
The tragic drawing board of Gaza is a mosaic of catastrophes of destroyed buildings, streets, hospitals, and universities — even farm lands. Gaza in this genocide was divided into north and south, with the north the blackest part of the drawing. Complete destruction dotted the landscape, while the ghosts of death followed the terrible sounds of bombs and the pain of losing family members or homes. Even our simple, single-floor home in the north does not exist anymore.
Remembrances of lovely times
I still remember past summers, when we went swimming in the sea and then visited our farm the north afterwards to change out of our clothes in our home there instead of staying wet.
We would entertain ourselves with the simple life of the farmer, free of urban chaos and noise, with mild breezy winds that lured us to sleep under a pure black sky and the moon. The romantic silence urged us to be happy and inspired me to write songs and poetry.
I remember the stars I used to admire while I laid down on the big sofa outside that was surrounded by plush green plants. We would grill chicken wings and fish outside and I remember when we picked strawberries from the ground and ate them with relish. We planted and ate watercress, parsley, peppermint, tomatoes, and corn, fresh from our land. We even had a well from which to water our plants. But all of this disappeared.
The words “I remember” linger on our tongues because everything is absent. Even the outdoor sofa that I loved was stolen, along with the fence that surrounds our land. Our home and plants were all stolen.
The budding olive trees that we once sowed, and whose fruit we patiently waited to harvest, were murderously uprooted before their trunks could become old and sturdy.

Our home was once our refuge from the urban noises of Gaza city. It sat on topsoil, in an area surrounded by a few buildings and many green spaces and gardens.
Though the home has disappeared, the land stays.

Possessions looted and sold
Looting by the Israeli soldiers was rampant during the genocide in Gaza. After the Israeli army left the area, thieves came quickly before the owners could return and robbed and emptied the buildings and lands of anything they could sell. Also, some of the thieves used guns to steal directly from the trucks trying to deliver humanitarian aid.
The thieves appeared when there was no longer any law enforcement or police left in Gaza. They took advantage of the chaos and started stealing everything. It wasn’t strange to see your belongings sold on the stalls, which were constructed from a long piece of wood laid on piles of stones; the items for sale were placed on the plank. These stalls appeared on many of Gaza’s streets.
While walking on some streets, I saw a lot of stalls displaying clothes, kitchen tools, sweets, food, cans, and more. I keep thinking, are these things stolen or not? and I didn’t get any answer.

Missing the farm food
Destruction eats at our souls with its flashbacks of my brother’s kids playing on the land while our whole family cooked khubiza, a rich and delicious green soup full of vitamins.
While war reigned, we made fake avocado by washing and grinding canned peas, smashing them up, then adding a little salt and a taste of lemon.
But the rice soup dish was the most creative dish of this genocide. It contained one cup of rice, a few green peas from a can, macaroni if it could be found, and some seasoning and spice such as salt and black pepper and chicken stock cubes. We poured all of this in a big pot with a lot of water and let it sit on the fire. We ladled the soup into our bowls and pretended we were eating the original soup with diced eggplants and potatoes, round carrots, fresh green peas, and noodles, with the same spices. But of course, the taste was very different.
Bread was the most filling accompaniment. Sometimes we broke it into squares, adding thyme and salt for flavor and convert into a snack. These meals were never satisfying but we remained grateful for them even though they didn’t have the whole vitamins, and eating the food from cans made us ill.

After the ceasefire began, some vegetables and fruits appeared in Gaza markets. Their prices were not low but not expensive, so we can now make a real avocado with the original recipe by washing the avocados, then smashing them and adding a little salt, pieces of tomatoes, a taste of lemon, pieces of green chilies, and a few crushed cloves of garlic. The taste is incredible.
My parents are depressed to see all their work on the farm reduced to nothing. During the aggression my father said, “If we had the money that we used on our home, it would be useful in this terrible time, and we would not have suffered such a loss.” My mother often added with melancholy, “This land was the legacy of my father. We spent a lot of money to make it suitable for living there, but everything is destroyed now and my heart hurts when I recognize the mounting losses.”
But Palestinians never lose the connection with their lands. I wonder how life will be now that the ceasefire has taken hold? What will it take to build the new future in money and sweat and blood?
Now that the genocide has stopped (for now), I imagine many Gazans will visit their doctors, if any still remain, to treat the pain in our ears from the booming sound of bombs. My own ears hurt from the constant migraine-inducing hum of the drones that still hover for half of every day. An operation I was supposed to have on my nose was canceled because of the war, as was my mother’s surgery.
My only message to the world is to stop watching the atrocities against us and take action to make sure the catastrophic genocide does not recur!