Voices from Gaza

This post is apolitical: I carry voices of people, not of camps. Its sole purpose is to share the stories of those who wish to be heard.

Hello everyone,

This post will be divided into 3 parts:

• An introduction to Dalia and her family
• Dalia’s testimony
• A series of questions and answers

Introduction

I wanted to introduce you to Dalia, a young woman in her thirties, originally from Rafah, now displaced with her family to Deir al-Balah near the Egyptian border.

I met her on Mastodon. Dalia is real, and she is registered with the chuffed.org program: https://chuffed.org/project/172129-please-help-dalia-and-her-children-escape-this-genocide

Her profile is also verified: https://gaza-verified.org/people/@daliarezk@mastodon.social

Dalia and her children are registered with UNRWA.

(Unfortunately, their services have been halted in this region.)

You can contact her and send your messages directly on Mastodon: https://mastodon.social/@daliarezk where she keeps a day-by-day “war diary.”

I was given access to photos and videos of her former life, and I thank her deeply for the trust she has placed in me.

She worked as an artisan pastry chef in Rafah, had a beautiful house near the sea, and a mortgage… Children who were gifted at school, whose report cards show they were among the top of their class.

A life that was, all in all, ordinary, except that it was unfolding in Palestine, in the Gaza Strip.

Dalia and her family have known hunger and displacement in just a few months. The destruction of their home, of the trees she cared for as if they were her children, to build a U.S. center; her bank is now asking her to repay her loan!

But for the past two and a half years, everything has been taken from them. They have been displaced nine times. Each time, they had to flee to save their lives, abandoning everything every single time, even their dignity.

They lived for more than 2 years in a refugee camp, and today they live in a warehouse with a rent of $500.

This warehouse offers no comfort, is filled with insects, and access to water remains a major problem.

Access to food is also a serious issue: she receives $60 to $90 per week, while the cost of a single meal is around $70. She can no longer eat normally.

To escape the war and cross the Egyptian border, here are the prices:

• For each person aged over 16: $12,000
• For each person aged under 16: $7,000

For Dalia, it’s over $50,000 … A sum well beyond her reach. And as she puts it: there is very little prospect of providing for her children’s schooling.

Leaving Gaza is as difficult as staying…

Dalia is a name whose etymology is close to “branch, flower, vine.” Here is a short text dedicated to her:

“Dalia—like a vine reaching toward the light—who raised her trees as if they were her children. The war razed the farm to the ground, but not its roots.”

Here is her testimony, just as she gave it to me:

I am a mother of four children: Kanzi, Yousef, Ahmad, and little Kinda (aka Canada).

We once led a simple and peaceful life in our home. My children went to school and did well, full of dreams for their future.

I made sweets for them with love, and our home was filled with warmth and safety.

But for the past two and a half years, everything has been taken from us. We have been displaced nine times. Nine times we have been forced to flee to save our lives, leaving everything behind.

The most terrifying moments were those when we had to flee in haste, as the tanks closed in and bombs fell around us.

We ran long distances under fire, carrying our children, with nothing but fear in our hearts.

My children Kanzi, Yousef, and Ahmad lost their schooling. They were excellent students, but their dreams have been put on hold — not by choice, but because the war stole their right to learn. My youngest daughter, Kinda, is only 5 years old.

We led a dignified life… Our home was full of warmth and laughter, and our days were shaped by pleasant tasks and hard work.

We made sweets with love, and every creation that came from our hands filled us with joy; our efforts were reflected in the joy that lit up people’s faces.

These images don’t speak only of food… They tell of the life we once led, and of the dreams that grew with us day after day.

Today, everything has changed… but we still carry within us the same spirit, and the same hope of living once again in dignity.

Before the war: Canada’s birthday was filled with laughter and colors, with balloons everywhere, cakes, songs, and genuine laughter.

We were celebrating her childhood… her innocence… her dream growing along with her. After the war: Canada’s birthday became quieter… more painful… We celebrate not only because she has turned a year older… but because she has survived a year.

We try to steal a moment of joy in the midst of exhaustion and fear, a few balloons… but her heart is still full of life.

It wasn’t just about dough, it was a struggle for survival.

We paid exorbitant prices for flour to feed our children, and on nights when money was scarce, we endured hunger with the patience of Job.

Our hands grew weary and famine weakened our bodies, but we never lost our humanity in the midst of our suffering.

Between what we once were and what we are now lies the story of a war that left nothing of who we were. We aged years in just a few months, and we endured the bitterness of a hunger that consumed our souls before our bodies.

The loaves of bread we kneaded each day with our tears and our toil bore witness that we did not give in, despite the exorbitant price paid for every grain of flour we sought.

This was our first displacement, amid torn canvas and corrugated metal sheets. Patient souls live there, asking nothing of the world but safety and the sound of rain when it does us no harm.

“It is not just a tent; it is walls of patience and a roof of prayer.” “Despite the worn canvas, our dreams remain intact.”

