Not as a warning, this.
Gaza is already suffering from famine. It is neither a metaphor nor a prediction. It is every day.
The child is the one who asks for the no longer available biscuits when they awaken. The student who struggles to concentrate while starving.
The mother must explain why there is no bread to her son.
And this horror is made possible by the world’s silence.
Children of the Famine
Noor, the daughter of Tasneem’s eldest sister, was three years old when she was born on May 11, 2021. Ezz Aldin, my sister’s son, was born on December 25, 2023, in the early stages of the conflict.
Tasneem entered our space one morning, carrying them in her arms. Do Noor and Ezz Aldin understand hunger, asks the question that would not stay in my mind as I approached her. Do they realize that there is a famine?
She responded, “Yes,” right away. Even Ezz, who has only been to war and ruin, is aware. He has never encountered real food. He is unsure of his “options.” Bread is the only thing he ever requests.
She imitated his baby voice, “Obz! Za ! Obza”! – his expression for a piece of bread called “khobza”
There is no flour, darling, she must have said to him. Your father went to the store to find some.
Ezz Aldin is unfamiliar with politics, borders, or ceasefires. He is unconcerned with diplomatic or military statements.
He only desires a small piece of bread. And he receives nothing from the world.
Noor’s mother taught her how to count and recite the alphabet. She adored chocolate and biscuits before the war. She had a ton of toys, snacks, and little dresses as her first grandchild.
She wakes up every morning and looks to her mother with wide, enthusiastic eyes. She says, “Go buy me 15 chocolates and biscuits.”
Because it’s her most significant number, she says 15, so she says that. It sounds like enough to satisfy her appetite and restore the world she knew. However, nothing can be purchased. Nothing is left.
Where has humanity gone? Take a look at her. Tell me then how justice appears.
Killed after five days of hunger
I was heartbroken after watching a video. A man was grieving over the bodies of seven members of his family. He cried, “We’re hungry, I’m in pity.”
A surveillance drone from Israel struck their tent close to al-Tabin School in Daraj, northern Gaza, after they had been starving for days.
The video’s subject wept, “This is the young man I was raising.” As he touched their heads one last time, they yelled, “Look what happened to them.”
Some people are still unsure of their understanding. It’s not about having money, either. It’s all about being completely unprepared. You won’t find bread in Gaza, even if you’re a millionaire right now. A can of milk or a bag of rice are not present. There are no markets. Shops are destroyed. Flattening has been used to flatten buildings. The shelves have been replaced, not left.
Our original plan was to produce our own food. We once exported strawberries to Europe, and we exported other fruits and vegetables. Our prices were among the region’s lowest.
A kilogram (2. 2 pounds) of grapes or apples? Three shekels ($0.90). chicken from a kilo of the farms in Gaza? Nine shekels ($2.70). We are currently unable to locate even one egg.
Prior to this, Khan Younis’ enormous watermelon weighed 21 kilograms (46 pounds) and cost 18 shekels (5 dollars). If you could find it today, the same watermelon would cost you $250.
Avocados were once viewed as a luxury fruit and were grown in Rafah, Khan Younis, and al-Mawasi by the tonne. A dollar per kilogram was once used for them. We also had dairy independence because local farmers made local cheese and yoghurts in Shujayea.
Our children only had basic rights because they were not spoiled. Milk was the name of breakfast. a cheese-filled sandwich. a boiled egg Everything has been disconnected now.
And no matter how I explain it to the kids, they are unable to understand the terms “famine” or “price hike.” They simply are aware of the empty nature of their stomachs.
Even seafood, which was once a staple of Gaza’s diet, has vanished. We used to send fish to the West Bank despite stringent fishing regulations. Even our ocean is now silent.
You haven’t tasted coffee until you try Mazaj Coffee from Gaza, with all due respect to Turkish coffee.
You could feel its strength in your bones.
Not a forecast here. The time has come for famine. The majority of us have been relocated. a lack of employment a sad state
We eat it at night if we only manage one meal per day. It’s not a feast, either. Rice is used here. . . . Possibly soup. canned beans
things you store in your pantries as backup. They are a level of luxury here.
We only consume water on occasion. We scroll through old photos and images of meals from the past to recall how life once tasted when hunger becomes too much.
studying while starving
Because of the rubble on campus, our university exams are conducted online as usual.
We are witnessing a genocide. We continue to try to study, though.
Second-year student here.
Our first semester final exams are just around the corner. We spent our time studying in a classroom full of hunger, drones, and constant fear. People don’t understand what a university is, either.
We took exams while battling the scream of warplanes while we were hungry. We tried to remember dates, but we also forgot when we last had bread tasted.
I chat on WhatsApp with my friends Huda, Mariam, and Esraa every day. We repeatedly ask the same questions of each other.
What did you consume today?
“Can you even concentrate?”
Not about lectures or assignments, but about hunger, headaches, dizziness, and where we are still standing. One person says, “My stomach hurts too much to think.” Another phrase is “I nearly fell off my chair when I stood up.”
And we continue to advance. Our most recent exam was on July 15. We persevered because we had no choice but to remain strong. We feared losing a semester. But to be honest, saying that seems so unimportant.
Studying while starving your soul consumes.
An air strike struck our neighbors one day while they were taking exams. The walls were shaken by the explosion.
I was considering my level of hunger just a moment ago. I paused a moment later and didn’t feel anything.
I avoided running.
I stayed focused on my studies. There is no other choice, so I had to leave because I was fine.
They give us food and then hold us accountable.
Let me be clear: Gazans are purposefully starving. We have suffered from war crimes, not unlucky.
The crossings must be made. Aid should enter. Food enters the room. Bring medicine inside.
Gaza doesn’t require sympathy. We can resurrect. We can get over this. But first, stop giving us food.
Killing, starving, and besieging people are not just preconditions; they are behaviors that we are forced to accept. Language reveals who is to blame for their actions.
Source: Aljazeera
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