Stories From Our Staff in Gaza
Save the Children has been providing essential services and support to Palestinian children since 1953 and has had a permanent presence in the occupied Palestinian territory - both West Bank and Gaza - since 1973. Our team is made up of 71 staff, including 25 staff currently in Gaza, and we work with more than 30 partner organisations.
Our staff, like all civilians in Gaza, are being forced to face the devastating situation that continues to unfold in front of their eyes without a definitive ceasefire and without access to the aid they need to survive.
Since 7 October, our staff have been telling us what they have been going through.
*Maryam, who has a young son
All of us are squeezed in one room but it is better than staying in an unsafe place. Last night was the hardest... I hardly slept... there is no fuel for the generators and electricity is completely off. Yesterday I was so sleepy and was afraid to sleep with fear of something happens. The bomb sounds are getting very heavy. Children are terrified. We are all sitting in one room. It is horrible.
This can’t be described in any language. I am not able to tell you how I feel. It is terrible. Nearly every bit of Gaza is being asked to move... no one knows where people should be moving to. Two days before they were asking people to move to the centre of the city and now the centre of the city is threatened. No place is safe in Gaza. Our home should be safe.... we have not done anything. When the internet is cut, I am scared that it will not come back and that I will be cut from the world...
I am barely holding myself together in front of my son. All the areas in Gaza are close to each other I don't know who we are fooling when we move.
*Amal, who has a 9-year-old daughter living outside of Gaza
I dream of her every day and keep counting every minute till I can meet her again and hold her in my arms. A fire burns from the inside when I ask my friends or anybody outside [Gaza] to try and find her, to see her and hug her for me, and tell her how much I love her with all my heart, because I am afraid that I will never see her again or be there celebrate her 10th birthday.Everything around us now is painful. Memories are being erased. Souls that were once full of dreams and laughter are now gone. ... They were reduced into ashes. We must not forget them, and we do not know how we will live with all this pain.
*Abdullah, who has a 2-year-old son
Will our homes, which we were displaced from, be destroyed? Will our friends who remained behind be killed? When will we be saved? When will this end? When are we going to die?A simple scene; I was filling water containers with my cousins (because we are all in one house-33 people), from a water well in front of the mosque. I saw (a man whom Save the Children supported previously) in one of our organisation’s previous projects coming from the areas of northern Gaza. As soon as he recognized me, he asked, “Where can we find baby formula?” ... For a moment, I had this moral dilemma; shall I keep filling water because it’s scarce, or shall I go to find formula or get him some from people I know.
Yousef*, father of three children aged under 10
There is a lot of loss and a lot of pain. We are fearful: of what the coming hours will bring, of what tomorrow will bring. Death is everywhere. My children look into my eyes every day, they are searching for answers. I have no answers for them. It is very hard, especially for children. We try to pull ourselves together to support and protect children. The needs are huge.
*Amir, father of three
Little Nanaran to me, Baba, as usual because it was safe for her, but with the roar of the swarms of killing in the sky, hovering above like a terrifying nightmare, swimming in the warm sky of our neighbourhood that is filled memories. In a moment the world is lit with a great light, we all fall to the ground and try not to hear, hugging each other, through inhales and exhales, Nana tells me: “I love you, Baba.”The darkness turned into hell with the smell of gunpowder and blood. Especially in the dark, while I am hugging my little girl, who with a fragile made up confidence, tells me shivering, “Baba, I am not afraid, but nervous!I try to hug her and feel the heat of her small body, as if we had become one body. My feeling of helplessness was undoubtedly the worst. After a wave of violent bombing, Nana draws a picture, in which there is a house, a garden, a sweet sun, and a clear sky free of swarms. She did not draw birds in the sky, she wanted the sky to be clear, but she did draw clouds. Maybe she’s even become afraid of birds.She started explaining her plans, “if we stayed alive,” we would always stay together and go to aunt’s and grandpa’s house. But Nana doesn’t know that her aunt’s house has evaporated, and her grandfather’s house has taken its memories, details, warmth, family gatherings, birthdays, our joys and tears, and become rubble. I tried to be a source of strength for the family, but I cried once, twice, and three times, and we cried with each other and over each other. We cried for the past and the present. We did not cry for the future because we did not know if we had a place in it.
