green all over

the olive trees

last night at 2 am, there was an israeli incursion of sufa, a village in south east border rafah bordering israel. they uproot the trees, killing their roots, thus negating the rootedness of the palestinian people and their lands. it's negating a presence and thus a generation. olive trees are considered immortals, and after 200 years, an olive tree re-shoots its roots into the land and thus never stops growing. its for this reason the israeli occupational forces pull the trees from the roots, leaving an empty land. and the trees are now useless....dead and cannot be replanted.

its another form of ethnic cleansing. these trees pose no threat to israel. furthermore these trees were not uprooted to make room for settlements or the wall (which are illegal anyway), but the IOF was trying to destroy and devastate livelihoods. these trees were my family's trees, and my their olives and their olive oil supported the man that took care of them for us. he now has no means of sustenance.

this used to be all olive trees


bulldozer tracks


trees roots, uprooted so they are can no longer be useful


these trees were almost 10 years old

I sent this to Save Gaza's list-serv a few days ago. I thought I'd post it:

Dear all,

I'm sorry for not being in touch and for not writing sooner, but words are failing me, and I cannot articulate what Gaza feels like right now. A hopeless prison with a dark gloomy cloud over it. It's been raining for three days now and its starting to get cold. Unfortunately with rainstorms, come power outages, so that means there is no water or electric heaters. Gas heaters are not operatable either because of the high gas price, that's when gas is even available. But also because most people are saving their gas for cooking food, rather than using it for heaters, especially with a possible invasion coming in two weeks and the possible cut off of gas. I feel for people without access to heat. I also feel for people like my aunt whose house was demolished and is living in a half built house with no windows that UNRWA stopped building because they ran out of cement and other building materials. It's the beginning of the winter. It's only going to get colder.

I also can't help but think of Gaza's sick and dying….in their frailty, lying there helpless…wishing…hoping…praying that by God's mercy they would be allowed a permit to leave Gaza, or by some sort of miracle someone will save them. But most are denied access..…and most die a slow agonizing death, and only then are their bodies free.

And the world reads about it, but its just another story, another one of Gaza's tragedies. But I wish the world would realize how real this is and how real these sick people are. Some of these sick patients are my uncle who has heart disease, or my little cousin with a tumor, and now unfortunately my aunt's husband who one day was walking, and the next day woke up crippled from a brain tumor. And when you see people you care about so sick and unable to leave Gaza, you first get angry for having such shitty luck, and for the injustice of the world….the type of anger that turns into fury and consumes you, until it becomes exhausting. You then resign yourself to the reality of Gaza's fate…which finally sinks in. But with that reality comes hopelessness and the crippling feeling of helplessness. And so my uncle, my cousin and my aunt's husband lie in a hospital, waiting for their permits, and none of us can do a thing other than pray or chase around people who may know someone who knows someone who can help us with a permit. But we know full well how real death is, and that most just die while waiting. And then a human rights organization issues a statement, yet again, another Palestinian dies because they were denied access to medical care. And their only crime was being born Palestinian in Gaza and falling ill. Nowhere else will you see this but in Gaza. And no place else will the world remain silent at the obscenity of Israel's inhumane acts, except in Gaza.

It's hard to not feel like we're in a large concentration camp as I see Gaza's empty streets, and the hopeless feeling in the air…and just the gloominess that has covered Gaza. I think most people feel abandoned as we are literally locked up in this small, concentrated space and we don't know what the world plans for us, or what to expect next. It's hard to imagine what being in Gaza does to someone's will until you've come here. You no longer feel alive, in fact, you're not living; you're just killing time until some sort of change happens. Sadly, Gaza has become desensitized to the rest of the world, as it feels like the international community has turned a blind eye to the reality that is Gaza, and as long as Israel is allowing some food in and hasn't completely cut off electricity or gas..and as long as we are kept alive, no one will ask about us.

But just because we are breathing, that doesn't mean we're alive.

there is a light at the end of the tunnel....

rafah's rainbow...

