I know the horror of being besieged and bombed, but I will not leave. I reject the slow death of forced displacement.
For a few weeks now, the Israeli military has been issuing forced displacement orders to residents of Gaza City, destroying towers and carpet-bombing neighbourhoods. Hundreds of thousands have fled south already, where they have found no safety.
Just yesterday, we mourned with heavy hearts and deep sorrow the killing of three members of the family of my father’s cousin, Yousef. The building where they had found shelter in the south was bombed just days after they fled Gaza City. Nedaa, Yousef’s wife, along with their children Roaa, 19, and Hamoud, 11, were killed.
The south of Gaza is not a safe zone, as the Israelis claim. Tents of displaced people are attacked every day.
The fact of the matter is that Palestinians in Gaza City now have a choice between two deaths – staying or leaving; both are deadly.
I have decided to stay. Remaining in Gaza City is dangerous, yes, but leaving would mean abandoning my home, my neighbourhood, my roots, and my identity. This is where I grew up and spent my childhood and youth, where I took my first breath and my first steps, where my family gathered for every occasion, where my dreams bloomed and my memories were made. This is the city where I was born and wanted to die of old age. To abandon it would be to lose myself.
My colleagues and friends have been asking me, “Where’s your next destination if the Israeli Occupation Forces invaded your neighbourhood?” I would always pause, trying to think of a good answer. I will move between neighbourhoods and go to the east of Gaza City, I would respond. Leaving the city is not an option for me.
They would insist, “But the Israeli ground invasion pushes deeper into the heart of the city, and the tanks keep advancing closer to your neighbourhood, so please leave and flee to the south with your family, Huda.” My response would be the same: My only destination is Gaza City. I don’t know anyone in the south, nor do I have a tent or a place to stay.
A week ago, I decided to pack two bags in case the building where I am staying was hit or if I was forced to move east. I wondered how I could fit everything I wanted to take. In the end, I chose only two winter outfits and two summer ones, and added my books, notebooks, a photo album, a few accessories, my favourite perfume, my headphones, and my phone charger.
It is not my first time preparing to flee.
In November 2023, the Israeli army invaded my neighbourhood without warning. My family and I fled under the constant shelling and artillery fire. It was the first time I saw tanks and Israeli soldiers face-to-face.
Then, several months later, in early 2024, we were besieged again, this time for nine long days. We could not move. There was relentless bombardment day and night. Food dwindled, and water was scarce.
Eventually, the IOF stormed our home and detonated explosives in it.
They forced us into an excavated hole outside in the street, where we were surrounded by tanks and armed soldiers. They forced the men to take off their clothes, blindfolded them, tied their hands and legs, and kept them like that for seven hours in the bitter cold. Then they forced us to go to the south, not allowing us to take anything with us. My family and I were only able to return to Gaza City in January this year.
These terrifying memories still live with me like a wound that has not healed. I fear it could happen all over again.
I try to keep away these thoughts by studying for my final exams and working on some assignments, but it is hard. Sometimes, I find myself only counting the seconds between the thunder of explosions. Every night, I wonder if tonight will be the night the Israeli army will storm in. The fear is constant, pressing on my chest like a weight I cannot lift.
Every morning, I think it is a miracle that I wake up alive. I look at my family and I soak up the warmth of existence. That – existence – has become harder than ever.
Food and water are scarce. We haven’t seen vegetables, fruit, eggs and meat in months. At the markets, the only thing one can find is chips, noodles, Nutella and biscuits. Canned food has become unaffordable. Flour, rice, and lentils can be found in small quantities but at high prices.
Cleaning supplies are also rare, especially tissues and sanitary pads. Medicine is almost impossible to obtain, leaving the sick and elderly helpless. For water, one must risk their life walking long distances to fill up containers. Wood for cooking has become a luxury: 1kg (2.2lb) sells for $2, which is only enough to boil a kettle of water for tea.
Death encircles Gaza City from every direction. The city is collapsing gradually, and my soul is crumbling with it.
I am not really sure whether I’ll survive this time or not. However, what I’m sure of is that I will stay in Gaza City till the very end. Displacement might offer a 1 percent chance of physical survival, but I do not seek an existence that kills my spirit and erases my memory, identity, and roots.
I know that by staying, I am making a choice that defies what is expected of us. Israel wants Gaza City empty, silent, depopulated, and erased. But as long as even one family refuses to leave, the city will live on.
The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect media’s editorial stance.
