First person: Document despair and find hope in the middle of Gaza’s rubble

Some 21 months have passed since the armed attacks of October 7 against Israel, which sparked the current brutal conflict.

Thousands of people have died and a large part of Gaza has been lost, but life must continue, according to the correspondent, which remains anonymous for security reasons.

“Those who live here in Gaza do not need explanations to understand the meaning of this war.

It is enough to listen to a few minutes: the planes constantly buzz over the head, and the air strikes silence everything except the fear which, although invisible, fills each space between our tents and the outbursts in our body.

At night, there are absolute darkness with the exception of the lightning lights.

We sleep knowing that alarm clock is not guaranteed.

Each morning in Gaza is a new attempt to live and each evening a challenge to survive. This is the harsh reality in which we live.

I am one of the more than two million Palestinians living under the charge of the trip. I document stories of war and despair while experimenting with all their bitterness.

Since our house was destroyed in November 2023, the tent became our security. My family, once part of my private world, is now one of the stories I share with the world.

Here, life is simple and tragic.

Sleeping on the field hard, cooking on firewood and the exhausting pursuit of a piece of bread are no longer options, but a lifestyle imposed by the cruelty of war.

Faced with my eldest son, who is not yet 14 years old, I see the reflection of a war which stole his childhood and imposed him greater charges than his years.

He has become an expert on water distribution roads, merchanting bread and carrying heavy gallons of water. I feel unlimited pride of his courage, but simultaneously a painful feeling of helplessness because I cannot protect him from what is happening around us.

Oasis of Hope

My wife tries to create an oasis of hope for our other children. My two older daughters continue to learn online when the Internet works intermittently and read the available books.

My youngest daughter is based on worn cardboard pieces while my youngest son, who is four years old, has no memory of something other than the sound of explosions.

We are helpless in front of his innocent questions. There are no schools, no education, only desperate attempts to maintain the brightness of childhood in them, faced with a brutal reality.

More than 625,000 children in Gaza have been deprived of an education.

This is due to the destruction of schools and the absence of a safe environment in which to learn.

The future of an entire generation is threatened.

Testimony

I work alongside other journalists. We walk between hospitals, streets and shelters.

We carry our journalistic equipment not only to document the events, but also to be a voice for those whose voices have been silenced.

We film a child suffering from a serious malnutrition, listen to the story of a man who has lost everything and attends the tears of a woman unable to provide food to her children.

We document a scene that is repeated daily: thousands of people rush to reach a truck of flour. They run after the trucks, collecting the last grains of flour on the ground.

They do not care about the danger because the hope of getting their hands on a miche of bread is more precious than life.

Each time, the victims fall along the roads of the militarized convoys and distribution points.

We walk in the streets, alert of each sound, as if we were waiting for the end to each turn that we do.

There is no more time for surprises or sadness, only constant tension and anxiety which are part of the DNA of survivors here.

This is the reality that the cameras do not capture, but it is the daily truth that we are trying to explain to the world.

UN colleagues tears

We document the efforts of the United Nations and its various organizations.

I see staff sleeping in their cars to get closer to level passages, and I see our colleagues from the United Nations cry while listening to the stories of my colleagues Gazans.

There is not enough help. The crossings open and close suddenly, and certain areas are deprived of supplies for days.

The western areas of Gaza City are overcrowded. The tents are distributed at each corner, on the sidewalks and among the rubble of destroyed houses, in disastrous conditions.

Empty markets

The value of the local currency has evaporated. Those who have money in their bank accounts pay costs up to 50% to withdraw it, to find themselves facing almost empty markets. Everything available is sold at exorbitant prices.

The vegetables are rare and, when available, one kilogram can cost more than $ 30. Fruits and meat are a distant memory.

The health system is in a complete collapse, because 85% of Gaza hospitals no longer work and most of the dialysis and chemotherapy services have ceased.

Medicines for chronic diseases are not available. I am unable to obtain medication for my parents, who suffer from diabetes and high blood pressure, and there is no hope of surgery that could save my brother’s arm, which was injured in an air strike.

Witness of everything

Sometimes I feel between two identities, the journalist documenting the suffering and the Humane who experiences it.

But, this is perhaps where the strength of our journalistic mission of the Gaza Strip lies: to be a voice of the heart of the tragedy, to transmit to the world the reality of what happens daily.

Each day in Gaza asks a new question:

Are we going to survive?

Will our children come back from their water search?

Will war end?

Will level crossings be open so that the aid can be delivered?

From there, we will continue, because new stories die and because each child, woman and man in Gaza deserves to have the voice heard.

I am a journalist.

I am a father.

I am moved.

And I witness everything.