Chronicling a crisis: Follow an aid worker’s powerful accounts from inside Gaza

After an unprecedented escalation began in early October, an Islamic Relief aid worker* in Gaza began writing about his experiences under siege.

We’ve shared his accounts of struggling to find food and water, the intense planning required for even basic tasks like taking a shower, and the feelings of fear and hopelessness that his now displaced family grapples with every day.

His blogs, which we’ve published over the last month, paint an undeniably grim picture of the dire situation the people of Gaza are facing, but also reveal a tremendous resilience and small moments of joy amid utter chaos. For us, the arrival of each new blog is a relief – a sign our colleague is still alive.

Here, we share extracts from his blogs. We’ll continue to update this article as we receive more:

Monday 9 October, This time, I feel we might not survive…
The situation is extremely terrifying. As I write these words, my house is shaking back and forth due to the intense bombing. My kids started crying and screaming in fear of the bombs. Even as an adult who has lived through tens of escalations, I feel terrified. I feel this time we might not be able to survive. I can’t imagine the destruction we will see if we survive.

For humanitarian workers like us, the main challenge is keeping safe when there is no safe place. Moving from place to place is very dangerous. I am sometimes afraid to even look outside. Humanitarian workers trying to travel to other parts of Gaza to help those in need know it could be a one-way trip.

I am thinking of leaving my house to go to my parents, even though I am convinced that no place is safe. I just want to see my mother and be with her.

Wednesday 11 October, Poisonous water and patchy internet…
At home, my family and I can’t find drinking water. I’m telling my kids over and over to be careful using what water we still have. We used to have a home filtration unit, but it’s blocked with salt and other minerals. We’ve gone back to using it even though we know the water is dangerous. What choice do we have?

We barely have internet in my house either. I use brief moments of connection to try and piece together what is happening elsewhere in Gaza. Once, when we managed to get online, we saw shocking images from Al Remal, downtown Gaza’s commercial district. The streets were upside down. Buildings reduced to rubble and ash, trees ripped from their roots and even pets lying dead in the streets. I can’t understand what I’m seeing.

The bombardment and destruction we’re experiencing means a huge humanitarian crisis is sure to be on the horizon.

Friday 13 October, Fleeing home…
At midnight one night, my phone rang. It was a number I didn’t recognise, and when I answered, a recorded message ordered all residents of Gaza City and northern Gaza to evacuate to the southern half of the strip. That is about a million Palestinians, forced to flee their homes.

I prepared quickly in the morning and started moving south. There were hundreds of people walking and carrying their belongings. No one knew where to go or what to do, never mind what the hours ahead might bring. Dozens of cars moved like a caravan, all crowded with passengers and their belongings.
As I drove, I saw damaged and demolished buildings, rubble all over the roads, and huge craters about 4 metres deep from the bombs. I was terrified more would fall while I was driving. The scenes from the road were like a horror film or a landscape from a dystopian novel where the world had ended and only destruction remained.

I can’t see a light at the end of the tunnel right now, in fact, it’s looking very dark… I am not sure this is the end of our journey. I am afraid we are going to be displaced again.

Tuesday 17 October, My mother’s ingenuity…
I’m writing this on the second day after evacuating our home. The situation here is no different, bombing is still going on all the time and those of us who’ve evacuated are still not safe.

My mum is taking extra measures with food and water. I’m sorry to tell you that we are flushing the toilet only 2 times a day, in the morning and at night, and we’re eating less food to avoid going to the toilet as regularly. We wash for prayers only once or twice and mum has decided that only the adults can use water for this, she tells the kids: “Allah will accept your prayers, my beloved children, because you are innocent and pure.”

My mother has a pack of plastic bowls to serve meals in to avoid using more water for dishwashing. She is always thinking of meals that would use less water and fewer dishes. Without electricity, things in the deep freezer have started to melt.

The ability to switch the lights on is a luxury in Gaza now. Being able to go to the toilet and properly wash yourself is a privilege. Even the idea of showering has started to seem fanciful, let alone being able to have a roof over one’s head and get a good night’s sleep, without bombing.

This can’t continue anymore, my dear readers. I had been thinking that us humanitarian workers will have a huge amount of work to do and people to support when this escalation is over, but now, I think we might not have the chance. We might not live to do so.

Friday 20 October, Every night, I dream our house will be next in the firing line…
I am afraid. My days are filled with a relentless stream of news telling me civilians houses have been hit and dozens have died. At night, I wake up, my heart pounding, afraid that the next airstrike will hit us. I have started telling myself not to worry. Death does not hurt. I will just be asleep. Yet still, every night, I dream our house will be next in the firing line. I am afraid to be trapped under the rubble. I am afraid if I die, they won’t recognise me, but I am wearing my wedding ring, which is engraved with my name and my wife’s name, so at least they can guess who I am.

It is shocking to me that today, in the 21st century, the people of Gaza are living – not living, just trying to survive, really – like this. People are being killed for just being here, trapped, with no way to escape, no way to get our children to safety. Families are torn apart.

Every free person in the world would refuse to live like this. It grieves my heart that the international community appears so indifferent to our suffering, that the world is accepting the indescribable horror faced by Palestinians in Gaza.

