Date of Testimony: 15 July 2025
Name: Heba Mohammad Jihad Abu Zaid
Age: 21 years
Sex: Female
Address: Jabalia Camp, near Jabalia Services Club – currently displaced in Al-Karmel School, Gaza City
Before my life was turned upside down, I lived in safety with my family of eight: my father, Mohammad Jihad Abu Zaid (46), my mother, Mariam Mohammad Ali (38), my elder brother Yasser (20), my brothers Majed (17) and Fadi (16), my sister Rama (10), and my youngest brother Ghassan (4 ½). We lived in an apartment within our family’s six-storey home.
On 7 October 2023, I woke up to take my sister Rama to school. Suddenly, explosions shook the street. Terrified, we ran back home for safety and remained with our parents in shock and fear for two days. On 10 October, we were forced to flee to an UNRWA building in Jabalia Camp, where we stayed for two months, together with displaced relatives. The place was overcrowded, with no privacy, poor humanitarian conditions, and extremely bad sanitation—our greatest suffering was with the toilets.
The room we stayed in measured 5×6 meters. It was originally a maintenance room with asbestos, and iron. where 30 people crammed inside. Over time, my relatives and parents cleaned and organized it so we could stay. But even in the shelter, Israeli forces bombarded us with artillery shells and gas canisters, ordering us to evacuate west Gaza or move south.
In November 2023, during the announced temporary truce, we remained in constant fear, never feeling safe. Our fears proved true: as soon as the truce ended, Israeli bombardment intensified. The shelling was relentless. We were too afraid to even leave the classroom to use the toilets and were forced to relieve ourselves inside the room.
After two months, in April 2024, we were displaced again—this time to UNRWA’s vocational training center on Al-Sinaa Street, where we stayed for three months. My father and brothers worked for a man selling cream, diapers, and lentils, earning a small daily wage. Before that, we had endured two months with no flour, facing famine conditions where even bread was unavailable. Our food was limited to wild greens like khubeiza, which we ate by the spoon because we had no flour\bread.
During our displacement there, my father insisted on accompanying me and my mother to the toilets, locking the door to preserve privacy in the overcrowded shelter. The days were terrifying, especially when Israeli forces besieged the Friends of the Patient Hospital near Al-Shuhada Street and the university district, firing indiscriminately. As the army advanced near our shelter, we fled to Jabalia at dawn, walking on foot.
Returning to our home in Jabalia brought some psychological relief, though conditions remained harsh. Water was unavailable, forcing my brothers to travel far for water and firewood. Bombardment continued constantly, shaking our neighborhood. Nearby houses were destroyed—only ours and a few others remained.
We stayed despite the danger until April 2024, when Israeli forces ordered Jabalia residents to evacuate entirely. Soldiers used loudspeakers to instruct us to move towards western Gaza. We relocated to Al-Shati Camp, staying with my aunt for 40 days.
By late May 2024, we returned to Jabalia. Our house was still standing, and many families came back, while those whose homes had been destroyed pitched tents and laid water pipes, trying to cope under continuous bombardment and indiscriminate attacks on civilians.
On 5 October 2024, around 8 a.m., I had finished house chores while my brothers worked with a cart to earn daily wages. My mother asked me to visit my uncle’s house, but I told her, “Next time, God willing.” I stayed home and sat with my grandmother until noon. Suddenly, heavy bombardment resumed and lasted until afternoon. Concerned for my mother, I asked my father to fetch her. He told me instead to prepare our bags for evacuation.
As I opened the apartment door, I was met with flames and shattered windows. Fire spread everywhere. I tried to enter my room but fell quickly to the ground floor. Later, when my mother returned, we went upstairs to pack. Together with my father and siblings, we gathered essentials, but bombardment resumed with greater force. After praying, we lay on the living room floor together.
Suddenly, an Israeli shell tore through the kitchen window, hitting the refrigerator and scattering shrapnel everywhere. All of us were injured:
My father was crushed by the refrigerator, injuring his legs.
Neighbors and relatives rushed us to Kamal Adwan Hospital. Doctors treated us, later transferring five of us to the Indonesian Hospital. My father, Ghassan, and Rama stayed at Kamal Adwan.
The hospital was nearly deserted—most doctors had fled under constant threats. My blood dropped to a critical level (5 g/dL), and I lay bleeding among seven other amputation cases. That night, vascular surgeons examined me and informed my mother that my leg required amputation. On 6 October 2024, around 4 p.m., my leg was amputated. I woke the next day in shock and unbearable pain.
Soon, I developed gangrene and bacterial infection, with maggots emerging from the wound. Doctors admitted my condition was dire but could not transfer me due to the Israeli siege. Eventually, with my uncle’s help, I was moved to Al-Awda Hospital under extreme danger.
On 10 October 2024, I underwent another surgery for gangrene and received blood transfusions. My brothers Yasser, Mohammad, and Fadi remained trapped in the Indonesian Hospital. Later, Yasser too required leg amputation at Al-Awda. My mother struggled between hospitals under life-threatening conditions.
Doctors said I would be discharged within three weeks, but due to the siege, I stayed nearly three months at Al-Awda Hospital. Two weeks before the January 2025 ceasefire, I was transferred to the Indonesian Hospital. Doctors then arranged for me to leave Gaza, but Israeli forces barred ambulances, forcing us to walk on foot while airstrikes continued. I was in a wheelchair. Along the way, we saw dogs digging up the decomposed bodies before reaching Al-Shati Camp.
During this time, my family bore the cost of all my medications. I suffered from depression, hopelessness, and deep trauma, trapped in a wheelchair and wondering how long I would remain this way.
Currently, I endure severe physical and psychological pain. A bone protrusion in my amputated leg still requires surgical removal, causing constant pain. I receive follow-up treatment at the Prosthetics Center near Gaza Municipality, including regular check-ups and physiotherapy.
On 11 December 2024, I received a medical referral for prosthetic implantation abroad. Yet, I remain unable to travel—Israel continues to deny me the freedom to access treatment.
I urgently need a prosthetic limb to walk again, regain independence, continue my education, work, and live without relying on others’ sympathy. I want to reclaim my dignity and live freely.
