The Electronic Intifada 10 September 2024
Children sit by their make-shift shelter in Deir al-Balah. Some 90 percent of Gaza’s 2.3 million people have been forcibly displaed from their homes, many repeatedly.
APA imagesTwice, so far, during this genocide, has the Israeli military forcibly displaced my family and I.
In the first displacement we sought refuge at the house of relatives of my husband. Even though there were 11 people sharing one room, with three of us sleeping in the same bed, at least the bathroom was next to the room.
The second displacement left all of us on the street. We’ve crowded together in a small tent whose thin fabric shakes with the wind and leaks water when it rains. It isn’t big enough to hold everyone and our belongings.
There is no bathroom anywhere near us. I have to go outside in all weather and walk a considerable distance to relieve myself in a mosque bathroom. I try to hold off until dawn when the mosque lights are on, and there would be water available.
But how can children do that?
We adults have tried to convince the kids not to drink water or eat before going to bed. But who can change human nature?
We are lucky enough to at least have winter clothes for the children. Some children don’t have proper clothes for cold weather.
We also have enough money to buy diapers for the rainy nights when we can’t leave the tent.
Our confinement has a very negative impact on the children.
Zakaria, who is only 8, has started having difficulty speaking. It seems he grasped the realities of the tragedy we were living. He asked questions even philosophers couldn’t answer:
“Why are we here?”
“What did we do wrong?”
“When the war ends, where will we live?”
Disease comes calling; hope remains
Calamities rarely travel alone.
Recently, hepatitis A has spread among the tents.
Hepatitis A is most commonly transmitted through human waste. Like everyone else in the camp, we use the mosque bathroom. Some of my relatives contracted the disease as a result and suffered from its symptoms, which included a loss of appetite and an inability to taste food for two weeks.
Without irony, doctors recommended avoiding canned foods, eating more vegetables and consuming honey.
As if they didn’t know we only have canned food, can only imagine the luxury of fresh vegetables, and are barely able to remember what honey looks like, let alone how it tastes.
And we are relatively blessed, us, the displaced people. At least have some bread and food in the south. Our relatives in the northern sector don’t even have canned food or a loaf of bread.
Despite the harsh conditions we have endured and continue to endure, we hold on to hope and faith that tomorrow will be better. We may have lost our homes and security, but we have not lost our humanity and dignity.
The dream of returning to our homes and rebuilding our lives are what drives us forward. We know that pain is part of our experience. We know it will not be the end. The day will come when justice is served, and our rights are restored.
Until then, we will continue to resist with all our strength. We are a people who do not know surrender. We carry in our hearts the pride and dignity that no force can take away from us.
Saeda Hamdona is a writer in Gaza.
