Hiba Maher Al-Malakh (27(, a Resident of Nuseirat, Central Gaza Governorate and Trainee Lawyer at PCHR’s Women’s Unit

On the morning of 07 October 2023, at exactly 06:30, in our beautiful Gaza, we were awakened by terrifying sounds that filled us with anxiety. For the first time, I crawled out of my room in my prayer robe, terrified by the sounds and lights I had seen. I went to the living room, where my family and I gathered, each wondering, “What’s going on?” We tried to grab our phones to understand what was happening after hearing the sounds of rockets. Each of us started scrolling through social media, trying to figure out what was going on, but all the posts from friends and acquaintances were asking people in Gaza, “What is going on?” No one knew what was happening.

We later learned that the war against Gaza had begun, and we returned to a state of anxiety and tension, following the news. Every now and then, we would hear about people killed and wounded, and we followed the news of our friends, some of whom were killed and others injured, while the bombardments pounded our area, Nuseirat, and other areas where our loved ones lived.

On 13 October 2023, after the intense bombing of Gaza City and the fire belts that filled every place and the northern areas, the Israeli Occupying Forces (IOF) ordered our beloved ones in Gaza City and its north to evacuate to areas south of Gaza Valley. Our relatives and loved ones from Gaza fled to us, and in the smallest of houses, there were 30 people. During this period, IOF kept us busy with false evacuation warnings, each time forcing the residents to leave the area. On 15 October 2023, at 23:00, a false warning was given to evacuate one of the neighbor’s houses, causing everyone in the area to gather in a warehouse. Young men, girls, and children all fled, screaming, not knowing where to go, and spent the night in the warehouse until morning. It turned out that the warning was false, perhaps a prank by settlers, as actually when the IOF target a house, it does not warn anyone; it bombs it on top of its residents.

On 20 October 2023, we left our home out of fear, worried that our house might be bombed because it was next to a mosque. We had heard that IOF was bombing mosques, hospitals, and churches, even though it is internationally prohibited to bomb places of worship, health care centers, and hospitals. We went to a relative’s house and stayed there for a while, along with my married siblings, my cousin, and his family. There were 22 of us in the house, mostly children. We were crammed into the available space for sleeping and dining. A neighbor of our relatives opened an emergency exit from his land for us instead of the main door, in case of any danger, so we could escape from the land if necessary. We benefited from this land by cooking some meals using firewood due to the cooking gas shortage, and we started baking bread on the firewood or sometimes we used Saj bread due to the electricity outage, cooking gas shortage, and the closure of bakeries.

On 16 October 2023, we were used to waking up at dawn for prayer, and so were our children, but we would then stay in bed. At exactly 06:30, I heard the whistle of a missile and instantly covered my head. Then, I saw a light like fire, followed by windows and their frames shattering violently. Instinctively, I pulled my blanket over my nephews, the youngest of whom aged a year and a half old. We got up to leave the place, but as I stood, I remembered my hijab, so I covered my hair and tried to move cautiously because of the glass surrounding us on our bed and blankets. My curiosity made me stand by the window to see where the bombing was. I found it only a meter and a half away, and I saw the neighbors’ apartment open, with their son, a high school student in his first year, lying dead. His parents were in the hallway of the house where we had taken refuge, and I heard the screams of children, so I began shouting, “Help the little ones, there are little ones crying underneath!” When we left the bedroom where we were, we stepped on something at the door that felt like part of a human body, but at that moment, we didn’t know what it was. Later, we realized it was a human brain, and there were pieces of flesh splattered on the wall. The place was filled with the smell of blood and gunpowder, but we survived by God’s grace and mercy. The material damage didn’t matter, although my cousins in other apartments survived with only scratches and wounds. We found a child from our neighbors’ apartment hanging on the wall, half of his body in my uncle’s apartment and the other half hanging on the destroyed wall. I don’t know how that day passed or how we survived by God’s grace. But even after five months of the war, I still smell the scent of gunpowder and blood that visits me from time to time, or I wake up from my sleep feeling that I smell the scent of gunpowder and blood.

After we had hoped for the end of this war, the year 2023 ended, and a new year began. Gradually, the residents of Nuseirat were informed, according to the blocks shared by COGAT page, to evacuate to the Deir al-Balah area. Finally, a post was published ordering the evacuation of the area where we had taken refuge in Nuseirat. We were forced to flee to Deir al-Balah on 03 January 2024, as the IOF had informed us. Since no rental flats were available, we were forced to build a tent from tarpaulins, fabric, and nylon, trying to adapt and live with our new reality. But life in a tent is harder than we imagined, with no electricity, scarce water, and the tragedy of entering the bathroom and taking a shower. Due to the lack of cloth and tarpaulins, not every family had a tent. We were 54 people, most of whom were children, so we split in two tents: one for men and another for women and children. Even the municipal services were unavailable, such as providing water and cleaning the area of garbage, which was expected given the vast number of displaced people in Deir al-Balah.

On 11 January 2024, we woke up at 02:00 to the sound of rain, something we had always looked forward to every winter in our normal lives. But this time, we did not want the rain to fall, as our tent was flooded. We struggled to keep it away from us and our heads while, on the other hand, trying to hold our children and move our bedding so it wouldn’t get soaked. When the rain subsided the next day, we rebuilt the tent and tried to reinforce it. The suffering continued with the freezing cold, storms, diseases, and colds spread among children and adults, along with the bombing and drones echoed nonstop, even though we had displaced to what the COGAT designated as safe zones. Our suffering continues every day, along with our fear, anxiety, and dream of returning to our quiet lives.

On 30 January 2024, the 116^th day of the war, we received news that our house in Nuseirat had been bombed. Thankfully, we were not there. Even though most of the area had been evacuated, we learned that two neighbor girls were injured, but thankfully, their injuries were minor. There were no memories left of our home. I pulled myself together when I heard the news and said, “Thank God everyone is okay.” But when I went to see it and after climbing to our third floor with difficulty through the rubble, I broke down in tears when I reached the place where my room had been. All our memories were gone in a moment, everything beautiful disappeared in an instant. Our apartment, my siblings’ apartments, the family gathering place, where we welcomed guests, and my mother’s cozy kitchen, all were gone in a moment, erased by an Israeli missile.

And here we are, after five months of war, inhaling gunpowder and the smell of blood, still suffering the hardships of living in a tent, the fear of bombing, the terrifying sounds, the constant anxiety and fear of displacement to another place, and the fear of returning to a home that no longer exists. The struggle of searching for a rental home or even a place to stay, and the greatest fear is the fear of loss and the fear of the unknown.