A young woman laments her current living conditions and prays to die with her body intact, not in pieces.
Zinha Adahdouh
GAZA – On October 7, when Israel’s latest war on Gaza began, we didn’t realise at the time that it would turn into a genocide.
As orders came from the Israeli army to leave our homes, we insisted that we never would. But by October 11, I remember grabbing my bag, only taking essentials like money and ID cards.
My little sister suffers from alopecia due to fear sparked by the ongoing Israeli blockade, and we couldn’t even take her medicine from home. I didn’t even have time to pack any clothes and left with the clothes on my back. Later, my father would buy me another pair of trousers and a top from people selling items on the roadside.
Setting off on foot with my family, which included my mother and father, three brothers and four sisters, we left our home in the Tel al Hawa neighbourhood in north Gaza, not realising that this would be the first of four displacements and that our home would become a place that we would no longer recognise.
(The last time we went home, when there was a break in fighting, we realised the occupation had bombed and destroyed the entire area.)
We walked for an hour and a half until we reached al-Shifa hospital. It was familiar to us, as my younger siblings had been born there, and it’s where my father worked as an orthopaedic surgeon. I felt no pain on the journey there and was only concerned with our survival.
At al-Shifa Hospital we arrived with nothing, no cover, no bedding. We just slept on the cold hospital floor, huddled in a small corner with thousands of families around us, sharing one bathroom. Can you imagine?
Wishing for privacy
In our home we had everything, and each of us had our own room. Now for 11 months we’ve been huddled together and I wish for just one moment of privacy.
We stayed at the hospital for more than a month. Time became uncertain after the war began; today feels like yesterday, like tomorrow.
When the hospital was stormed by Israeli forces in December, we were forced to leave once again, becoming displaced.
Many people were killed at that time, but we managed to escape and walked for eight hours to reach the south in weather that felt so hot, as though we were melting.
But you know the treachery of the occupier; the Israeli soldiers made us throw away everything we had as were stopped at a check-point on Salahaddin Road, whether money or water—they even made us throw the water! They told us to raise our hands as if we were criminals. They laughed at us and took some women, children, and men, stripped many of them and made them continue walking.
They then fired tank shells at everyone behind us, causing a massive massacre. Here, my family and I survived for the third time. My mother wasn’t with us at that time; she had already gone to the south ahead of us with my injured cousins from an earlier attack after her sister was killed.
Seeking shelter again
After our eight-hour journey, we miraculously arrived at the European Hospital in Khan Younis, with what felt like broken feet. Thankfully I didn’t have a fracture, but my toenails had started to bleed and turn blue where the blood was trapped. They stayed that way for months until they fell off my toes.
My mother and my surviving cousins met us here, where we slept in what I would describe as a small storage room—12 people crowded into one storage room. We stayed there to shelter from the bombing, but again, we were ordered to evacuate after a few days.
With nowhere to go, we slept in the open air. The next morning, my father was able to buy a tent, but it cost $500. The tent is pitched in Khan Younis, so we didn’t have to walk again for hours, and it’s where we are now staying. Here my siblings and parents all sleep next to each other without any cover, without anything.
All the tents are closely packed together, but at least we have our own toilet, though no shower. To be honest, it’s not great, as it’s only covered by pieces of cloth, but at least it’s ours, helping us avoid some illnesses.
Bodies without souls
Before this war, we had a comfortable life, a nice house. I enjoyed spending time with my best friend Sarah, but she was killed in the war. We would spend time at each other’s homes, watching movies and chatting. I also really enjoyed studying dentistry at Al Azhar University and feel extremely sad this had to stop.
We had air conditioning in our home, and now whether it’s summer or winter, the situation is extremely difficult. In these summer months, from the morning, we sweat profusely and suffer from rashes due to the heat, and at night in winter the cold was biting.
The food here is unhealthy. We’ve been eating canned food for 11 months without any source of fresh protein. I have three younger brothers whose bodies have developed without any source of fresh protein or food. I feel so sad for them.
We have cans of beans, tuna, chickpeas and ground chicken.
For breakfast, we eat canned beans and similar things, and for lunch, we mostly eat instant noodles or pasta. When we need to heat it up, we make a fire, but the price of wood is literally outrageous, five shekels [$1.35] for five pieces of wood. But we have no other choice.
We are just bodies without souls.
I’m tired of my wasted body, tired of cooking over the fire with the heat rising and adding to the burn of summer. I am tired and I’m 20 years old. I’m even tired of crying, until it hurts me to cry.
I cook over the fire instead of my mother because I’m the eldest girl and my mother suffers from sinusitis and rheumatoid arthritis. She had hoped to travel to Egypt for treatment before the war.
Worsening conditions
The water is contaminated because of the destruction of the infrastructure. The water we drink is mixed with sewage. It doesn’t taste bad, but we’re suffering from severe diarrhoea because of it. But I know the value of water well because we went days wishing for a drink when we were besieged for days.
We’ve been here for 11 months without electricity, without a washing machine, without a refrigerator, without anything electrical. We wash our clothes by hand with handmade products that cause us to itch. Eleven months of washing by hand.
Now, in the summer months, the weather is as hot as hell. I sleep on the ground among insects that bite, and the sounds of dogs barking through the night. I don’t sleep at night only because of my fear.
I’m afraid of the Quadcopter buzzing above my head and the insects surrounding me. I want a roof back over my head. And from this heat, I’m literally drenched in sweat, and I feel like I’m melting.
As a girl, I suffer from hormonal fluctuations and desperately need care. At one point, I felt as if I was dying of pain; I was suffering from severe cramps without any painkillers or treatment. Even the restroom provides no comfort! We are literally living through our worst days.
I just wish for my family and me to live a dignified life. I just want to continue my education. I have lost a school year as a dental student. I just want to be like any other girl my age… that’s all I want.
But if I die, I don’t want to end up in a bag. I surrender everything except my death. I want a complete shroud, I want my arms, my heart, my head, my 20 fingers, and my eyes.
I don’t mind being buried in a mass grave, but I want my name, my age, and a marker that says I’m from here. I sincerely hope my grave will be in a real cemetery—not a street, not a sidewalk, nothing else.
C. TRT World
