we are not numbers
emerging writers from Palestine tell their stories and advocate for their human rights
Trapped in a cycle of conflict and starvation, young people in Gaza wait helplessly for their lives to resume.
At the start of the war, my aunt baked bread for us over open fires. Photo: Nour Abo Aisha
“All of you girls are living the life of a princess.”
This is what my lecturer used to say in our literature classes at university.
“You have washing machines, dishwashers, everything. Unlike your grandmothers, you have the internet and live virtual lives. Life is easy for you, so why do you still complain about the hardships?”
His words have stayed with me as I think about the dramatic change in our lives since Oct. 7, 2023.
Before the war, I didn’t give a damn about what he said. Now we live in primitive ways, as though we are the first humans, getting up every day to look for water, food, and electricity.
Israel has brought Gaza back to its prehistoric past. Can you imagine how terrible this situation is for us? We must find a place to live that provides shelter from the summer heat and winter rains. We must search for wholesome food to keep the kids from going hungry. We must fetch water every day. These are just a few of the uphill struggles we face.
I remember my nephew crying all night for bread, and we could not fulfill this simple right. No one outside of Gaza would be able to bear this hunger. The water we were drinking during Ramadan was contaminated and contained salt. It has been catastrophic. Our bodies cannot take any more of this unhealthy food and drink.
At the start of the war, my aunt would make bread for us over open fires. She would tell me, “I am depressed. I want to take a break from this life.” These were her final words before the occupation slaughtered her and her entire family. None of them survived. May Allah rest their souls in peace.
The war has taken away many of my close friends and family members.
In this living nightmare, we have two choices: Either we cry over what we have lost during the war, or we adapt to our new circumstances. Even as our hearts bleed about the reality of our situation, we want to keep sane. We don’t want to become crazy as the result of what is happening around us.
With neither transport nor sewage pipes, we try not to slip on the garbage as we walk. Photo: Nour Abo Aisha
During the conflict, I was able to work as a freelancer for a Saudi Arabian corporation. I walked for miles in order to access the internet and get online to discuss my HR and field assignments. My route to the internet access point was dangerous and fraught with difficulties. The shelling meant that I could not be online all the time. A day’s work took me a week to complete.
The occupation forces target the electronic internet chips, and these are our primary means of access. When there was an Israeli air strike on my access point, I freaked out and stopped going.
Israel used to justify its terrible bombardment of our world by claiming that an enemy fighter was living among us. This was a rumor. We are all civilians here. They have no reason to kill us, but they kill us nevertheless.
Even during the ceasefire, I still struggled to get reliable internet access. Two days before the truce, Israel bombed a telecommunications company in northern Gaza, making it difficult for students and internet workers to connect.
I am not sure if I will graduate under these circumstances; I have been stuck in my graduation year since 2023.
For months, we were completely cut off from social media. Can you imagine what it feels like to know that almost everyone in the world—except those of us in Gaza—has access to the internet in their homes?
When I reconnected, I saw how much my non-Gaza friends had achieved in their lives. I see others in my generation marrying, succeeding, and getting jobs.
I don’t want their successes and my unbearable circumstances to derail me.
“So, children,” I thought, “I used to work online despite the fact that there was no internet in my neighborhood.” This struck me as a fantastic story to tell my children in the future, a testament to achievement in the face of bombing and starvation.
Now that a ceasefire has been declared, I have ventured out again, walking to the internet access point to complete an online exam or to write this article.
The traffic congestion makes it difficult to walk but there is no public transport and no petrol. Israel has destroyed the entire road network. We walk for hours even to run a quick errand. Everything is difficult and draining.
Life in Gaza is absurd. My ambition is shattered and my days are spent on housework. Before the war, I went to the gym and attended university, where I trained in translation and content writing for Mercy Corps. Now my days are squandered in cleaning like Cinderella’s, and even finding water for the cleaning has become difficult.
Our horizons are limited to tents and bombed buildings. Photo: Nour Abo Aisha
Gaza is primarily reliant on solar energy, and there has been no electricity since Oct. 7. When it rains, there is no water.
My life is transformed. Instead of developing myself and striving for my future, I spend my days among the plates and staring at the ceiling like an old woman.
I am stuck. What am I waiting for? I honestly do not know. Everywhere is decimated—our universities, our homes, our lives, and our lifestyles. We now live in the rubble and ruins of Gaza, demanding only the necessities of life, not the luxuries. This is what is left to us.
Words fail me every time I attempt to explain what we have been through during the genocide. Our futures have been lost and we are all stranded, holding only the memories of our earlier lives.
We are living in fear that Israel will violate the ceasefire, as they always do.
Alongside this anxiety, starvation returns, and the Israeli occupation closes the crossings. Every day, the situation in Gaza deteriorates further. In the blink of an eye, everything is gone from the market. We now have difficulty finding food; I no longer have the energy to live as I did in the past. Sometimes I weep at how relentless my life is.
We all hope this phase will fade, but when? I have no idea. We continue to advocate for our right to live, just as any other human outside of Gaza.
Editor’s note: On March 18, 2025, after this essay was written, Israel violated the ceasefire and resumed its attack on Gaza.
