In Gaza, we have one question for the rest of the world: aren’t we human, just like you?
By Anonymous - Guardian - Fri 4 Oct 2024 12.00 BST
Every night we huddle together and pray our building doesn’t collapse over us. Who will stop this war – and give us a future?
A voice from Gaza
Living in Gaza has given me a profound and often challenging perspective on life. I am a person who doesn’t usually feel afraid, but the things we are seeing and hearing are very scary. Even at night, we have to search for a safe corner to sleep in, in case the house collapses over our heads. In Gaza, all locations are unsafe. Nowhere is far from the bombing, and death is never far away.
I have lived in Gaza all my life, but I had to leave my home in October 2023. Right now, I am living in east Gaza with my family. We are seven people in one room and there is another family of seven in another room. We try to stay warm as much as we can. We sleep closely next to each other.
We do not have any water in the entire house and the food stocks are almost gone. Flour has been expensive and scarce, so at times we’ve had to use animal feed for baking. I feel sad for my sisters because they aren’t getting the nutrition they need. They are children and their bodies are growing, so they often feel tired.
For young people like us, living in a conflict zone has an impact that can last our whole lives. Everything here is in chaos – all the things we see and hear, and even where we live. It restricts our access to education, employment and a safe environment.
Many of the children are traumatised from witnessing violence and losing loved ones, and that can have long-term psychological effects. On top of that, economic collapse and lack of infrastructure make it hard for young people to envision a stable future, or plan for a normal life. We face so many barriers to our dreams and aspirations, making even simple desires like travelling difficult: there are checkpoints, humiliating security checks and long drives to make requests for visas, which are mostly rejected.
This makes me want to ask people in the west and Israel one question: “Aren’t we human just like you?” And the answer? Well, there is no answer. Life here has become abnormal because nothing is ordinary any more. To cope with these harsh realities, young people adopt various survival strategies. We live day by day, finding solace in small joys and personal passions. Creating personal worlds and engaging in activities we love provides a temporary escape and sense of normality.
Holding on to hopes and dreams is a crucial part of survival. Despite the bleak circumstances, these dreams give us a reason to endure and push forward, even when the future seems uncertain. There are so many things I still want to do. I want to be a photographer. I write, too. I am very sure that one day there will be a book by me for the whole world to see.
If I stay alive, I will go out and see the world. I’ll see all the things I have read about. I am a very curious person, I want to know everything about the world outside my country. I want to live normally.
I try to look at things optimistically. If the war ended, I could go out on the street and feel safe again, although I don’t know how likely that is, or whether I will still be alive after the war. But one of the things that could help me is not feeling that our cause is marginalised and everyone is ignoring it.
It’s essential for the world to advocate for political solutions and peace negotiations to address the root causes of the conflict. It’s also crucial for our immediate survival that we receive humanitarian aid such as food, medical care and psychological support. And we need safe spaces for education and personal development, to provide a refuge and help young people prepare for a better future.
We need to believe that there is hope, but right now that’s getting harder. In Gaza we don’t feel anyone is looking out for us. The young feel abandoned by the outside world – the conflict has gone on and on and people are no longer shocked by what is happening to us. We are just waiting for someone to tell us that the war is over.
- The writer is a 24-year-old woman who has lived in Gaza all her life, and who has worked with Plan International as a youth ambassador. She is writing anonymously to protect her identity
- As told to Sara Halawani and Sharon Goulds
