Wednesday 14/11/2023

The rain, like the aggression, falls down on us heavily, taking with it the safety of the bereaved, then pauses and then resumes.Heavy days for us are passing under Israeli aggression, and now the rain has come to increase our suffering . Life is strange in realizing things, as  God does not send us anything but good. However, the rain takes away the safety from the people in tents at the hospital. It takes away  their sleeping places, and expels them, just as the occupation does.   

God, we accept all that you bring on us. We have disobeyed and you have forgiven, so forgive our greater sin.

Yesterday, at midnight, we had covered our tent with a plastic tarp to protect us from the rain, but the downpour was stronger than the poles and roof of our tent, so water began to pour on our heads. We got out of the tent carrying our things after many attempts at keeping the water away. We gathered our belongings and went to a nearby public school. They say that the UNRWA would raise their flag over it so that it would be safe, as if UNRWA schools have not been bombed before. We spent the night in a classroom, crying over our situation.

At four in the afternoon, I took some eggplants to the mud oven nearby the hospital, and met a child there named Hanan. Her beautiful eyes let you forget the pain for a moment, but also robs the reassurance they give,   because of the wariness in her face ; as though she had never been a child. Like me, Hanan had come for the eggplants. She smiled at me and I took a picture of her. People come to the mud oven on daily basis,  in order to take turns baking, due to power cuts and the lack of gasoline. 

In the morning, I took my father to change the dressing on his wounds. I went into the hospital with him, and a child and his mother entered along with us. The child needed to remove stitches from his back, while his mother had injuries in her foot and hand. After treating my father’s wounds, the nurse called out: “Hajjaj, hold the child tight and prevent him from moving.” I held the child’s back steadily and he began screaming in pain. The child was very strong, and he was able to move despite my grip. I was afraid to apply more pressure and break his pelvis in my hand. The child’s father told him to say, “Oh God,” and the child began saying it in his innocent voice, drowning in tears. At that moment, he stole away my resilience and my tears were about to fall, but I held them. 

We finished  and each went his own way. I went to the tent to rebuild it again. We stayed for hours until the night fell upon us. By seven in the evening, the rain came down again, taking down most of the tents in the hospital yard, our tent included, which we had spent the entire day rebuilding. Once again, we drowned.

We carried everything and went back to the school after  having left it. Hours later we heard the sounds of bombs that shook the place. The occupation forces bombed a house near the hospital, and there were casualties in the street nearby the hospital, where  we go to buy whatever is available. The ambulances rushed to them and brought them in along with martyrs, one of them split in two. 

The situation here is catastrophic. The situation of people in the hospital makes stones weep. Food is scarce and only available at double the price. There is no place for them (Gazans). There are no walls to protect them from the cold and nothing to protect them from the bombing. We are exposed to death at any moment, because the occupation forces has a green light from the world to kill us.  

News say that Thursday is the last day for the telecommunications networks in the Gaza Strip, after which they will all be cut off. Natanyahu is demanding that each Palestinian within the Gaza Strip go to the Egyptian Sinai. We may be forcibly displaced. 

My name is Esam. We were displaced from Shujaiyyeh after the bombing of our house to Hay Al Zaitoun, where the house was bombed over our heads on Friday, October 27 at 6:14. We were transferred from Al-Shifa Hospital to the European Hospital to treat my father. This may be our last contact. Perhaps our next contact will be from Sinai or through prayers for our souls.

November 14

Essam - Day 44 of the genocide on Gaza