The Arabic proverb goes, “There is no voice louder than hunger,” in the case of Gaza.
With each passing day, the painful truth that surrounds us has grown.
Never could the bombings and killings have been more enthralling. We never imagined this weapon would be more brutal than any other weapon we’ve ever encountered in this never-ending conflict.
Nothing on Maslow’s hierarchy even meets the most basic needs, and it has been four months without a single full meal for my family.
I spend my days battling hunger. One sister calls to inquire about flour, while the other replies that lentils are all they have.
My brother returns home from a long search for food for his two children with no food.
One day, our neighbor screamed in dismay as we woke up.
“I’m mad,” I say. What’s going on? When I came out to calm her down, she said, “I have money, but there’s nothing to buy.”
My phone keeps ringing throughout. I received calls from crying women who I met while conducting fieldwork in displacement camps: “Ms Maram”? Can you provide any assistance? a kilogram of flour, perhaps? We haven’t eaten in a while.
We haven’t eaten in days, is a phrase that rings in my ears. It has stopped being shocking.
In a country so proud of its “humanity,” famine is spreading forward in broad daylight, shamelessly.
A second birthday amid scarcity
Iyas has awakened and requested a cup of milk for his birthday today.
In the midst of a conflict, he has two years. On his birthday last year, I wrote him a poem, but this time, I think, “At least there was food”!
I become enthralled when a simple request from a child for some milk is made.
The list goes on and on until I had already held a quiet funeral inside of me weeks ago for the last of the milk, then rice, sugar, bulgur, and beans.
If I ration sparingly, I’ll have enough food to last me for two weeks, including four bags of pasta, five of lentils, and ten of my favorite 10 kilos (22lb) of flour. Even that, I’m luckier than most in Gaza.
White gold is something people are dying for every day because flour means bread.
Every cup of dough feels heavy to me. Just two cups, I whisper to myself. I add a little more, then a little more, hoping to halve these tiny bits into enough bread to last the day.
But I am aware that I’m deceiving myself. Since my mind constantly warns me how little flour we have left, it will not be enough to quell my hunger.
I’m not sure what I’m writing anymore. But this is exactly what I’m living, what I doze off of.
What plights still exist?
I’m now thinking about my former morning bread-making schedule.
I once detested the lengthy process that was imposed by war, which made me miss having access to the bakery’s bread.
That routine is now sacred, though. Thousands of people in Gaza aspire to be able to knead bread without stopping. I’m one of them.
My husband and I now hold the plate on my head and gently knead the flour, then carefully roll the loaves out, bake them in the public clay oven while he lovingly balances the tray on his head.
We are one of the “lucky” ones after spending an entire hour in the sun baking a warm loaf of bread. The wealthy are our kings.
For hundreds of thousands of Gaza residents, these “miserable” daily routines have turned into unattainable dreams.
Everyone is in agony. Is it possible that there will still be more horrors in this conflict?
We complained about being displaced. Then, our homes were bombed. Never did we go back.
We complained about the demands of carrying water, hand washing clothes, cooking over a fire, and bringing bread.
These “burdens” now seem like luxuries. Water is lacking. No soap . No supplies .
Iyas’s most recent challenge
Another challenge surfaced two weeks ago as Iyas were being drained of their last handfuls of flour.
We had no disposable diapers. My husband went through every possible location and came home empty-handed.
No diapers, no formula for babies, nothing at all.
That’s it.
How strange and harsh were the early years of this child, my God. We couldn’t stop him from changing because of the changes that war has caused.
His first year was a yearlong search for diapers, clean water, and formula for babies.
He then experienced famine, and he developed a life without eggs, fresh milk, vegetables, fruit, or any other essential nutrients.
I worked hard, sacrificing my limited health to continue breastfeeding.
What else could I do besides work, especially as I was struggling and attempting to keep up my work? It is intolerable to think about raising a child at this crucial stage without any nutrients.
One morning, my little hero encountered the challenge of changing diapers. I feared for him, looking at the toilet seat, which appeared to be a deep cave or tunnel he might fall into. Finding a child’s toilet seat took us two days.
He was training every day, a sign he wasn’t ready.
I was exhausted and frustrated as I sat by the toilet to cheer him up. When the child is ready, the child should begin potty training naturally.
Why are I and so many other mothers here forced to deal with a child for whom I haven’t had the opportunity to prepare and who is also suffering mentally?
I then go to bed and wake up in the morning to find my child using the restroom.
As I try to control our precious water supply, soiled clothes build up from daily accidents.
Then came Deir el-Balah’s expulsion orders.
A new slap is applied. As Israeli tanks get closer, the threat grows.
And there I am, starving, out of diapers, raising my voice in response to a young child’s confusion as the shelling blares in our direction.
Why do we have to live in such a state of dissipation every day as we prepare for another disaster?
Many people have pleaded with beggars. Some people have chosen to leave their favorite thing: a handful of flour or a piece of bread.
Others wait patiently for the tanks to arrive at home.
Many people, like me, are merely waiting their turn to join the hunger-stricken without knowing what the result will be.
Source: Aljazeera
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