Worn 50-shekel notes; some vendors won’t accept damaged bills. Photo: Shahed AbuAlShaikh

The war on Gaza did not stop at mass destruction, killing, and displacement. It further suffocated people by shutting down banks and halting the flow of money, forcing reliance on worn-out paper currency. Vendors often refused to accept these damaged bills.

During the two years of closed crossings and the ban on importing food, prices soared uncontrollably. Buying essentials became a daily struggle, and we had to leave the comforts of home to stay in worn-out tents. For the first time in our lives, many of us experienced starvation.

After the October 2025 ceasefire agreement, some goods slowly began entering Gaza. Most importantly, the ability to make purchases via mobile apps has spread. Our phones have become a tool for survival, the apps a lifeline. Ironically, this technology brings Gaza into the future while its past and present lie in ruins, allowing us to keep pace with the digital world despite still being cut off from our most basic needs. This strange contradiction simultaneously evokes astonishment and bitter laughter.

A promotional image for one of the new “financial wallets”

On a cold, gray afternoon, I stepped out of my tent and wandered past the skeletons of shattered buildings. I held my smartphone, searching for a tiny vendor selling through an app, just so I could buy the Nescafé we’ve been denied for more than 10 long months. When I found the vendor, I paid for my Nescafé through my bank app.

It began raining heavily while I was on my way back to the tent. Around me vendors shouted as they tried to hide their goods and searched for any roof to stand under. I started walking faster in case my tent was flooding. My clothes became soaked from the puddles of polluted water on the ground.

I reached my tent dripping wet, trying to keep the Nescafé and my phone dry under my hijab. I was relieved to find it dry inside. The rain, once loved by everyone in Gaza, has now become a monster that devours what little comfort and warmth we have. I changed my clothes and began the battle of trying to light the fire to boil a little water so that I could have a warm cup of Nescafé in the midst of all this cold. 

Making a cup of coffee over a makeshift fire, using Nescafé  purchased with a payment app. Photo: Shahed AbuAlShaikh

While savoring my drink, I thought again about the strange contradictions that this relentless war continues to impose on us. Until very recently, many people did not have access to the payment app because they were under 30 and did not have bank accounts; those restrictions were recently dropped. But some people still have not yet adopted the new technological payment method or do not even have phones. This contributes to the continued circulation of worn-out paper money, though most vendors refuse to accept it. At the same time, other street sellers refuse to use the app because they do not have one themselves, so they only sell to customers using cash.

All these obstacles increase people’s suffering. We are pushed into the world of the future while Israel destroys everything around us. We invent solutions to survive, but the barriers created by the occupation continue to stand in our way.

Now, after the ceasefire, people are requesting that banks fully adopt the advanced banking app for all transactions. Indeed, most banks have begun reopening, providing services like new account creation and reactivating frozen accounts. But when will the people of Gaza be able use apps to buy everything we need? When will we return to cooking comfortably in our own kitchens, just like the rest of the world?

And since goods began entering Gaza, Israel has flooded the market with smartphones while at the same time blocking the entry of essential aid, medicines, and fresh meat, which we have been deprived of for more than two years. So most people in Gaza now have a modern phone and a banking app, yet cannot find a single pharmacy that sells the proper medication for the illnesses the war has inflicted upon us.

(I think that Israel wants to give the impression that Gaza must be fine because everyone is able to buy a modern phone; some people speculate that these devices might contain spying components—but no one knows the truth.)

What about our homes bombed to nothing but rubble, with wild grass growing through what once were living rooms full of life? What about our modern kitchens that used to hold the most beautiful appliances—now buried under dust and broken walls? What about the huge malls where we loved shopping for the best things—now gone? What about the schools and universities that were wiped not only from the earth, but from the minds of the students themselves? What about the devastating setbacks that dragged us a century backward after two long years of erasure and loss?

After I finished my Nescafé, listening to the rain pouring heavily over the fabric of the tent as if it were trying to pierce through it, I chatted with my mother while tidying up. She told me that our current life—washing clothes by hand, cooking over firewood, using a makeshift bathroom made of blankets—brings her to tears. And our growing distance from the rest of the world worries her. The convenience of the banking app is nothing but a small breath in all this suffocation.