Sahar Qeshta
The Electronic Intifada / July 12, 2024
The suffering of Gaza’s people is palpable.
Over the last few weeks, my extended family have faced great upheaval.
My grandparents, their children and grandchildren were forced to flee their home in Rafah. They went towards Khan Younis, another city in southern Gaza – more particularly to a neighborhood called al-Shakush, which translates as “the hammer.”
For almost a month, they lived in tents. Just as they were beginning to find some semblance of normalcy, the Israeli military decided to carry out a “special” operation in the area.
My uncle’s tent was shredded to pieces. Everyone had to flee for their lives.
My grandfather narrowly escaped death as he sought safety from Israel and its lethal weapons.
My grandmother now lives in a new place that is like a grave. There is sand everywhere, even in her food.
She sleeps on the sand in the sweltering summer heat.
The tents in which members of my family live are like small ovens.
Water is scarce and life is a constant struggle.
The new place is unlivable, adding yet another layer of suffering to their already dire situation.
Despite these conditions, my grandmother still finds a way to feed an extended family. Forty people in total.
Recently, she received the heartbreaking news that her home had been destroyed, leaving her with the realization that she might remain homeless for the rest of her life.
Amid the chaos, there are stories of everyday heroes – like our neighbor Tahrir.
She is the mother of Malak, a girl with mental health issues.
Malak often bites her arms and puts everything into her mouth.
Tahrir works tirelessly so that she can buy the diapers that Malak needs. Tahrir makes ghaybeh, delicious Palestinian cookies that her husband sells.
The family face many challenges. Malak has four sisters and a 1-year-old brother.
My own situation has not been easy, to put it mildly.
I have brought my daughter to hospital multiple times recently because of the unsanitary conditions in which we live.
She contracted a bacterial infection and the wait for treatment was interminable.
The suffering of my people is palpable. Diseases like hepatitis A are spreading rapidly.
Whenever I visit the hospital I see other children like mine: sick and waiting for care.
Every night, we go to sleep in the hope that we will wake up to news that the war has stopped. Every morning, we are disappointed.
The news plays football with our feelings, leaving us uncertain and anxious. Many of us have stopped listening to the news altogether, accepting our fate as it is.
Recently, I encountered a woman at the hospital who asked me about the news because she lives in an area without internet. I couldn’t bear to tell her that I had no updates, not wanting her to feel the same daily disappointment which I endure.
She quietly remarked, “I don’t think we will ever go back to our homes.”
Her words reflect the sense of resignation that so many of us are experiencing amid the relentless hardship.
Sahar Qeshta is a writer in Gaza