"Humanity is gone, smoked up in a gravity bong"-Immortal Technique

Only in Gaza does a dying cancer patient have to appeal to the High Court in order to leave for medical treatment:

GAZA, November 17, 2007 (WAFA)- A Palestinian patient died on Saturday of cancer disease due to the closure of crossings in the Gaza Strip, medical sources said.

They added that Nael al-Kurdi was prevented to travel abroad for treatment as Israeli authorities closed the crossings and barred him a permission. Al-Kurdi's health has been deteriorating quickly and died today at Hospital.

Al-Kurdi is the fifth citizen in the Gaza Strip who dies because of being banned leaving the Strip to receive medical treatment.

I can't imagine what Nael was feeling before he died. If we, the healthy people within Gaza already feel abandoned, then he must have been overwhelmed with hopelessness and abandonment, and finally quiet desperation as he wished for some sort of miracle.....but got nothing.

What has to happen for the world to realize the urgency of Gaza? How much more do the people of Gaza have to endure for the international community to stop and think for a brief second at the absurdity of caging an already occupied people in the world's largest open prison?

"No! You got to find a way to survive
cause they win when your soul dies
Baby please don't cry, you got to keep your head up"
-2 pac

I don't generally write about what I am feeling, or what being in Gaza does to someone...to see your people played with.....without a life or meaningful existence....and what that to someone's will. I've always tried to write about other people's experience and the injustices of the occupation and the siege of Gaza. What I am feeling right now, I think the other 1.5 million people are feeling but much worse. But I think I can legitimately say that I feel what they feel, maybe not the same pressures of having to live under $2 a dollar and feed a family, but I am living and experiencing life in Gaza.

A lot has been going on. I've become obsessed with the news, waiting to see what the large-scale invasion will be, so I can make sure I don't sleep by the windows, or plan ahead and tell my uncle I'll be staying with him. I live by the beach, at the tip of Rafah, on the Egyptian border and almost every night Israel shells the beach. Recently Palestinians have shot at the Israeli naval ship. And we all know how Israel responds....throw a rock, or shoot at Israel, and Israel responds with massive shelling. It's like being on the edge of your seat constantly, jumping at every sound or movement, and too afraid to sleep. We don't have much contact with the rest of the world, so we watch the news to see the latest regarding our fate. Like prisoners, our existence evolves around seeing what Abbas or Rice or Olmert do next...cut off the fuel, postpone the large scale invasion (but continue with the planes and the shelling)...allow some opening of the border. It's a constant game of waiting....helplessly hoping for someone to hear us, to not let our sick die at the border, or let us starve to death.

Life in Gaza has becoming meaningless, and no matter how hard we try to resist the occupation and continue living, we have no life. Ask anyone in Gaza about an invasion, and they will welcome it, ONLY because they already feel dead. The way my aunt said it was like this, "we're already dead, the only thing we need is to be buried, to be pushed into the grave and buried. it's already been dug up for us. " What's a life when you have no salary, there are no jobs, literally, there is nothing to look forward to. What's the point of getting an education or going to school when there is no future, and what's the point of life if you cannot provide for your family?

And I think I can handle the planes, and the shelling, or the shooting that keeps us up at night. I can certainly handle eating the same thing every day, and the loss of electricity, or taking a shower every other day because there is no water.

But what I cannot handle is the hopeless feeling i have in my heart, the loss of will to continue to resist...the feeling that we've been broken down. It's like screaming at the top of your lungs but no sound comes out of your mouth. You first get angry and frustrated because nothing is coming out, but you keep trying in hopes that you will be heard, but soon your throat gets sore and you gradually stop until the scream turns into a whisper. And then you give up.

Because they are hungry....

I wrote this piece during Ramadan a few weeks ago. I finally posted it.

Omar Ibn Abu El Khatab, the prophet's uncle was taking a walk one night when he heard children crying. He followed the cries, leading him into a house where he found a woman with her children. "Why are your children crying," he asked. "Because they are hungry," the woman replied. He saw a pot on fire with the top closed, and suddenly got confused. "And what are you cooking," he inquired. She looked up at him and said, "I added rocks and water and cooking them in the pot so that they think I am cooking food, and they’ll stop crying. They'll fall asleep thinking the food is not yet ready."

