Gaza: Nowhere to run

2 January 2009

Oxfam's Mohammed Ali continues to report from his home in Gaza City during the Israeli military offensive.

Around midnight, Israeli jets hit the Palestinian Legislative Council building, 1km away from my home. Needless to say, we were not celebrating this entry into the New Year.

I received calls from friends in Europe telling me that in solidarity with Gazans, they were not going to celebrate. I pleaded with them to go out, and to enjoy themselves because they could.

My friend in France called to say that she was thinking about my family, in the background I could hear the sounds of fireworks exploding, people laughing and celebrating. At the same moment, the sounds of explosions shook my home and my children cried out.

I felt both happy and sad. Happy because I knew that there were people outside of Gaza who had not forgotten about us, sad thinking of all the Gazans who would be spending this New Year shaking from fear in their homes, mourning their loved ones. I asked myself, do we not deserve to be happy and enjoy the New Year as much as any other human?

I will let the international community answer this question.

We did not sleep for the entire night.

For a year and a half we have suffered from the blockade, which brings lack of fuel, electricity, dignity, life... now sleeplessness adds to our misery.

In the early hours of the morning, we sat together as a family chatting and anticipating what would happen next, my brother interrupted us to say, "Why don't we make some tea?" None of us wanted to go inside the dark kitchen so we decided to bring the gas burner and put in the middle of the living room. Although the smell of gas, smoke and fear filled the air, that cup of tea became the most precious we have ever drunk; no one said it but I knew that we were all thinking the same thing - that this could be the last cup of tea that ever passes our lips.

30 hours of total blackout had now passed. I waited patiently for the power to return so that I could turn on the TV and check my emails. The power did not come, so for the rest of the night we sat in total darkness.

For a moment, I laughed to myself recalling that a few years ago the people of Japan celebrated the fact that they had not experienced power cuts for twenty years.

When the light entered our windows, we decided to clean the house. It seemed as though we had not lived in it for twenty years, with dust from the bombings lining every object.

My sister then came over with her five children; we had not seen her for five days. When I opened the door to them my heart sank, they all looked gaunt, dark circles under their eyes.

I soon learnt from my sister that her children have refused to eat for days, they cannot face it; fear now lining their stomachs. They ask my sister to accompany their every step, even to go to the bathroom - they do not want to be alone for a minute, petrified of what might happen to them.

They have not had electricity for days, so we heated some water with our gas burner so that they could at least wash in some kind of warmth.

As night fell, a neighbour told me that they had received a call from the Israeli military warning them to leave their home because a nearby building was being targeted. My neighbour's house is but 60 metres away from mine. With nowhere to go, we had no choice but to sit and wait for the worst to happen.