Monday 23 October, My neighbours are dead…
After midnight, a huge blast shook the flat where we’re staying, sending pictures flying off the walls. I went outside to find that our neighbours’ house had been hit by an airstrike. There was a crater about 6 meters deep. Dozens of people had been in that house, including women and children.

Ambulances and firefighters rushed to our street. The neighbours kept telling them that there were people under the rubble, but the firefighters struggled as the house is in a narrow alley that cars can’t fit through. The medics managed to rescue some injured people. But in Gaza today, medics have to make agonising choices about who to treat – it is just not possible to help everyone who needs it.

I used to hear sounds of children playing at the neighbours’ house. There were lots of them there. Now, it will be silent. All night long, I kept hearing people trying to pull bodies from the rubble. Only this morning, a woman’s body was recovered. This family’s story was cut short last night. Its members were added to the rising death toll. More sorrow and more pain, more bloodshed. And this will not be the end of it.

Wednesday 25 October, Death is closing in on families in Gaza…
We are exhausted as the weight of each day grows still heavier on our shoulders. Life is becoming unbearable. The pain and suffering are increasing by the moment and our people are desperate. I too am desperate, and starting to lose hope that there will be an end to this violence. Everyone in Gaza is just awaiting death.

We have done nothing to deserve such brutality. We are just civilians – ordinary families – who want to live in peace. We do not care about politics, nor are we part of it. I know my people have lived under occupation for years and that they deserve to live freely, but right now everyone just wants this violence to stop.

I know I need to be stronger and more resilient, but we are all tired here. We are all praying that the killing will stop. There must be brave people somewhere who are willing to talk and reach an agreement, but it feels like there is no one in the world who cares about civilian lives.

I am consistent in sending you these words because I think I need to leave a story behind. Palestinians are not just numbers in a death toll. Each one has their own feelings, their own favourite dish, their own football team they like, their own hobbies and their own memories. I have mine too.

I want to be remembered. I want to attend a Manchester United game, despite their poor performance on the football pitch. I want to go to my office. I want to see my children grow. I want to drink clean water and charge my phone. I want to live a simple, stupid life. Give me a chance to live it. Who is giving these chances and who is taking them away? I actually do not know…

Monday 30 October, Death is now the norm in Gaza…
On Friday 27 October, my phone connection was suspended all of a sudden. At first, we thought there was a problem with the internet. We restarted the router many times, but when I saw that we couldn’t make calls either, I realised something was wrong. I thought a bomb must be heading for our area. My legs froze and my heart sank to my knees.

My brother said he’d heard there was a land invasion taking place. Remembering an old radio my father used to have, we rushed to get it and eventually found a channel confirming that the invasion had officially started.

I could hear plane after plane roaring across the sky, passing over our heads and bombing Gaza. I could hear the sounds of far-off explosions and what sounded like hundreds of drones buzzing all around.
That night, every kind of thought imaginable entered my head. I thought we might start being bombed randomly; I thought our end had come. I was thinking that we would not be able to call an ambulance because our phones weren’t working. I thought we might die, and no one would even know. I was thinking of my friends abroad, my sisters, and my friends at Islamic Relief who are checking on us all the time. This is the end, I thought.

Wednesday 1 November, The world is watching us Palestinians die…
I am more frustrated than ever. In Gaza we have been living in hell for 24 days, but still there has been no significant action from the international community to stop this massacre of Palestinian families.

Has the world forgotten that the people of Gaza are human beings like any other? It seems no one cares if we live or die. My readers, I am sorry for my anger, but I cannot see an end to this cycle of violence, and I know no one in Gaza with the power to stop this madness.

How many more massacres are required before the world will say that is enough and stop this violence? I think the world is getting used to seeing us being killed live on TV.

Thursday 2 November, Adapting our diet…
My family’s diet has changed since we came to stay with my mum, who has proven herself brilliant at preparing meals with very little. The kids’ favourite breakfast is now tea and biscuits, which are crumbly and baked in the oven. They are the perfect shape to dip into hot tea, and the sugary treat provides a welcome energy boost for the long, gruelling day ahead.

Figuring out lunch is another challenge. First, we need the resources available. Then we need to consider meals which use as little water as possible, since water is now increasingly hard to find. For the same reason, we minimise the number of dishes that need to be washed. And, with many bakeries closed, we try to make meals without bread. In these difficult times, it is hard to find protein so most of our cooking is without meat.

We don’t make an evening meal anymore, making do with just 2 meals a day. The kids will sometimes have snacks such as cucumber and tomatoes with cheese. Limited as our diet is, my family is lucky to have this food.

Monday 6 November, Will my son get to celebrate his birthday..?
Like most children, my 6-year-old son has been eagerly awaiting his birthday, which is next week. When the crisis began 1 month ago, and his school closed, his first question was, “Will we still celebrate my birthday?” I told him, “Of course we will. This will end soon, dear.” Back then, I never expected we would be forced to flee our home and would be struggling to get food, water, and electricity. I keep praying that this nightmare will end before his birthday.