There are always scraps of vegetables left over after Rafah’s daily market. Scraps of rotten tomatoes, cucumbers or just leaves and strings from onions and radishes, mixed with garbage, all in the street where the carts used to be earlier that day. By the end of the day, they’ve gotten mixed with sewage water and stepped on by over a hundred footsteps.

Today, I met a woman who has relied on those scraps to feed herself and her children. While I was sitting with her, she was making soup out of those very leaves of radishes that I have on so many occasions walked on or tiptoed around after I had purchased my vegetables from the market.

Desperate to feed her six children and break her own fast, she fries the rotten tomatoes and makes a salad out of the eggplant and cucumbers. This would be their first and only meal for the day. For her three younger children, all who want something sweet to drink, she adds sugar to water and tells them it’s colorless juice.

What drives a woman to wait until after people have left the market to walk around with a plastic bag picking up left over vegetables from the ground with puddles of sewage water and take it home to cook it for her children? Desperation. She wouldn't do it if she didn't have to, nobody would. But she doesn't have any money to buy what she needs. And to make matters worst, she ran out of the food aid she received from UNRWA in July, such as flour, oil, sugar and lentils. And she has to feed herself and her children.

UN registered refugees are eligible to receive aid every three months. They are due to receive food packages this month, in October but with the border closures, aid is slow to come in, if it does come in at all. With over 80% of the population depending on that food aid, there is simply not enough coming into Gaza to feed everyone.

The Karni and Rafah Crossings have been closed for almost five months now, so even when countries send us millions of dollars worth of food aid, its sits at the border until Israel decides to let it in. Likewise, if the outside world is to send financial assistance, Israel withholds it. As I am writing this, Gaza's banks have run out of cash. Even someone like myself, who has funds in a local bank account, am unable to withdraw cash because the banks simply run out due to Israeli banks cutting off ties with Gaza.

Dov Weisglass was certainly not joking when he said earlier this year, that "the idea is not to put Palestinians on a diet, but not to make them die of hunger." For the fourth day this week we have been breaking our fast with fried eggplant and tomatoes, lentil soup and a salad washed down with some tea. Vegetables are hardly getting into Gaza because of the border closures. Kerem Shalom only lets in some food, but its mostly aid packages and not fresh vegetables or fruits. Like a prison, we are fed in small portions and our guards decide when and if to allow us some food.

Even Israeli products that used to arrive into Gaza have become scarce. Also, food prices are sky-rocketing and people cannot afford basics such as flour or sugar. At least last year during this time, Gazans were able to live on bread, but now they cannot even afford the flour that does become available.

We are being confined to this space, silently imprisoned, sanctioned, completely isolated, abandoned and denied every opportunity to provide for themselves and our families. This is man-made crisis, where everything has become desperate, to an already impoverished territory. We are not starving yet, but Gaza is dying a slow death, and Israel has been brought to our knees in desperation. People's lives have been reduced to chasing after food packages, hustling in order to survive.

Our hopes lie with the conference of November to which Gaza is not even represented because Hamas is not invited.

When Omar Ibn Abu Khatab saw the desperation in the woman’s eyes, and heard her children’s cries, he went out and brought back foods of all sorts and offered it to her. “Now you’re children don’t have to cry,” he uttered.

What has to happen for Gaza’s borders to open so that a woman who wouldn’t otherwise eat scraps from the ground could provide for herself and her children? What has to happen for the world to hear Gaza’s cries?

Jamalat with her children, Malak, Mohammed, Atwa and Eyad

Five-month’s old Eyad is one of the happiest babies I’ve ever met. Barley touch his cheeks and he smiles, tickle his little belly and he bursts out in laughter, kicking his feet in the air. He’s also really quiet when he’s alone. He just lies there, and quiets plays with his hands and feet. He doesn’t cry like other babies. But get anywhere near him, and he sees you, he starts to laugh and kick his feet up in the air with excitement so you can play with him. His mother, Jamalat, says his laughter is a blessing from God as it takes away some of her sorrow and fills her heart instead with joy.

