we are not numbers
emerging writers from Palestine tell their stories and advocate for their human rights
In today’s world, our devices are vital to daily life.
The pens the writer used while helping her sister prepare for high school exams. Photo: Sojoud Alkhour
Since October 7, 2023, entry of many goods into Gaza, including smartphones and computers, has been severely curtailed and often halted, crippling communication, the ability to check on each other’s well-being, and other tasks accomplished via phone or computer. Moreover, restrictions on access to internet has seriously limited our ability to pursue our educational and professional lives.
My sister, Fidaa, is 20 years old, born in 2006. She should be in her third year of university, but she was delayed in taking her high school exams, known as Tawjihi in Palestinian educational terminology. She waited two years for the exams and the resumption of classes because the Israeli occupation destroyed schools and made targeting a constant threat. After the Ministry of Education announced that education would go online, and that high school exams would be administered remotely, my sister was overjoyed. She kept repeating, “Engineer Fidaa! I’ll become an engineer and programmer, and I’ll get a high grade!”
Fidaa took the exams under difficult circumstances, with internet and electricity outages and a shortage of printing presses, books, and printed study materials. When it came time for her last exam, Fidaa told me, “Sojoud, I’ll get an excellent grade, and I’ll get into the Faculty of Computer Engineering. I’ll become an engineer and a programmer.”
Amidst an atmosphere of joy despite the war, and with the sounds of songs and cheers in the streets, the Ministry of Education announced the high school test results. I searched for my sister’s grade using my phone. I entered her exam number and suddenly the grade appeared—93 percent! My sister kept repeating, “Engineer Fidaa, programmer Fidaa.”
Unfortunately, I knew that getting into the Faculty of Computer Engineering requires students to have their own computer to complete and submit their assignments, projects, and exams. However, the occupation prevents computers from entering Gaza and the few that remain are either prohibitively expensive, or used and useless for an engineering student.
My sister could not be convinced to study any other major and now she’s waiting for computers to enter Gaza. The Israeli ban on computers has halted Fidaa’s dream of studying engineering, a dream she’s had since childhood.
My other sister, Saja, 22, studies accounting at Al-Aqsa University in Gaza. During the war, her university switched to distance learning due to the destruction of campuses, repeated displacement, and increased danger. Since she didn’t own a smartphone, she could not attend lectures, communicate with her professors, or complete her online exams. My sister relied on my mother’s old phone for her exams and assignments, but its battery lasted only a short time, and it was difficult to open large study files. She managed to complete some assignments, but she had to miss many because the phone’s screen broke down after a long time. She went to get it repaired, but screens for that type of phone were scarce in Gaza.
Eventually, my mother’s phone stopped working completely, forcing Saja to suspend her studies. She struggled against all odds but was still not able to complete the remaining courses. She used her friend’s computer to do some of her assignments and completed the rest on her phone, though it also eventually stopped working. Today, while many of her classmates have graduated, she is still waiting for phones and computers to become available so she can complete her studies and achieve her graduation dream.
Two of our damaged and unusable devices. Photo: Sojoud Alkhour
Just like my sisters Fidaa and Saja, I face challenges with both internet connectivity and access to electricity, both of which are essential for me to complete many of my daily tasks. I work in journalism, project coordination, content writing, and online teaching, all of which require charged devices and reliable internet access. Since I often lack these basic resources where I live, I spend valuable time searching for workspaces that provide electricity and internet. Some of these workspaces are located within or are affiliated with media or humanitarian organizations in Gaza, such as the Center for the Protection of Journalists. So long as the occupation continues to restrict my right to the basic resources I need to work, walking hours in the hot sun, pouring rain, or bitter cold will be part of my daily routine.
The writer working in a space far from home where there is internet and electricity. Photo: Sojoud Alkhour
My brother Khaled, 37, a father of six, faces a different challenge. His phone, which contains his e-wallet and banking apps, has stopped working. In Gaza, where cash is extremely scarce, e-wallets have become essential for buying food, paying bills, and receiving money. Without a working phone, Khaled cannot make purchases himself. He has tried to buy a phone but, with the Israeli ban, they are scarce and expensive. At exorbitant prices, his phone has also been repaired six times, but it is now beyond repair. Presently, Khaled transfers his money to a friend’s phone in the neighborhood; this friend then uses Khaled’s funds to make payments on his behalf. Khaled will continue to endure this terrible inconvenience until he can buy a new phone and handle his transactions himself. He doesn’t know how much longer this ordeal will last.
The occupation’s ban on the entry of smartphones and computers in Gaza is intended to inflict painful inconvenience and create almost insurmountable obstacles to essential services, education, and employment for people in Gaza. Owning devices is a fundamental right, just as it is in every other place in the world. This horrific situation isn’t limited to my family; many around me are waiting for the entry of phones and devices that are an indispensable part of their lives.