*Shireen*, mother of two, is sheltering with her parents and one of her children
I am moving between different supposed to be safe places, I’ve seen elderly people, people with disabilities and special needs willing us to remain with them, they were helpless. I’ve had no choice but to run. The situation is desperate. I see parents frantically running through the streets looking for their children and vice versa. One child was running away on her own as she had lost some money to buy water for her family.The shelter I am in is supposed to house 300 people–there are now 45,000 people in the shelter. I have water–I want to share it, but how can I give it to some and not others? My hope is that everyone in Gaza can keep their dignity as human beings. We are grateful for your thoughts and prayers.
*Firas, a father to one boy, is sheltering with his wife, son and his in-laws, including his father, mother and sister-in-law
I am among the people who headed south in response to the warning we received, and I actually stayed south. But unfortunately, the next day, the house next to us was targeted. I was only slightly injured, thank God, but my son and wife were also injured by the shattered glass.We didn’t have a shelter to go to or a place to stay except at a friend's home in an area which was completely bombed after we evacuated. We were asked to take refuge in a street, which is approximately 500 meters away from the city. We were taking refuge at a university, and it was a very terrifying night...from 8 pm until 10 am...missiles bombed near the towers of the city.After miraculously escaping this terrifying night, we had no other choice but to return to our home. Yesterday, a tower opposite the apartment was bombed, causing a lot of damage. Thank God, we were not harmed, as we were in a room whose window was brokenfrom another bombing a few days ago. But the terror that was inside me, my son, and my wife was more than I could bear, frankly.All nights are terrifying, and each new night is more terrifying than the night before. My former colleague at Save the Children lost his family in the south, after he considered it a safe area based on the warning. There is no safe area, neither north nor south. I am now at my wife's family's house, not far from my home...I don't know what the right decision, but we don’t have any other choice.
*Abdallah, who has a 2-year-old baby boy
My wife and I returned to our home in Gaza city, because we only had brought two pieces of clothes and two pyjamas each. We believed our street wouldn’t be bombed for another 48 hours, based on the warning we received. The decision was crazy and risky, but we decided to go, even though the car was low on gasoline. This house is our home, the house of a lifetime, and we made the decision based on our memories of our home as our main haven.When we got closer, the shock began: we saw thick black smoke from the intense bombing. There was no sun because of the black smoke. The artillery was exploding intensely as if it were right next to us, and we saw the effects of the bombing of people as they were fleeing. It was horrific.We kept walking and the landmarks were different, there was no one else on the street, and everything was burned, and the houses were destroyed, all the way down to the end of the street. We arrived home safely, but there was heavy bombing every 3 minutes. We noticed that there were no people in the city...it was like a ghost town.We took our things and then returned the way we came. But we found the streets were dark, and everyone was telling us to go the opposite way. Then the horror began. They bombed next to us, about 20 metres away from us, and the black dust and the heat fromthe bombing entered the car. We were able to escape, and we noticed that the cars behind us were stuck. We miraculously survived. They were bombed from the Abu Jubbah gas station to the Salim gas station! That’s when we felt guilty...what if we died and ourson was left an orphan! The decision we’re taking as parents are difficult, and the post-traumatic effects in our city are much more difficult.
*Raida, a mother of three children aged between 9 and 16
I have worked for many years to build my future home...a small plot of land and a one-story house under construction, full of wonderful seedlings of olives, oranges, lemons, figs, roses, and safflowers. I argued a lot with my husband, Tamer*, about the type of trees that would cover the western corner of the land. He said mango and I said cypress.We argued a lot, but we agreed that they both need many years to grow and bear fruit. This year, we made dozens of plans to complete the work...we disagreed, quarrelled, agreed, and laughed a lot... Last month, I went with him to the land, and after we saw the seedlings, Tamer* asked me to close my eyes and imagine that it was time to move to this house and this safe, quiet area... I closed my eyes, but for the first time, I did not feel safe... I squeezed his hand and said, “Tamer* it feels that I am not... I will live in it...but I feel that I will not be happy in it. Tamer* stopped me and got angry and said: “No one but us will open its door, Raida*.Now I cry for those beautiful and very short moments... I cry in fear of the end of our dreams and the replacement of my nice, quiet future home with a tent in the desert.
