Life Between Bombing and Siege… Gaza as the News Doesn’t Show
By a citizen of Gaza Mr Muhannad Yousef Darwish
Since the ceasefire, nothing has truly changed.
The world thinks the suffering is over, but it still breathes among us every day.
Many essential things are still forbidden — the most important being gas, electricity, water, tents for displaced families, and winter supplies that provide safety for those who lost their homes.
The siege chokes every detail of our lives, and suffering continues without pause.
We are denied basic necessities, and nothing that people need to survive is allowed in.
Rafah crossing, our only gateway to the outside world, remains closed.
People wait for a chance to leave, for medical treatment, for safety… yet the doors stay shut.
Every morning, I wake up to take my children to school.
We walk long distances on dirty roads, without a clean environment.
We try, with what little hope we have, to preserve some normalcy in education and life.
Then I return to search for food.
One day, I was happy to find chicken in the market, only to realize it was expired — exported to us by Israel in that condition, yet sold at a high price.
After searching for food, I return home to cook.
Sometimes I light the fire using my children’s old clothes or firewood, if we can find any, and start cooking until it’s time for my children to return from school.
We sit together to eat our only meal of the day.
We usually eat cheese, beans, and thyme, because everything else is too expensive. Sometimes we eat canned food, pasta, or rice.
And we dream of fresh chicken or meat.
After cooking, I help my wife wash the clothes by hand.
There is no electricity, so we cannot use the washing machine. Washing by hand is exhausting, takes a lot of time, and wears out our hands.
But this is part of our daily routine to survive and preserve some dignity for our family in these harsh conditions.
The rest of the day, I sit with my family thinking about the uncertain future, wondering what tomorrow will bring.
This is how we spend our days, between fear and the tiniest spark of hope.
Our children dream of toys and fresh food, but reality is harsher than any dream.
My son Yousef cries every day, asking me to buy him a toy car…
But there is nothing here for that. No toys, no safety, no childhood joy.
Yousef, who is six years old, has lived two years of war and despair since he was born.
He looks at me with big eyes, and sometimes I smile, and sometimes I cry, because there are no toys here.
My little daughter, just two years old, was born during the war…
Imagine a child who has never known a safe hug, or normal play, or even a nursery.
In addition to all this, I see my young friend, 20 years old, suffering from cancer.
I watch him fade away every day — his hair falls out, he has no medicine, no proper food.
I try to comfort him with all my strength, to ease some of his pain…
But inside, my heart is heavy with grief, and I cry for him. He did nothing wrong to be denied treatment and forced to suffer alone.
My heart is burdened, yet I must stay strong for my children and those around me.
Life here no longer resembles life.
The ceasefire has not ended the suffering; it has only changed its shape.
And despite claims of “calm,” Israeli violations continue.
Since the ceasefire on October 10, at least 97 Palestinians have been killed, and over 230 injured in more than 80 documented violations.
The occupation continues its aggression despite all agreements.
What no one can imagine is how life can go on like this.
The world thinks we sleep peacefully, but the truth is we’ve only had five nights of real calm since the ceasefire.
Last night, I woke to the sound of artillery and nearby gunfire.
I try to reassure my children and tell them everything is fine…
But inside, I know it is not.
Nothing is fine here.
The pain inside me, in my heart, is still immense.
Every day, I carry water myself.
My back hurts from carrying water on my shoulders for long distances to our home, climbing the stairs to the top, just to keep my remaining family alive.
My heart is heavy, but I must continue.
I try to remind you of our reality, to show you that we are still suffering.
We remain in a large, destroyed, besieged area called Gaza.
No one can enter, and no one can leave, not even a breath of air.
Even the sea, which should have been our last refuge, is filled with displaced people and tents.
Those who lost their homes live there, facing waves that flood their tents again and again.
Since the ceasefire, Israel has taken control of about 40% of Gaza’s territory.
The western half is home to about 2 million people, while the eastern half is under military control, including all of Rafah, Beit Lahia, Beit Hanoun, half of eastern Gaza City, and half of eastern Khan Yunis.
But this control is more than just numbers on a map… it is our daily reality.
Millions live in besieged areas, deprived of the simplest needs, and the very air they breathe testifies to the loss of freedom and safety.
Children play among the rubble, the displaced struggle to protect their tents from the waves, and we carry water and food, striving to survive despite all restrictions.
Military control forces us to see life through barriers and walls, but it has not killed our determination.
We are still trying to live… despite fear, despite pain, despite everything.
Despite all the restrictions, all the pain, all the deprivation…
We are still trying to live.
And despite everything, we dream of a better tomorrow for our children.
Because living is resistance, and hope does not die.
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Link : https://substack.com/home/post/p-178478232
