Saturday 20 January
10am Over a hundred days have passed. Is anyone but us counting? In the past, I have always wondered about that moment when medical workers, especially doctors, lose that part of themselves where they start dealing with sick people as work and not as humans. Right now, I ask myself whether people around the world witnessing and watching our misery have reached the stage where they think of us as merely news instead of children with dreams for the future; mothers and fathers who wanted a better life for their kids; teachers who wanted to inspire the coming generations; and workers and farmers and musicians who wanted to follow their passion.
For the first time since this whole nightmare started, I went to the sea. I forgot how vast and blue it is. It was like meeting an old friend. Everywhere around was packed; people are everywhere. I bet if you take a photo from a bird’s view, all you are going to see is big numbers of heads in the shape of dots, with few spaces available.
I sat on the sand and saw a big family by the shore. The women were filling buckets of water, and washing dishes and dirty clothes, while the men went shirtless into the sea with their trousers rolled up above the knees to wash.
I saw a man and his son sleeping on a piece of cloth right under the burning sun. I felt sorry for them that they had nothing to cover their faces with. I remembered a discussion I had with Ahmad, the middle son of our host family, about his continuous back pain from sleeping on the ground. He told me that having a roof over his head when he sleeps is a thousand times better than sleeping in a tent or being displaced in schools. He said that we are really blessed.
Ahmad keeps surprising me with his acts of kindness. A couple of days ago, he went out and gathered all the children and gave them balloons. He knows all the children, even the ones of the displaced families. And they, and their parents, know him. When he went up, his niece knocked on the door several times to tell him that children who did not get balloons have showed up. He gave her some to give to them.
On the shore, there were many people walking. I saw a couple holding hands. I think they are really strong. The fact that they have the ability to express their affection to each other during these horrible times is impressive.
There were also children playing with kites, but not normal ones. They were kites made of sewing thread and, instead of pieces of cloth, they had actual notebook papers with homework written on them.
They say it is always about the perspective you have when you look or observe a certain situation. At that moment, I looked at the whole scene from the perspective of an exhausted guy crushed by the cruelty of life. I couldn’t see the beauty of the children playing, nor the couple of lovers walking or the acts of survival of displaced people to maintain the bare minimum standards of hygiene, nutrition or shelter. I only saw the empty gazes of people towards the nowhere; I saw sadness all over the place. I saw people with eyes full of tears, I saw those who are desperate for a moment of peace during these chaotic times.
I stayed for around two hours. Then I stood up and left.
12.30pm On my way to the house of the hosting family I passed by a pharmacy. I make sure to enter every pharmacy I find and ask for my medicine, and the different types of medicine that my friends or their families take. You never know when a pharmacy might get a couple of pills of any medicine from time to time. I ask the pharmacist about my medicine and expect that he would tell me that he does not have it, but I was wrong. He had one strip of it. I was very happy. I buy it, but on my way out, I go back and tell him that I still have some pills with me. I suggest that he cuts the strip in half and keeps the other half with him in case someone else asks for it. He smiles and says: “Think only of yourself. In these times, it is all about survival.”
I don’t agree with him. I insist that he takes half of it in case someone else asks for it.
I pass by a huge line of people waiting for bread. I guess the number on the men’s side was over 300 and on the women’s, 200. A guy I know told me that if he could get bread for his family within five hours, he would be lucky.
2pm I arrived at the house of my host family to find four of my friends waiting for me. During the past couple of weeks we all ran into each other on different occasions, and since then, we have started to meet and sit together. None of us had a strong relationship before with each other (except for a married couple), but our relationship strengthened during these times. We chit-chatted for a while, until one guy said: “Look at my shirt! Look at how wrinkled it is. One thing I wish to wear is an ironed shirt. I wish I could go back to the days when I used to take my clothes to the dry cleaner.” I remember my own dry cleaner, and how trusted he was. Several times, he would give me money I forgot in the pockets of my shirts or pants. I wonder where he and his family are now and whether they are still alive.
The words of the guy kept repeating in my head; I really wanted to do something nice for him. So, I got an idea. I went quickly and bought some coal. Coal is very expensive these days. It is the “luxurious” alternative, rather than wood, to generate heat. I bought a few pieces, and when I got back, I asked the grandmother if she could help me heat them. She generously agreed. After that, I asked her to give me the smallest frying pan she has. The frying pan was big enough for one egg. I put the coal on the frying pan and then went back.
They all looked at me wondering where I went. I said to the guy “Take off your shirt, I think we can make your dream of having an ironed shirt come true.” I laid the shirt on the couch, and I started passing the heated frying pan over the shirt. After a long time and several trials, the shirt was “ironed”. If you saw it in a normal context, you would never wear it, but compared to its old state, it was excellent. They were all laughing, encouraging me and, most importantly, asking me to be careful and not drop any coal on the shirt and ruin it. When I finished, he wore the shirt and was very happy.
One of the women shared a situation about how scarce clothes are. She looked for days for a hoodie. Finally, she entered a shop and found one – only one. “The price was impossible. I refused to buy it. But then, only few minutes later, I decided to get it, since I am afraid I won’t find anything else. I went back, and it was sold!”
After a while, one guy turned on a song by Umm Kulthoum on his mobile. Umm Kulthoum is an Egyptian singer who was given the title Star of the East. She had such a strong voice, she sang to big audiences without a microphone. The surprising thing is that, even in times where people look only for the quick songs and TV shows that you could binge watch during the weekend, many of the young generation still love listening to her hour-long songs without feeling bored.
We were six people. When the song started, we started singing along and swaying to the music. For a moment, we forgot what is going on around us. We were just a group of friends, from all roads of life, enjoying some music. On their way out, my sister hugged the women and thanked all of them for the fun time we had.
8pm My stomach aches, my back hurts, my knees are killing me. I cannot stop thinking, and reminding myself, that right now I am living the best scenario anyone in Gaza is living. I am privileged to be under a roof, have access to some food and water, be around some nice people – and staying alive. Other people in Gaza dream of having half of what I do.
Still, I am not OK, I am not OK at all. I am the complete opposite of OK. I am sad, broken, hurt, humiliated and displaced.
I close my eyes, try to focus on the blue sea I saw today, and I pray for a better tomorrow.
