Mirna Jamal Youssef Abu Obaid, 31 years old, married and mother of four, resident of Rafah and forcibly displaced to Al-Mawasi, Khan Younis.

Testimony Date: 24 April 2025

I am married to Abdel Majid Dawoud Abdel Majid Abu Obaid, 37 years old. We used to live in an apartment in Yibna refugee camp in Rafah and have four children.

At around 6:30 a.m. on 7 October 2023, I was helping my children get ready for school. Just before they left the house, we heard loud sounds that shook the place. We quickly realized they were the sounds of rocket fire. I did not imagine it would mark the beginning of a devastating war on the Gaza Strip; I thought it was a passing incident that would soon end, as had happened before. For this reason, I did not allow my children to leave the house.

However, as time passed, the sounds grew louder and the intensity of events escalated dramatically. Fear crept into my heart as I became increasingly worried about the consequences. Initially, Rafah became the primary destination for forcibly displaced people from northern Gaza, and the city became severely overcrowded.

Despite that, the city continued to be targeted by Israeli forces, with each attack claiming numerous casualties among civilians, many of whom were forcibly displaced.

After completing military operations across much of Gaza, Israeli forces turned their attention to Rafah. In the first week of May 2024, without prior warning, they launched fire carpet bombing and a ground offensive, starting from the Rafah border crossing and the eastern areas, pushing towards the center of the city.

At that point, we gathered a few of our belongings and moved to Al-Mawasi, Khan Younis, where tens of thousands of displaced people from both the north and south of Gaza had taken refuge in a small geographical area. We settled on land owned by a relative and set up tents.

From that moment, our suffering intensified. Securing the basics of life—such as clean water—became an enormous challenge. The available water was contaminated wastewater; we had to add disinfectants and chlorine to make it somewhat usable. Drinking water had to be transported over long distances using buckets or water containers, a task that demanded tremendous effort.

On top of these daily struggles, we faced constant threats of Israeli airstrikes and attacks from every direction, and eventually, we too were directly targeted.

At approximately 6:30 p.m. on 11 April 2025, while we were filling a water barrel, a powerful explosion suddenly erupted. Before I could even turn to locate its source, shrapnel was flying around me. My husband, who was standing beside me, was struck and immediately fell to the ground, bleeding heavily from multiple wounds.

I rushed toward the tent where my children had been sitting, only to find it pierced by shrapnel from every side. Running inside, I found my son, Yazan Obaid, 7 years old, lying motionless. He had taken his last breath. I was struck with the devastating realization that my son had been martyred before my very eyes.

Initially, my other children did not show visible injuries, but they were quickly transported to the Kuwaiti Field Hospital for medical evaluation. Shortly thereafter, I was informed that two of my children, Omar (3 years old) and Obada (9 years old), had been transferred to Nasser Medical Complex and taken into surgery. Shrapnel had caused internal bleeding and severe intestinal ruptures, necessitating bowel resection surgeries.

My husband’s condition was extremely critical. He had been hit by shrapnel dangerously close to his heart, suffered a skull fracture, and had multiple facial injuries. He lost consciousness and remained in intensive care for many days. Doctors were unable to remove the shrapnel near his heart because of its delicate location; attempting to do so could have caused death or paralysis. Since then, he has relied on mechanical ventilation, while his medical team monitors the shrapnel’s position and assesses his ability to live with it.