The Alyacoubi’s living room, before Israel bombed it. (Credit: Noor Yacoubi)
Are we even categorized as human beings? I doubt it. Let’s just imagine if what we, Palestinians, are facing now had happened to any country on the globe. Certainly, all governments of the world would revolt in defense of human rights and peace. But when it comes to Palestine, everyone is blinded as they fear for their interests and positions, or they simply fear Israel.
For nearly six months, we in Gaza have been enduring all kinds of suffering; arbitrary shelling, displacement, starvation, malnutrition, loss of friends and relatives … etc. Apparently, Israel’s target of this genocide goes beyond taking revenge on Hamas. It seeks to ethnically cleanse the city and its citizens under this pretext.
Gaza, although it has been under siege for more than 15 years, used to be relentless, powerful and undefeatable. Its people are known as genius and energetic. From the middle of darkness, they always find a way to hope. Its streets are overcrowded by people and cars, and its buildings are high and adjacent to each other. We, Gazans, deeply love the city despite all the hard circumstances we encounter, and we always dream of seeing it get more beautiful and more developed. Hence, Gaza now is so different from before October 2023. It is empty and dark. It has neither shops nor markets. The majority of its towers and buildings have been leveled to the ground and turned into ashes. It has no more educational facilities or hospitals. Simply put, it can be deemed unsuitable for humans to live in.
In this context, I would mention the damage inflicted on my house as a result of the bombardment of our neighbors’ four-story building which is located only five meters away. Luckily, we had evacuated the house a few hours before the bombing, as a number of victims would have absolutely fallen if we were there. My house, in which my husband and I chose every piece and decorated every corner with love, has a vital place in my heart. It used to be our comfort zone and the place where we could escape the mess of life and enjoy peace and calmness after our tiring days of work. But now, it looks so much different, as if it were not my own house. Its walls are gray, its windows are open to neighbors and the architecture is either damaged or burned. It no longer gives me the feeling of peace and warmth; instead, it makes me feel cold, frightened and insecure.
Believing that there is no safe place in Gaza, my husband and I preferred to remain in Gaza City and not flee to the south. Yet, we’ve paid a heavy price and are still paying. We have spent days and days with one meal a day due to the scarcity of food and Israel’s restrictions on aid entry to the north of Gaza as well as spent days without even a loaf of bread. For more than five months, we have been deprived of any kind of fruits and vegetables, chickens and meats, and even eggs. Personally, I can get over all of that but what is the fault my 12-month-old daughter committed to deserve this, along with thousands of children in Gaza?
The Alyacoubi’s living room, after Israel bombed it. (Credit: Noor Yacoubi)
On the other hand, my parents, along with my young brother Adbelrahman and my elder brother Mohammed, and his four-member family, were obliged to head to the south in November. It wasn’t easy for them to decide to flee until they realized that the Israeli army was approaching the neighborhood. They believed that it would only be a short period of time before they would return to their house. They didn’t know that this genocidal war would remain for a couple of months and make them lose home and work.
As our suffering does not stop here, our hearts are extremely saddened by the news of my extended family’s house and my father’s house being damaged during the latest two-week genocidal operation in al-Shifa hospital. All the years my father and uncles spent building their homes and making them safe shelters for their sons and daughters have faded away. The memories, the pictures, the good times are all gone.
My heart is deeply sad and mad. I feel sad for the loss of my father in particular, whom I never remember ever taking a day off. He devoted all of his energy and age for the sake of us — to provide us with a good place and to help us live in a good financial status. Yet, he ended up in a tent in the south of the Gaza Strip, leaving everything behind to the unknown, just like thousands of people.
It seems that Gazans are destined to live in misery and disappointment forever. Personally, I am about to lose hope that this war would never come to an end. It is nearly six months; half a year of our lives has gone in vain. That is why my brother Said, who left Gaza seven years ago to work as a doctor in the UK, when he started a crowdfunding campaign to allow us to leave, with the only effective system to evacuate the strip in mind: paying Egyptian authorities to let us out …
Noor ALYACOUBI is a translator and media coordinator.