Hasan*, a father of four
What does it mean to be a displaced person in a centre right now?
Displaced means there is no mattress or pillow. Your mattress is the floor or your car, and your cover is a sheet that has been sitting in a warehouse for years, it smells musty, and there is no way to wash it.
Your pillow is the only bag of clothes you left your house with.You have constant back and leg pain from sleeping in awkward positions. Stomach aches and throat pain from the cold, and a headache from the anxiety.
Displaced means there is no water at all. You do not wash your hands, do not wash your clothes.
Displaced means there is no clean water to drink... you might have to drink contaminated water, full of diseases. And you might even die of thirst or from drinking the water.
Displaced means that when you want to go to the bathroom, you have to wait in line behind 600 people until your turn comes. When your turn finally comes, there will be another 500 people knocking on the door for you to finish quickly, and of course, there is no water in the bathroom.Displaced means there is no cooked food, no bread, no food at all, except for a few boxes of cheese, which smells from the heat. No drink.You go to the bakery to get bread for your family... you stand in line for seven hours, sometimes the bread might finish before your turn comes. Even if your turn comes, you are given just one bundle, not even enough for one meal-that is if you don’t get hit by an airstrike while you are waiting.Displaced means the loaf of bread is split between two, or possibly four; whatever it is, it’s never enough. The important thing is that you ate and that is a great achievement.Displaced means you look up to the sky 30 times every minute, imagining that a new massacre will happen to you, and the latest breaking news will be about you and your family.Displaced means taking a shower is a dream that is difficult to achieve. Taking a bath is an impossible luxury.Displaced means you always hear the bombing around you, and you see it, but you never know where it's coming from.Displaced means that there is no electricity except by chance or luck, there is no mobile phone battery, there are no calls or messages, there is no internet, there is no communication with the world. You may die and no one in your family would know that you died.Displaced means oppression, anxiety, tension, hunger, sweat, distress, delusion,sadness, darkness, anticipation, fear for the children, fear for the family, fear for the friends, fear for the future.Please, when you read the word “displaced,” give it deep thorough thinking.
Amjad*, a father to three children, all under 12 years old. He travelled outside of Gaza a week before the latest escalation
My little daughter told me that she hugs the pillow, kisses it, and says: “Why did you travel and leave me here?” What can I do? My young son tells me: “You told me that you would travel on Thursday and come back the following week, why didn’t you come home? If the crossing opens and the war is not over, will you come back?”.
Samar*, mother of three
As I write this message, my son is sleeping on my lap, I can't bear to let him go because he startles easily. My heart goes out to those who have lost loved ones and homes...We are also waiting for our turn. We live in constant fear of the unknown, and our living conditions are very difficult, although the extent of suffering varies from person to person.We don't have access to clean drinking water, and basic food is scarce. We don't even know how we will provide for our children's needs. The situation is getting worse every day, as we are forced to buy flour at four times its normalprice, and it is becoming increasingly difficult to find. We have lost our homes and all our possessions; we don't know where to go. It breaks my heart to see hungry children, and I feel helpless knowing that I can't provide for their needs. Bathing has become a luxury, and I know my colleagues who are displaced in public shelters are suffering even more.
Raida*, mother of three, all under 16
Today, my daughter asked me about the people leaving through the Rafah crossing [between Gaza and Egypt]. I explained to her that they have citizenship from other countries. She ran to get her piggy bank, which had 50 shekels ($12) in it, and begged me to buy her a citizenship. The situation is very difficult. I am exhausted.
Razan*, grandmother to two children, both under the age of six. She travelled outside of Gaza before 7 October and cannot return to her family
I talk to my daughter, and she tells me that her children can no longer bear it. They scream all the time. May God give everyone patience. The situation is truly unbearable.The children express themselves by screaming. My daughter is also afraid, she wants her children to stay beside her. She is afraid that an airstrike will hit while they are away from her. But I told her not to restrict them and go with them where they go. Hug them, talk to them, and play with them.And God willing, this situation will end well.
