we are not numbers
emerging writers from Palestine tell their stories and advocate for their human rights
Limbs are precious treasures in Gaza, and the ability to walk can mean the difference between life and death.
A child drags a box of wood and gallons of water. Photo: Abed El-Aziz
Gazans look at their lives through the eye of a needle. The sea is in front of them and the smell of death follows them. They have eaten the prickly pear with its thorns, such is the intensity of what they have endured to stay alive.
As Gazans struggle to obtain the bare necessities of life—food, drink, clothing, and a place to sleep—their survival is determined by their personal circumstances. Life is far easier for the able-bodied.
In other countries, people who have had one or both legs amputated can find alternatives to help them move around, such as a prosthetic limb or a wheelchair. Likewise, a sick or injured person unable to stand on their own feet can be taken by car or ambulance to a hospital or doctor for treatment.
This is not the case in Gaza.
In this small spot of land, able limbs have themselves become a precious treasure. Whoever loses an arm or a leg, and whoever becomes sick, becomes a burden on everyone around them, further endangering the lives of their family members as well as their own.
An elderly man in a wheelchair. Photo: Abed El-Aziz
Transport in Gaza has more or less disappeared as a result of the bombing and destruction by the Israeli Defense Forces. Many roads are inaccessible and any transport, where it does exist, is unaffordable for most Gazans because supplies of diesel and gasoline are limited and therefore very expensive.
Gaza’s entire population has essentially been displaced so this scarcity of basic transport, and the high fares, have drastically affected daily life. In the language of the Gazans, one’s own legs have become the primary means of transport—an expression in Gaza “to take the number 11 bus” means to walk.
My 17-year-old niece Sondos Mohammed Ali Arafat suffers from a rare condition of swelling in her right leg (edema) and severe inflammation. She lives with her family in their partially destroyed home in the Al-Shuja’iyya neighborhood.
When the occupation army issued an order urging people in the neighborhood to evacuate, Sondos’ family rushed to take whatever they could to escape from the danger zone. No transport was available so the family filled backpacks with a few clothes and their necessary papers. They carried a mattress and a blanket on their shoulders.
They couldn’t find anyone to help transport Sondos. Her father* supported his daughter with one hand while carrying a mattress with the other, as well as a backpack. He gave Sondos a cane to lean on.
As the artillery shells started falling, Sondos’ sister and the children ran quickly, trying to avoid the flying shrapnel. Sondos and her father limped after them as best they could.
As they arrived at the outskirts of the Al-Zeitoun neighborhood, a displaced family traveling by donkey cart saw Sondos and took pity on her. The driver helped Sondos and her belongings onto his cart, and took her to the Rimal neighborhood where her aunt lived.
The rest of the family arrived almost an hour later, in dusty clothes, and extremely thirsty and fatigued. It had been a long walk.
Displaced people travelling in a donkey-drawn cart. Photo: Abed El-Aziz
Now Sondos uses a cane all the time. She has no feeling in her right foot. She doesn’t know what has happened to the bone and nerves in her foot. She only knows that her health deteriorated after the evacuation when her leg became stiff and lost sensation. She is waiting her turn to be sent abroad for treatment.
Sondos longs to walk as she did before. If the driver of the donkey cart had not shown compassion for her condition, how would she have been able to complete her dangerous journey? She would have hindered her family’s movement, putting all of their lives in danger and increasing their odds of being hit by the shelling.
Had there been a reasonably priced means of transport for Sondos’ family to use, they could have quickly reached safety. They would have been able to take more bedding as well as precious bags of flour they were forced to leave behind. Instead, they fled with very little and the arduous journey has had a massive impact on Sondos’ condition.
Sondos’ father has seven children to care for. Whenever he receives a message about food or supplies becoming available, he must think how he’ll get them home. Many of Gaza’s roads are inaccessible to the supply trucks carrying food and drinking water. Able-bodied people can barely navigate these areas; a vehicle has no chance of making it through.
The only option for Sondos’ father and many other Gazans is to carry gallons of water over long distances. He collapsed after one of his trips, unable to move his shoulder, and was forced to rest for two days before he could carry water again. Recently he has started to carry water in a box tied with ropes, dragging it along the ground.
Sondos’ father now suffers from two herniated discs in his back and a herniated disc in his neck—injuries caused by the strain of carrying heavy loads. Had there had been a safe means of transport, these injuries could have been avoided.
Gazans who are injured or unable to walk face additional difficulties when they need health care.
My aunt Amaal Bahjat Mahmoud Arafat is 55 years old and lives with her five sons in the Al-Shuja’iyya neighborhood east of Gaza City. The neighborhood is destroyed. The remaining houses, and the tents of the displaced population, are surrounded by sand dunes created by the Israeli bulldozers’ ground invasion. The roads are largely inaccessible.
When Amaal developed stomach flu and severe inflammation, as a result of poor nutrition and drinking unpurified water, her cramps became so severe that she could no longer stand. Ambulances are unable to reach the area. Her sons borrowed their neighbor’s donkey-drawn cart to take her to the hospital. Had this not been available, they would have had to carry their mother all the way.
Sondos’ father and cousin walk long distances to fetch daily supplies. Photo: Abed El-Aziz
Without fuel or public transport, Gazans must walk everywhere, including over rough terrain and for long distances to fetch essential supplies. The endless strain of fetching and carrying contributes to existing injuries and creates others that require medical care. Even if care is available, it is almost impossible for the injured person to reach the medical facility.
This is how the endless cycle of pain and suffering is perpetuated. Constant displacement exacerbates people’s injuries, precious supplies are lost every time a family is forced to flee on foot, and able-bodied individuals are increasingly few and far between.
*Sondos’ father has requested that his name be withheld for reasons of security and privacy.
