A nightmare filled with suffering — this is the description of my life and the life of my eight-member family throughout the ongoing war on Gaza. We have already been suffering for over 260 days. We have endured constant and terrifying displacement from one place to another. We have had to leave our home and migrate seven times, living miserably in seven places that are not our own.

We have had to run away over and over again from the air raids and the danger of the Israeli forces. We live with constant daily fear: Each strike and bombing we hear, whether it’s near or far, reminds us of the danger everywhere. We have miraculously survived death more than once, and we live in fear of being killed at any moment.

In addition, since the beginning of the war, we have been unable to work and cannot make a decent life; we are all jobless and have no sources of income. There are no humanitarian organizations to help, and the extremely expensive food products make it almost impossible to have three meals a day, gas to cook with, or nutritious food. It has been challenging for us to keep breathing amidst the lack of income and life’s essentials, and the hunger crisis has become severe.

And now we have the closing of the Rafah border, the sole crossing point between Egypt and Palestine’s Gaza Strip. This closing, imposed by Israel on May 7, 2024, has had a significant impact on our lives. All my dreams of studying abroad have evaporated.

I am an English language graduate who has worked hard and always hoped to pursue my master’s degree outside Gaza. I became hopeless when I learned about the closure of the crossing. This was especially difficult because all the universities here in Gaza have been destroyed, including my university, Al-Azhar.

My little sister, Shahid, has also lost the opportunity to finish her last high school year, the Tawjihi. These events and disappointments were too much to bear. As a result, I always have dark thoughts about life. For the first time, I started wishing to die rather than live such a catastrophic life.

Here is the story of how my family got to where we are now in this terrible war.

Three displacements to relatives’ homes

In the first moments of the disastrous events of October 2023, my family and I were forced to leave our comfortable house because it’s located in Al-Shuja’iyya, the hazardous frontier area nearest to the Israeli border in Gaza. It is also known as an area of direct fighting. The Israeli army airdropped warning leaflets commanding us to evacuate and commenced intense airstrikes there.

We immediately and hastily fled without being able to take any belongings including clothes, personal documents, money, food, mattresses and covers for sleeping, lights, chargers, or anything else.

We moved to my sister’s house, thinking it was safer than ours, yet it turned out to be just as dangerous. We stayed there for about two weeks, sleepless and afraid of the massacres the army had been committing around us and fearing that we would be next. Then, Israeli forces started to threaten Gazan citizens and ordered them to evacuate towards the south. To save our lives, we headed south on October 13. It was the second time we had escaped and the most horrifying.

Our next stop was at my uncle’s house in Al-Zeitoun. We got there in the morning. Six hours later, the Israeli air forces started bombing the street entrance violently and persistently despite hundreds of migrating people passing by. The strikes continued for more than two hours. We were stuck in the house, unable to move.

With each strike, we were surrounded by loud and terrifying sounds, flying shards of missiles, screams of frightened people, and broken glass windows.

“Are we going to become martyrs?” my ten-year-old brother asked me at that moment, as he cried and shivered. Despite the intense fear I was feeling, I had to reassure myself and my family that everything was going to be fine. It was my responsibility as the eldest sister.

Later the same day, we barely managed to escape and walked about four kilometers toward my other uncle’s house in Al-Bureij. This was our third migration. Sadly, my uncle’s son was among the 70 martyrs who died during the carnage that we survived.

We lived there in crowded conditions for about a month, with over 80 people in the same house and more than 15 people in each room. We lacked life’s essentials such as food, clean drinking water, and safety. One day, the strikes were very close and our street was targeted. It was very loud and terrifying and some family members were injured in the bombing of the house next door. This meant that our only salvation would be by running away.

Move #4: Al-Nuseirat

We settled in Al-Nuseirat from October 30 to December 24. When we arrived, my mother declared, in total shock, “This time we have no place to stay and no relatives to call, I’m afraid we will have to stay on the streets!” We walked in search of a shelter until some strangers saw us and offered to help by hosting us in their house.

We lived in a dark, tiny, and scary basement room. There was not enough room for us all, and it would have been hard to escape from it if an airstrike hit the building. This pushed my brothers to sleep outside, across the street, under the open sky. We were there until the same scenario was repeated: The Israeli army warned the whole neighborhood to leave as it was a fighting area. On the same day, amidst the continuous, fierce, and close bombing, we ran away.

To a friend’s house

This time we had nowhere to go but to the house of my best friend, Asmaa. We headed to Deir Al-Balah, where she lives, and asked her for a haven to stay in for a while. This became our fifth time moving. We lived timidly in her crowded family house for about 17 days, from December 24 to January 9.

During that time, Asmaa and her family treated us respectfully and generously. However, the experience highlighted the fact that we needed a place to call our own. Living with her family made us feel like we were intruding on their life and privacy. We knew it was time to search for a new place to live.

From Deir Al-Balah to Rafah

On the January 9, we decided to live in a tent on the streets of Rafah, the “safe” refuge, as the Israeli army had claimed. This way, we thought, we wouldn’t be bothering anybody.

We spent approximately 20 days in a handmade wood and plastic bag-based tent. It was unstable and fragile and leaked rainwater. The temperature was boiling in the daytime and freezing at night.

One stormy nights I stayed alert through the night to make sure our nylon sealing was not destroyed due to the strong wind. Although the sealing was safe, we woke up to a flooded tent and ruined belongings. It was the second most difficult experience throughout our harrowing series of displacements.

Back to Asmaa’s

The last time we had to find a new place to live was on the January 27. We returned to my friend Asmaa’s house, but this time we asked permission to stay in her brother’s garage (he is a car mechanic). Frankly, it’s not much better than life in a tent; it is a very dark, dirty, and cramped space. We live with the bad smells of motors and oils, and the spread of car junk and tools. On the other hand, at least we are protected by cement walls and a cement ceiling above us.

We cannot wait until the end of this unrelenting war and for the moment we can say, home sweet home. We dearly miss the comfort and safety of our own home. I wait patiently for the day I can enjoy all the human rights that others have in this world. I want to still hold onto the hope that one day, I will be able to study abroad and earn my master’s degree.