Thursday 7 December
2am Wide awake, I am trying to understand the feeling or state I am in. One thing I know for sure is that it’s not the first time I have had this feeling; I know I have had it once before. One time only. But I cannot tell when.
Two months have passed; just when you think you have reached the worst point, you get surprised by a new low. The last three days have been unimaginable. Many of the people who fled their houses once and twice and three times had to flee again. There are no places left. Complete families are in the streets. Women and children are there with nothing to protect them. My friend who, till this moment, couldn’t believe how fast things had moved, tells me: “We are like animals now, in the wild. I am terrified for my newborn child.”
It could be anyone any time. Everyone keeps asking about places to host them or their loved ones knowing very well the answer.
The closed shops are scary. They had previously been almost empty, but they were open with a non-essential product or two. Now, they are shut. There is nothing left. Street sellers who have an item or two are asking crazy prices. These days, even money has no value. You have money, yet you cannot buy anything. Also, everyone is sick. Fever and flu due to lack of proper housing conditions; backache due to carrying heavy stuff and sitting positions while waiting in lines; stomach ache due to the unsanitary food and lack of healthy water.
I am trying to figure out the feeling I have got. I know I have had it before. Suddenly I remember. It was years ago when I saw a photo. A photo of a Sudanese child during a famine. He or she was on the ground, unable to walk due to exhaustion, and a vulture was waiting, very close, for death so it could eat.
That is how I feel. On the ground, unable to move, my face down. The emptiness inside me; the weakness and helplessness. All unbearable. There is no energy left to hope. Despite all the chaos around me, there is horrible silence inside my heart and soul. It feels like a desert; nothing visible; waiting for death, silently.
2.30am The members of the second family we fled to, the ones who discovered recently that their house had been destroyed, were able to leave Gaza. As holders of dual-nationality passports, their names were approved over a month ago. Yet, they refused to leave at first and wanted to stay. Then they reached a stage where there was nothing left for them. They had no options, they left.
I think of them and the others who left. I think of their last messages while they were in Gaza. Apologetic ones saying they feel as if they are betraying the rest of Gazans and letting them down by leaving. Despite their misery, they still feel horrible for leaving, for having a chance at being alive. Some of them were crying, some of them were talking in a hurry. I remember telling every single one of them to leave and never look back, to save themselves.
A couple of friends called me from Egypt a day or two after they arrived. They sounded completely different. They sounded like normal people, who had a good night’s sleep, who are not talking while worrying they might be bombed at any minute. They sounded like people who have had a good meal, of their own choice, and maybe they had some dessert, too. Instead of referring to all of us collectively as “we”, they have started referring to us as “you”, and to themselves as “we”.
Right now, everyone is so lacking in hope that they don’t wish the situation to be over, they just wish that they or everyone will be able to leave Gaza.
3am Manara is getting in a frenzy over mating. It has been almost two weeks she has been on heat on and off, mostly on. We never thought it could last this long. The vet closed his clinic because it is not safe any more. We thought she might be in pain, stomach pain, but we realised we were wrong after Simba showed up.
Simba is a cat that my sister found in the street, lost. He was in good shape, but unfortunately some kids cut his whiskers. My sister brought him and put him in the land next to us. He found his way and stayed with the other “semi-adopted” cat that the hosting family children keep at the doorstep.
My sister wanted to clean him, so she brought him into our room. Once he entered, Manara stopped meowing, she was very calm. Then, within few minutes, she approached him and they kissed. A while later, he grabbed her neck and was on top of her. We had to separate them immediately. If this nightmare continues for an additional month or two, we cannot take care of a pregnant cat or its kittens. We are not sure we will have enough food, or whether we will stay in our place and not be evacuated for a fourth time. This time, we will end up in the streets.
Manara’s tail has been up recently, a sign of satisfaction or good health, she has been eating and drinking well. But her constant meowing is driving us crazy. Knowing there are two eligible males at the doorstep, she keeps meowing hard, all night, and they keep meowing back. My sister and I take turns calming her down. It is draining.
3.30am While holding Manara, I remember a conversation that happened outside our room between the hosting family members. There is no wood left to burn to prepare food, and it was not safe to go out and search for it, or even buy it, if that were possible. They decided to take out one of the wooden doors they have in order to cut it up and burn it. I hear their conversation, and argument, about which door should be taken.
Inside the room we are staying in, we have other debates. Another arrangement of “escape bags” and discussion about what to take and what to leave. I go through my certificates and legal documents. I choose the most important ones and put them in the bag. The others I leave in another bag that we will leave behind if something bad happens. Even the weight of paper matters when running for your life.
Another debate, and guilt process, is the amount of food we eat. Every time we want to eat something, we have this feeling of should I eat it all? Should I keep some for later? Should I give my portion to another family member? We are lucky enough to have food left; there are families out there with nothing to eat.
4am My throat is dry and my voice is very weak. Yet I choose to hum a Syrian song:
Take me to any country, leave me there, and forget all about me
Throw me in the middle of the sea, don’t look back, I have no other option
I am not leaving for fun, neither for a change of scenery
My house was bombed and destroyed; and the dust of rubble blinded me
Let me try, no matter what, I am a human being
Call it displacement or immigration … just forget about me
