Wednesday 1 November
5am We notice that the connection is cut for the second time. No phone calls, no text messages and no internet. Unlike the first time, I put my mobile down, close my eyes and try to have some minutes of sleep.
I am numb, completely numb. I am too tired of being afraid, I don’t have more energy to be hopeful. My body is unable to react. I am losing my ability to feel.
8am I re-read messages I received last night. One of them shows a picture of a beautiful cat with the text: “This is a street cat that has chosen our house (or at least the garden) as his home. He is very shy. My wife named him Rubio, which means blond in Spanish. I am sure he somehow is connected to Manara.”
Speaking of Manara, she is still improving. Today, for the first time, she was playful for about 10 minutes. She went around the room, cuddled with us and chased a fly, which I allowed. I have this rule: “If a cat is being fed, it is not allowed to follow flies. Flies have the right to live.” But the fly was far away, so I did not stop Manara from chasing it. Another good sign is that the bloating of her lower abdomen has decreased significantly. I thought she was pregnant, but she isn’t.
I thought of a friend of mine that I tried to call yesterday but couldn’t catch. When she returned my call, I saw her name on the mobile, but did not feel like answering. I was too tired. I decided to talk to her the next morning. For a second, I wondered whether I have lost my chance to ever hear my friend’s voice again.
Noon The connection is back. I answer calls, reply to text messages, and put my mobile down.
1pm “I am thinking about distributing my children among different homes of relatives.”
“Why? To reduce the burden?” I ask.
“No, in case something bad happens, I would lose one of them, not all.”
That was the conversation I had with a man I know over the phone. I was asking him if he knew of any available gas tubes. I was in the middle of the street, trying to catch a better signal. I finished the call and sat down on the pavement. I wanted to cry, to scream, but I couldn’t.
It is like one of those “muted” videos. The amount of misery is reaching levels I have never thought it would … what else is left? What else?
3pm A friend called, checking on us. She told me that her family decided to get a single solar panel to be able to charge batteries and mobile phones. It cost them more than $600.
They were lucky to find one. In Gaza, $600 is the monthly salary of three people working 12 hours a day. This is how horrible the situation is. Even though the minimum wage is way higher, many young Gazans find themselves facing two options: accepting a job that does not require the university degree they hold, with a very low salary that can cover transport and few necessities – or be jobless without hope of a good life.
The sad thing about my friend’s story is that, at the end of the day, not all the family members are satisfied. Some of them are not getting their items fully charged, especially when the sun is not that strong.
5pm I realise that today is 1 November. My sister thinks nothing has changed, it is just a date. But for me, everything has. Almost a month since the whole situation started; if we make it through alive, no October will ever pass without pain in our hearts. October has marked the loss of many lives and memories – what will November hold?
8pm I receive a call from my friend who has lost her home, checking on me. We belong to a group of friends, all almost in our mid-30s, yet she has just turned 30. She always brings joy to the group. During our conversation, she shares some fun situations that happened to her at the school she is staying at. I tell her that I cannot imagine how she is maintaining her positive attitude.
“This experience has taught me how to appreciate the smallest of things,” she says. “Drinking clean water; having water to take a shower; eating a healthy meal that has vegetables and protein in it; sleeping for eight hours … Oh! I miss sleeping on my bed.” Then she says: “Believe me, the real challenge is when the situation ends. Going back to reality and having to make decisions about every single part of your life. Right now, we are in the middle of chaos. But then, when the silence arrives, and you start seeing everything clearly, the real catastrophe will start.”
11pm This morning, when I was able to sleep for a short while, I dreamed about two birds. They were both chained, and the female had something covering its beak. I approached them and took the chains off, unleashed the beak and set them free.
I am not sure whether this is a sign that something positive will happen soon or whether it is my subconscious trying to let out my feelings. One thing I am sure of is that I want to be free … free like a bird.
Thursday 2 November
9am There is no reason for me to go out, but I want to walk. Just walk.
Unless you need something important, you don’t leave your place. But I can’t handle it any more. I go to the street and start walking quickly. It is like I have this huge energy inside me. I go to new streets and areas. I don’t care.
I reach a library. It is open. Some libraries have started selling random things since the situation started. The other day, I bought a hat from a library that was also selling pyjamas and underwear. I enter and buy a highlighter pen, for when I find quotes I like while reading. Since the beginning of October, I have read two books and now I am reading the third.
After around an hour, I decide to go back. I see a lady coming towards me. I do not recognise her at first, but then I remember: I had been working with her. She had to evacuate south and stay with her in-laws. We exchange few sentences and move on.
The irony is that we had been working together on an art project. A month ago, we were discussing expressing feelings via acting, singing and dancing. Now we are two people, far away from home, unable to express their pain and constant fear.
How come, we were thinking of a better future for Gaza and its youth then, when now we are not sure we will see another day?
How come this lady, who used to wear colourful clothes and have a smile that would shine a room, is a replica of herself, in a fully black outfit, with eyes full of sadness?
10am On my way back, I see a nurse coming out of a supermarket holding a bottle of juice in his hands. I know he is a nurse because he is wearing his uniform. I wonder about the horrible things that this man has been witnessing every single day. How tired he must be that he can’t even change before leaving the hospital – or maybe he just took a break.
How can doctors and nurses be saving lives if their own families are in danger? How can they operate when there are hundreds more waiting for help? How can they have the clarity of mind to make decisions while hearing the bombing around them?
2pm I receive a message from someone living abroad telling me that: “Your dignity is in my heart.” Even though I was touched by this message and others she sent out of support and care, I was a little bit sarcastic about it. My dignity? I have some?
In the “normal’’ times, Gazans don’t have the dignified ability to travel whenever they want. I have been blessed with travelling several times, though there were many chances I lost because I couldn’t secure a travel permit. I would get selected for programmes out of thousands of people around the world, and get disqualified for not being able to travel.
The most horrendous one was when I was selected for a human rights programme and couldn’t get the visa because I had to travel to have a visa interview outside Gaza, which I couldn’t do. The organisation then disqualified me. I sent them an email asking how a human rights programme could disqualify someone because they cannot enjoy their human rights. I begged to attend online, or for them to take action to support me. Nothing happened, and I lost my chance.
The stories go on and on. I can think of five friends of mine who lost master’s and PhD scholarships for not being able to travel.
But dignity could be about things simpler than travelling, such as sleeping in the safety of your own home, with access to water, electricity and internet. Dignity is about having access to a toilet when you want.
Dignity, she said!
6pm I remember that yesterday was my friend’s birthday. I send a message: “Hello there. I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday. I know that the situation is difficult now, but hopefully it will end soon and we can gather and celebrate together.
“If you can, get a little piece of cake and light a candle and make a wish. Wish for this nightmare to end. You never know, your wish might come true, and you will be helping many, many people.”
7pm A dear person, in Norway, told me today that the snow had arrived in a blizzard and his two-year-old was amazed to see snow for the first time.
I remember the first time I saw snow, I was 30. Imagine a 30-year-old man from Gaza with a bunch of other Gazans seeing snow for the first time, after they got the chance to travel.
We turned into young kids. Everyone around us was surprised by our childish happiness. We were throwing snowballs, making shapes and taking pictures.
I wonder how many positive first feelings I will have: a crush over someone new, visiting a new country, making a new achievement, or simply watching a flower blossom. Are there any experiences left for me, or have I cashed all of them already without even noticing?