For the third time, we are carrying what is left of our lives in small bags, heading toward the unknown.

We are not just numbers in reports; we are stories of homes that have been closed, dreams postponed, and hearts weary of departures.

This third displacement… as painful as the first, but more crushing in its exhaustion.

Repeated displacements do not make us used to it; they wear our souls down even further.

Each time we are displaced, we leave behind something that can never be recovered; And this third time, all that remains of us are exhausted bodies and eyes that ask: “How much longer?”

The fourth displacement… The number alone is enough to make any word futile, so what about the reality? For a life to go from a “home” to a “tent,” then to a “warehouse,” means that one’s soul has become the only cargo one is trying to protect from destruction.

Here are a few words that express the cruelty of this transformation, from “home” to “warehouse”:

Here, our laughter was sincere, and our hearts were at peace… when safety was the air we breathed. Our faces told stories of tranquility before the days wore us out and circumstances changed us.

In this photo, I do not just see faces; I see a warm homeland to which we returned every evening.

I have many photos and videos that bear witness to my suffering, but I am worried and desperate, and I do not know how to put my thoughts in order.

– Dalia REZK

Question and Answer

Hello Dalia, and thank you for agreeing to answer these few questions so we can get to know you better.

This “interview” will be divided into 4 sections: Life in Rafah before, the turning point, the present, and a conclusion.

Life in Rafah:

How old are you today? I am 39 years old today. My children were 14, 12, 10, and 3 years old when we left Rafah.

How old were your children when you had to leave? Did they realize what was happening around them? Yes, the older ones were aware of what was going on, but they were afraid of the sound of the rockets. In the tents, they caught diseases, including hepatitis.

They also suffered from poor mental health due to their life before and after the displacement, but also from the close quarters of families living right next to each other and the lack of safety and privacy. We all slept in the same room out of fear of the bombings, and so that, if we had to die, we would die together. After six months, we were given two days to leave the city. We went to the coast of Khan Yunis and lived in metal-sheet shelters for nine months.

What is your educational and professional background? How did you learn English so well? I completed undergraduate studies in geography and geology, then a master’s program. As for English, it is part of the school curriculum from the first year of primary school, and I also learned it through the Internet.

What was the school your children attended like? My childrens attended UNRWA schools because they were bright and ambitious, and were among the top students; they were elected to the student council every year.

What were their favorite subjects in school ? They excel in most subjects, but especially in scientific subjects such as mathematics, physics, and chemistry.

Do you still have any family, besides your children? Are you still in touch with them Yes, my father, mother, and sister were displaced with us to Deir al-Balah

Five brothers and their families are present on the beach in Khan Yunis.

The turning point

When did you realize you had to leave? What was the trigger? We left Rafah after six months since the start of the war. Rafah was crowded with displaced people from all over the Gaza Strip. We took some of our belongings and went to the western part of Rafah, to the coastal area of Al-Mawasi by the sea.

We stayed there for three difficult weeks. We tried to manage life in very basic ways, building tents from fabric. The bathroom was just a hole in the ground with no roof or cover at all.

In the third week, we received a warning to leave the area and move to Khan Younis. We left quickly because of the massacres happening around us. We waited for a car to transport us, and the driver asked for one thousand dollars for the ride, so we agreed out of necessity.

We were taken to an area in Al-Mawasi, Khan Younis, called Asdaa. It was like a desert. We built tents from zinc sheets and fabric, and we stayed there for four months.

On a Friday, leaflets were dropped from planes ordering a complete evacuation of the area. We did not respond because we had no strength left to move again, and we did not know where to go. Suddenly, there was an attack by tanks. We fled, carrying only fear and exhaustion, and we managed to survive without taking anything with us.

We left in a car to an area near the European Hospital, which was classified as a red zone. We stayed in a relative’s house for five months.

How did your departure from Rafah unfold? What were you able to take with you? Our relatives gave us blankets, clothes, and kitchen utensils to help us manage. Five months later, a truce was declared—the first truce we had. During it, we returned to Rafah. It had become a ghost town, and the destruction was terrifying. Our house was partially destroyed, but we were overjoyed that it was still standing. We returned to our memories, our home, and my comfortable bed. I spent an entire month cleaning the house.

We stayed for two months, then the truce was broken. The army ordered us to evacuate. Where could we go? They did not give us time. We waited for a car to take us to the Khan Younis crossing, but we could not find one. We left on foot and stayed in an area called Qizan Rashwan for four days, sleeping on the street. The area was under heavy and terrifying bombardment.

We then decided to go to Deir al-Balah and rented a small warehouse that was not suitable for living, but we had no choice but to stay there. We pay $500 a month for a place that is not even fit for a chicken farm.

In a few days, it will be a full year since we left Rafah, which has been completely destroyed, along with our memories and dreams.

Under what conditions did this departure take place? I will try to provide you with a picture of the house when we returned after a nine-month absence. I had planted a tree called Flora, which grew abnormally during our absence, covering our house and our neighbors' houses, and reaching the third floor. That was remarkable.

