Washington Report on Middle East Affairs, November/December 2024, pp. 8-9
Five Views: Daily Life and Shattered Dreams in Gaza—Young Writers Share Their Stories
By Huda Skaik
AS WINTER APPROACHES, the prospect of enduring another season in makeshift tents in southern Gaza looms ominously for displaced Gazans. The combination of harsh weather, inadequate shelter, and the lingering effects of this genocide creates a dire situation that threatens our very survival.
Last winter, I was still in the north of Gaza and was displaced at least nine times from October to December.
In December, my family and I decided to return to our home. It was dangerous to return because our area was invaded twice, but we did.
I spent last winter in my grandfather’s house and then in my family’s home. Finally we had our beds and some warmth, some comfort for our trembling hearts. I spent most of last winter in our home, which tolerated the winds and heavy rain. I listened to the news on the radio before going to sleep, and I heard that the displaced in the south were drowning in water-filled tents and suffering from the bitter cold; they had no blankets. I wondered how they felt, being far away from their homes, and how I would deal with such conditions.
And then I became one of those displaced, and I felt how humiliating and harsh it was. In February, my family and I were forcibly displaced from northern Gaza to southern Gaza by the Israeli occupation. Since my family’s journey of displacement began, we have been exhausted.
We now live in Nuseirat. Being displaced and living in a tent away from home presents profound challenges. The most immediate struggle is the loss of stability and security that a permanent home provides.
THE HARSH REALITY OF TENT LIVING
Living in tents is a harsh and unfortunately common reality for many Gazans. These flimsy structures offer little protection from the elements. When it rains, water seeps in the tents, creating a damp and uncomfortable environment.
It is still autumn, but two weeks ago we struggled as the tent drowned in water. I wasn’t able to charge my phone due to the absence of sun. We are in a rural and agricultural area, and when we want to get some warmth, we use pieces of wood to light a fire to warm our trembling bodies and sit around it in the morning and evening before our brains get frozen.
THE STRUGGLE TO MEET BASIC NEEDS
We face an ongoing battle for basic needs that most people take for granted. Access to clean water, sanitation facilities, electricity and medicines is severely limited. Most medicines are unavailable. Last month, my dad went to all the pharmacies in Nuseirat to find a medication I take, but he came back empty-handed.
The struggle to charge our devices on overcast days has become a source of frustration; in a world reliant on connectivity, the lack of functioning phones further isolates us and cuts us off from crucial support networks. I did not have access to the internet from February to May, and it was a very depressing time for me.
Without sunlight, it is hard to dry our laundry, and we cannot bathe in warm water.
THE HIGH COST OF LIVING
The economic pressure on us is compounded by the high cost of essential items, such as clothing and heating supplies. Many families, already grappling with poverty and having lost their livelihoods and depleted their savings, find it increasingly difficult to afford winter clothes that provide adequate warmth. It costs from 100 to 200 shekles ($35- $70) to buy winter clothes that don’t really offer warmth. The combination of limited resources and skyrocketing prices forces many to make heartwrenching choices—prioritizing food or warmth while sacrificing other basic needs. Feelings of despair and hopelessness can become overwhelming, particularly for families with young children.
If we are forced to spend another winter in tents in southern Gaza, it would indeed be a disaster. The struggles of displacement—drowning in floodwaters, grappling with the high cost of basic necessities and enduring isolation—demand that a ceasefire be implemented immediately. As winter approaches, we yearn to return home, where sturdy walls offer warmth and safety and photos we like can adorn them. We are now painfully aware of how quickly safety and comfort can be taken from us, leaving us with a gnawing ache for our homes.
Huda Skaik is an English literature student at the Islamic University of Gaza. She dreams of a future as a professor, poet and writer. She believes in the power of storytelling and pens words that resonate with the spirit of Palestinians. She is training with We Are Not Numbers (WANN), a project to amplify the voices of young Palestinian writers.
