'My fears came true, Israel demolished my house as it had in 2014'

Since Israel’s war on Gaza on 7 October, tens of thousands of tonnes of bombs have struck the enclave, forcing millions of Palestinians from their homes. Swarms of planes dropped their missiles on high-rise residential buildings, killing over 32,000 Palestinians and injuring over 72,000 more. Thousands more are missing and thought to be trapped under the rubble. Telecommunications networks have been targeted and destroyed and journalists were killed one by one. Having survived a number of Israel’s wars on Gaza over the years, I became certain that this time, things were different and we were facing an assault that ignored international laws and pressures.

I realised that the Gaza Strip would be isolated from the world, and that being a photojournalist in Gaza means that your life is at risk. So far, we have survived six months of this fierce assault and watched 130 of my fellow journalists be killed, many targeted because of their trade.

At the start of the bombing campaign, I positioned myself at Al-Shifa Medical Complex, Gaza’s largest medical compound. It was an important mission to document violations Israel had committed against civilians, mostly children and women. Medical teams were quickly overstretched as a result of the number of cases coming in, and as I hold a bachelor’s degree in medical analysis, I was forced to help staff take care of patients in the reception area of the emergency department, or at the very least, to try to calm terrified children who had often been brought in after air strikes pulverised their homes and left them alone, with their parents nowhere to be found.

The occupation’s bombing campaign continued unabated despite the high casualty and fatality figures. We began to see entire families being wiped out by Israel’s bombs, then on 13 October, 2023, the occupation authorities ordered the residents of Gaza City to leave their homes and move south to an area near Wadi Gaza. I have previously lost my home in an Israeli air strike on my neighbourhood of Shuja’iyya in 2014, but was able to stay in Gaza City, this time Israel had ordered us to leave our neighbourhood entirely, forcibly displacing us to a different region of Gaza.

Seeing that my children were living in fear of the bombings which were raining on us and hearing news that a ground offensive could be launched in Gaza City, I decided to move my family to the south of the enclave. We left our home and moved into a tent which provided little protection from the hot days and the wintery nights.

Everyday I would leave my new ‘home’ and my family and head back to Gaza City. Things quickly intensified and we witnessed more and more families and civilians being killed under the rubble and intensified Israeli air strikes.

It was then that we began to experience disruptions in communications and internet networks. Sometimes telecommunications networks would be completely out of service and we would be cut off from the world completely.  Israeli tanks were now positioned in the middle of the Strip and cut off the main roads in the area; Salah Al-Din – which leads from east to west, and Al-Rashid Street – which connects the north of Gaza to the south.

I was  no longer able to make the journey to Gaza City and I remained with my family. We were left with no access to our home, our personal belongings or my photography and computer equipment which I rely on for my work.

Then the telecommunications company officially announced internet outages, and we began  sourcing eSIMs; electronic international sim cards which connect to Israeli and Egyptian networks. It was difficult to get a good enough signal to send a message. For eSIMs to work, we had to travel to places near the borders or climb on roof tops to get a signal.

The bombs kept dropping in northern Gaza and in the south; in the areas where Palestinians from the north had been told to flee to. The siege, which Israel imposed in 2007 and tightened to a stranglehold on 9 October, now meant we could no longer source petrol for our cars and returned to ancient forms of transport; donkey drawn carts. For me as a photojournalist, this meant I was unable to reach the site of an air strike quickly, meaning not all massacres could be documented.

Life quickly became more difficult. We lacked cooking gas, the crossings were closed, flour and many essentials ran out. My family and I began to search for firewood to cook whatever food or vegetables that were available. 

Then, what I feared happened, a repeat of the 2014 war. At the time I lived east of Gaza City and my house was destroyed and my equipment was lost, along with the awards I had been given throughout my career as a photojournalist.

News began to circulate that tank shells, air strikes and fire belts were striking the area of our home. Then, by chance, I saw the building on the news, filled with holes from the shelling and bullets. When the occupation army entered our residential neighbourhood, the pace of demolition intensified. 

Eventually a friend was able to locate my house among the rubble in the now unrecognisable streets of Gaza. With the siege on the Strip now causing severe hunger and starvation, my friend was able to locate a few bags of pasta, sugar, and some chocolate bars to feed his children in among the rubble.

It was shocking to see the state of our home, in ruins, no ceiling and with our belongings beneath the rubble. Even my awards, certificates and camera equipment were covered in debris.

In the midst of the war and the unrelenting Israeli bombing campaign we celebrated my daughter Dana’s sixth birthday. Since we were forced to flee from home and move into our makeshift tent, Dana has repeatedly asked me about her room, her toys and the fate of her school and friends. Not wanting her to lose hope, I have not told her the extent of the damage to our area, which continues to be targeted even today as Israel once again besieges Al-Shifa Medical Complex and shells the buildings in its vicinity. Instead, I tell her that we will return; soon.

In truth, I do not know when we will return. When we will go back to our ‘normal’ lives. I do not know when I’ll be able to return to my passion and document marine life off Gaza’s shores. Over the years I have been able to learn about sea life around Gaza and teach the locals what is happening around them. Diving equipment is among the many hundreds of items banned from entering Gaza by the occupation, so I do not know when I can return to creating films underwater as I once did.

Every time I go to the coastal bridge that passes over Wadi Gaza, the point of separation between the north and the south of the enclave, to take pictures of Palestinians who have once again been displaced, I see the smoke rising from my city but I cannot reach it.

In spite of everything we have witnessed and the lives we are forced to live now, we have hope, we will return. Even if it is to live on the rubble of our destroyed homes, we will stay. I will dive into Gaza’s sea once again and document life in my city.

The views expressed in this article belong to the author and do not necessarily reflect the editorial policy of Middle East Monitor.