Two years ago today, the occupation began evacuating and bombing the city of Rafah. On this day, we were forced out of the city. What a strange coincidence! Glory be to God!

I forgot to mention the famines we experienced more than once, which occurred intermittently.

We couldn’t find a loaf of bread to eat. My children were crying from hunger, and my eldest son would go chasing after trucks to bring us a kilo of flour, putting himself in danger. We didn’t know if he would return. We would chase after the planes that dropped food, but we wouldn’t get anything.

Did you receive any help? As for the aid organizations, no one has recognized us yet, even after a year of appealing for a tent, but no one has responded.

The concrete present

How is the camp organized today? What exactly are you living in?

The situation is beyond description and imagination, whether in the camps or in the remaining half-destroyed or partially destroyed houses. We suffer from a severe water shortage. My sons, Youssef and Ahmed, bring salty water from a distant source; it’s unusable and leaves white stains on our clothes. But we have no other choice. Food is also extremely difficult to obtain due to its high price. After the famine we faced, food has gradually started to arrive, but prices remain low. The children here cry from hunger, eating lentils repeatedly. My daughter, Kinda, brings food from the World Kitchen charity because her brothers refuse to go, feeling humiliated and degraded. I will attach a picture of Kinda bringing food. We also face immense difficulty in educating the children. Schools have been closed for years, and those students who continue their education have to pay a considerable sum for private tutors. My children don’t attend school because of the high cost. As I mentioned, we pay $500 in rent for the storage room we live in, and next month we won’t be able to because the bank is demanding payment of the installments.

You receive less than $100 per week for the five of you; what does that allow you to buy?

$100 is not enough for a meal for a family of six. Unfortunately, we get our food from the international kitchen, and we are grateful for its work; without it, people would starve. More than a million people order food from the international kitchen.

What are the prices for basic necessities and hygiene products, as well as food?

Hygiene products are expensive. They were banned from entering the country. My family and I used salt to brush our teeth. Only the financially well-off can afford hygiene products and food, and they are few. People live in tents in tragic conditions, plagued by mosquitoes and fleas. The biggest problem is the rodents that infest all of Gaza and spoil the food and flour. Our days are similar. We wake up in the morning, and my children go to fetch water. Every day they bring back 500 liters of water for washing, cleaning, and bathing. Kinda goes to the soup kitchen, but lately she comes back empty because of the overcrowding. The aid that families receive is very little and limited due to the reduction in aid deliveries.

This means that every three or four months each family receives a parcel containing rice, lentils, canned beans, oil, and tuna, which is not enough food for them for a week. Also, cleaning supplies are limited to families with children, and most of them consist of Pampers packs due to their high price and the inability of parents to buy them.

What can you buy where you are?

The donations I received through the link helped me buy clothes for my children and some essential household items, but donations have become very scarce, and I am convinced that donors are not obligated to donate because the solution lies in finding a comprehensive solution to our problems.

Do your children have internet access for their studies? The internet connection for Denel is weak, intermittent, and frequently down.

Is there mutual aid in the camp, and how is it organized?

Yes, families have become more cooperative after the war; they also work collectively to help each other. When we lived in tents, our neighbor used to bake bread for us for free. I also had a solar panel; I used to charge my neighbors' phones daily. And we also exchange clothes. If I have extra clothes, I give them to my neighbor, or if my children’s clothes aren’t suitable, I give them to my neighbor’s children. They were used clothes and they were happy with them.

How are your daily lives organized in the camp?

Yes, as a mother, I wake up early, knead the dough, then go and bake it at someone’s old clay oven. Afterwards, I return and prepare breakfast. By this time, my children have already fetched water. I do the washing, then the dishes, then the cleaning. After that, I go to my parents' house, who live nearby, to check on them and take care of my mother, who suffers from chronic high blood pressure and is also blind. She is a victim of the war.

Conclusion:

What would you like people to know more about you and your family?

We’ve lost everything we’ve accomplished over the years. Even my brightest children are forced to work around the house carrying water instead of studying. Our lives are at a standstill, and we still hope the world will look upon us with compassion and humanity. We long to return to our pre-war lives; they were simple and we were content. I hope you appreciate the blessings you have. My daughter used to fall asleep crying, wanting a biscuit or a piece of dry bread. Don’t strive to ignite wars, even if you are the strongest. Extend your hands only in peace, and know that happiness lies in giving and seeing those in need smile.

If you could say one single thing to the people in France who will read your story, what would it be?

I say to the French people and to the whole world, I hope that no one, no matter what, ever has to experience the difficult and painful days we have lived through. I thank God that I did not lose any of my family members or any part of their bodies because of this war. There are tragic stories that, if revealed, would shame the world at the enormity of the calamities that have befallen us. I want to tell them that war is horrific, truly horrific. We extend our hands in peace, and nothing but peace and security for all.