing through the streets under fire and bombardment, scrambling to escape. The scene was repeating itself, but this time it was the final stop: Deir al-Balah!
This was the same humanitarian area they once spoke of, now marked for evacuation. It’s a cruel game of squares.
Have you ever felt like a toy, being played with left and right, east and west, pushed from one place to another – south to Khan Younis, out of Rafah, back to Khan Younis, then to Nuseirat, only to be driven out again?
People are literally running through the streets like mad, clutching what little they have left.
They’ve lost their homes, loved ones and livelihoods – and now they’re on the verge of losing their minds.
We have nothing left; our hearts are broken, and our minds are frayed.
Oh, Deir al-Balah, our last refuge, who can show people the way? As Tariq bin Ziyad once said: “The enemy is before us, and the sea is behind us.”
Now, all that remains before us is the sea. Is there a ship?
Who will answer the desperate cries of those wandering the streets? People are taking shelter wherever they can – streets, fields, rest stops, on the beach.
The earth is shrinking under our feet. We’re being punished, squeezed into a tiny bottleneck, bombarded and torn apart.
“Where should we go?”
I’m losing my mind as I’m conducting interviews and taking notes, all while searching for a place – any place – to go. Even a tent is no longer an option.
Crowds in the markets, crowding on the roads and crowding of ideas. I feel like a spinning top, my concentration shattered by the looming tragedy of another evacuation, no matter how hard I try to resist the thought.
I look around at the few possessions I’ve managed to gather over the past 10 months: a stove, cups, plates, pots, winter clothes, summer clothes, mattresses, blankets, batteries, light bulbs, big bottles of drinking water, tubs to wash clothes in.
On my God, where will I take all this?
Zero hour
The saddest part is the fear of waiting for the zero hour. Zero hour means fleeing with nothing but the clothes on our backs, leaving everything behind.
If I leave everything, there’s no way to replace it. There are no markets, no supplies, no money to spare. I was frozen in place, unable to move.
Oh, I have work to do, articles to write.
I stare at my laptop, trying to focus.
A friend calls, looking for a single room with a bathroom. Another is looking for a tent. Someone else asks about the location of the armoured vehicles east of Deir al-Balah.
How can anyone write in this atmosphere? It feels impossible.
Minutes later, the news comes – Israeli forces are advancing in Al-Qarara west of Khan Younis, another supposed “safe zone”, and people are fleeing again.
What a terrible day. Some are fleeing west, others fleeing east.
There’s no end or beginning to this torment.
Nobody understands what’s happening. We’re running and running aimlessly, people screaming, suffering and dying while the world watches.
This is just the latest episode of The Last Station.
My email was showered with humanitarian and civil organizations’ empty statements, warning of an imminent invasion of Deir al-Balah. It’s reminiscent of what happened in Rafah months ago. Israel didn’t heed any warnings then and pushed everyone into Deir al-Balah. Now, it’s pursuing them at the last stop.
In these moments, I fully grasp what we all feel – every displaced person, every woman, man, elder and child. The fear, the oppression, the confusion, the horror, the ugliness. All of it awaits us at the last stop: Deir al-Balah.
And the world? It watches with curiosity, wondering what will happen next.
How will Israel do it this time? Will the sea swallow us? Or will we be sifted through the barriers or eliminated by air strikes?
To all the viewers:
Ladies and gentlemen, I assure you, the final scene is ready.
The last show, Deir al-Balah, is out soon to dazzle you with an exclusive, exciting display of crimes, massacres and displacement.
Our blood, our children, our lives, our bodies, our remaining homes – our last stand in Deir al-Balah – are on full display.
Prepare your shame and silent complicity, and watch!
Maram Humaid is Al-Jazeera English‘s digital correspondent in Gaza
