There are no words left to sufficiently denounce what is happening in Gaza. Then one looks at our Western society and thinks “I hope this will be its downfall.”
Shaimaa Eid is a journalist based in Gaza. Help support her to survive the genocide and continue to work as a journalist by donating to her directly: Shaimaa has just published a booklet “Testimonies of Hunger, Destruction, and Massacres – The War Through the Eyes of Gaza’s Inhabitants”. You can obtain it HERE
- “We’ve become experts in displacement.” That’s what I thought as I packed my bag for the second time. It wasn’t the first time we were forced to leave our home, but it was the first time it felt like we were leaving a part of our souls behind. It wasn’t our decision, it was an order, a threat printed on leaflets dropped on us from the sky by the occupation: “Move south.” Just like that, our entire lives were reduced to a few words.
- In Sheikh Radwan neighbourhood, where we thought we were safe, our lives were turned upside down. Quadcopters surrounded us with gunfire, the ground shook beneath our feet, and window glass shattered around us. Nights of terror chased us. We sheltered inside our home, sitting close together, holding ourselves tightly with every explosion, silently praying for the horrors to end.
- We no longer dared to step outside or even look through windows, as every movement could cost us our lives. A crane was set up east of the neighbourhood to target anyone who moved, and we were suffocated by the cut off of water, food, and livelihoods. The market shut down after quadcopters bombed street vendor stalls. Our only option was to flee south to escape certain death.
- A Journey of Death into the Unknown.
- The journey of displacement to the south was a journey of death. My parents are elderly and suffer from chronic illnesses; they were too weak to walk. We travelled for six exhausting hours under the blazing sun along Rashid Street, which they claimed was a “safe” route but it was anything but that. Right before our eyes, a tent was bombed, and the bodies of martyrs were torn apart, scattered across the sand. That image, that moment, is still stuck in my mind. It haunts my sleep and paralyses my ability to think.
- We left our home with the sorrow of farewell heavy in our hearts. I took one last look at our house, tears overwhelming me. We all cried, fearing that one day we might return to find nothing but rubble. To leave behind the memories of your childhood, your first steps, your laughter, and the memories of your parents and siblings in the blink of an eye is the ultimate pain. Being forced to leave not to travel or choose a new life, but because death surrounds you at every corner is unbearable.
- Al-Mawasi: A Sea of Pain and Suffering
- When we arrived at Mawasi Khan Younis, we were struck by the scene. It was a sea of tightly packed tents, a sea of weary faces and exhausted souls. Humanitarian services were nearly non-existent, no clean drinking water and insufficient sanitation facilities. Displaced people were forced to go down to the seashore under the scorching sun to use the highly saline water, which caused them severe skin diseases.
- My parents require regular medical follow-up, and here in Al- Mawasi, I do not know how I can obtain the necessary medications for them. I feel helpless and overwhelmed, yet despite all this, there is a voice inside me that says we will remain in Gaza, we will return to the north, and we will rebuild it.
- Today, we live in a whirlwind of anxiety and fear. Every day, we watch the news and hear about new residential towers collapsing in Gaza. We go to sleep wondering: will our home still stand, or will it become part of the rubble?
- Hope from the Heart of Pain
- The smell of gunpowder and smoke still lingers in my nose, and I continue to struggle with breathing difficulties. Yet despite all this, there is hope. In these harsh conditions, compassion becomes our true refuge. We share the little we have and support one another. This is not just a story of displacement; it is a human story of losing safety, losing everything we own, even the hope of return. But despite everything, we have not lost our humanity. Gaza will remain free and proud, and one day, we will return.
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