‘I saw the hospital engulfed in flames, people burning alive, their bodies writhing in pain’

“My life was full of achievements, and then came 7 October.” These haunting words from 19-year-old Gazan, Shahd, mark the one-year anniversary of Israel’s war on Gaza, reflecting the unimaginable shift from a future filled with dreams to a present consumed by devastation and loss.

On 7 October, 2023, the world watched in horror as Israel’s war against Gaza escalated into what many, including Shahd, have described as “genocide”. In the weeks and months that followed, Gaza, already besieged and fragile, became a landscape of death and destruction. Homes, families and entire communities have been torn apart.

“I never thought I’d spend another birthday under the bombs of war,” Shahd says, her voice a mixture of disbelief and sorrow. “I kept telling myself it wouldn’t last, that the world wouldn’t allow this. But here we are, a whole year later, and everything is worse than I could have imagined. It’s miserable. We’ve grown more familiar with the sounds of drones and bombs than with the sounds of life.”

Despite global condemnation and desperate pleas from international organisations and human rights groups, the war has continued, leaving Gaza in ruins. Israeli air strikes have indiscriminately ravaged neighbourhoods, terrorising civilians and wiping out entire multi-generational families.

19-year-old Gazan, Shahd, has lost all her worldly possessions as a result of Israel’s bombing of Gaza since October 2023

Local health authorities report that over 42,400 people have been killed – most of them women and children – while more than 99,000 have been injured. For Shahd, these numbers are not abstract; they represent the daily horrors she and her family endure.

“We lost everything – our home, our belongings, our sense of security,” she recalls. “We used to rely on ourselves. My father was a university lecturer and director of Gaza Municipality libraries, and my mother was an English teacher in primary schools. But, after the war started, they both lost their jobs. They couldn’t afford anything, once the money ran out. Now, we depend on humanitarian aid, but there’s not enough. The border crossings are often closed, and when aid does come through, it’s never enough.”

But for Shahd, the loss that cuts deepest is the death of her younger brother, Jihad. He was just 17 when he fell ill with hepatitis A in January 2024, a condition that could have been treated if not for Israel’s targeting of Gaza’s healthcare system. With hospitals surrounded by Israeli forces and medical supplies scarce, Jihad was unable to receive the care he so desperately needed. He passed away on 11 January, 2024.

“It was the worst experience of my life. I miss him and his companionship. We were like twins, we did everything together,” says Shahd, taking a pause. “He could have been saved if there had been medication, if the hospitals hadn’t been targeted, if we weren’t living in a war zone.”

Shahd’s daily life now revolves around survival. Her family was forced to flee their home in Gaza City and seek refuge in Deir Al-Balah, a town in the southern Gaza Strip. They now live in a makeshift plastic tent, part of a sprawling refugee camp. The tent she shares with her family provides little shelter from the harsh conditions, including the extreme heat during the early hours of the morning that makes it impossible to sleep past sunrise.

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She spent some time volunteering with Almanal, distributing humanitarian aid, and also at learning sites for children with the Ajyal Association’s ‘We Teach Life’ project.

Now, every morning, she joins a long line of people waiting for water, a commodity that has become as scarce as food. She walks over a kilometre to buy 20 litres of water, which costs 3 shekels.

“Most of our meals come from canned goods – beans and other things that last. Fresh vegetables are rare because they’re so expensive. A kilo of onions costs 20 shekels and most people here can’t afford that,” she explains. “I remember the day we got meat as part of a humanitarian aid package. It was the first time in a year that we had eaten meat. Everyone was so happy.”

Gazan Shahd

According to the World Food Programme, at least 2.15 million people, or 96 per cent of the population in the Gaza Strip, are experiencing severe food shortages, with one in five at risk of starvation.

The days of hope and ambition seem like distant memories for Shahd. Before the war, she was a top student, planning to start her first year at the University College of Applied Sciences in Gaza, majoring in computer engineering. She had excelled in her studies, graduating high school with an impressive 96 per cent GPA.

“I was a dreamer, an active and optimistic person,” Shahd recalls. “I was always attending conferences, taking courses in graphic design, social media, and voice-over work. I even won first place in the Hack MENA Codes hackathon for an app we created that allowed people to listen to audio books.”

“I only attended college for two weeks,” Shahd says, her voice heavy with emotion. “And then, it was all over.”

It is clear Shahd was no ordinary student; she was a young woman on the rise. “It’s hard to think about the future when every day is a fight to stay alive,” she says. Shahd describes a recent attack just 30 metres away from the refugee camp at Al-Aqsa Martyrs Hospital in Deir Al-Balah city.

“I was jolted awake by the smell of smoke and the sound of explosions. I saw the hospital engulfed in flames, and people were screaming. The thick smoke obscured my vision, but I managed to catch glimpses of people trapped in the fire. I saw people burning alive, their bodies writhing in pain and I couldn’t do anything but pray for their safety and an end to this senseless violence.”

“The world must know that there are no safe areas here,” she says. “We keep an evacuation bag by the door of our tent at all times, filled with essentials like IDs, passports and a few personal items. Whenever there’s an attack, we grab the bag and run. We must always be ready.”

Gazan Shahd

Gazan Shahd

The psychological toll of the war has left deep scars on Shahd and her family. The constant fear, the unpredictability of violence and the loss of loved ones have made it nearly impossible to imagine a future beyond the war.

Her youngest brother, who is deeply traumatised by the sound of bombings, often wakes up in the middle of the night in a panic, crying out in fear. “He’s just a child, and he’s already seen so much,” Shahd says. “It’s heartbreaking to watch him deeply affected by the psychological impact of bombings. Even while sleeping, the sudden noise can jolt him awake, causing him to panic and sometimes cry out in distress.”

Yet, despite the overwhelming despair, Shahd holds on to a small sliver of hope. She dreams of leaving Gaza to study medicine abroad, of one day returning as a doctor to help her people in their time of need.

“I want to make a difference. I want to help others who have suffered like I have,” she says. “But for now, I just pray that the world sees our suffering and acts to end this.”

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