Eyad has never met his father, and his father has never seen him. Jamalat was 5-weeks pregnant with Eyad when his father, my cousin, was killed by an Israeli sniper during an incursion in Sufa. He had just told Jamalat to prepare some tea and took his then two-year old daughter, Malak and sat in front of his house. The sniper had every intention of killing him, not injure or disable him, for he didn’t shot him once or twice or in the leg or arm but he shot him three times; in his stomach, his chest and his neck. He would have died from his stomach wound, but was shot again in his chest. He fell to the ground and laid there, half alive, but mostly dead, hanging between life and death as he looked at his daughter. And then came the final shot to his neck, which eliminated any ounce of life left in him. Jamlat was used to the sound of gunshots, so she didn’t think to check on where or whom had been shot, until Malak ran over to her crying with her father’s blood all over her face and clothes.

Ironically, he was shot from his uncle’s house, just 50 meters away. The house was raided the night before, and transformed into a military site. The sniper was on the roof when he shot my cousin. This is how Israel legally and quietly harasses Gazans. They come in quietly from the border, whether its Sufa or Biet Hanoun or Khan Younis, and raid a house. They cut off all the phone lines and the electricity and lock the house residents into a room, declaring the house a military site. For the next day or so, they assess the area, and quietly plan. No one else in the neighborhood knows that the IDF has taken over that house, and it could be days before they leave. They come to arrest or kill so called militants, and raze trees and demolish homes of so called militant supporters. They then leave quietly, pulling back their tanks and bulldozers from Gaza, and sit at the Israeli-Gaza border until they decide on the next incursion.

Jamalat says God has taken away her husband away from her, only to give Eyad the same face. Eyad is an exact image of his father. He was also given his name.


Me with Eyad

It’s hard to laugh with Eyad laugh without having your heart-broken. He has no idea the world he will grow up in. He’ll grow up with only stories and pictures of his father. He’ll see his mother struggle to feed him and siblings. He’ll be told he’s refugee, and get used to waiting in line with his mom for their food packages. He’ll learn to sleep with the sounds of Israeli planes over his head. He’ll recognize the sounds of tanks coming into his neighborhood and that’ll be his que to run home. Anger will fill his heart when he sees Israeli’ bulldozers raze and break his father’s olive trees. And he’ll live under Israeli occupation, in an unjust world, where he will think its normal to live in such conditions, and there is no other alternative.

He’ll never know or see the face of the Israeli solider that killed his father, or receive reparations for the life he will live. And the Israeli solider will never realize what he has done or who he has hurt. He never thought for a second before he shot those three shots that the man he was shooting was someone’s father, and was loved by his wife and had just invited his neighbors for tea to celebrate Jamalat’s pregnancy before sitting in front of his door to greet them.

The Revolution Begins

Phase one of the home gardening project has come to an end. An end to the preparations, trainings, discussions, and handouts. In a matter of months, Save Gaza has accomplished what it set out to accomplish.

Now, Palestinians are being tested. The difference this time is that the end result will be empowering and liberating. A small community of women have been given an opportunity to challenge their environment. With just a few seeds and chickens, we will watch the home gardens flourish into something beyond the Israeli occupation. No amount of bullets, rockets, F-16s, sonic booms, can take away from these women the strength they find in their gardens.

Never will we see or read in the news, this strength. Instead we will be masked with the images of violence and terror, but that's ok. The less publicity they get the better. The easier it will be then to divest and silently break the cycle of dependency.

It doesnt end here...

I had not realized that a small, grassroots project could be so needed and helpful. In the midst of preparing to implement this project, with running errands, filling out mundane paperwork and beating the political bureaucracy of transferring money to Gaza, I lost sight of who it was really for. But in the last couple of days I saw the faces of the women who had made it all worthwhile and I was reminded of how important this project was. Save Gaza was not here to "save gaza". We were simply providing the means and tools by which to empower these women. We are not yet another organization operating in Gaza and giving handouts which last a few months, and even now, those have become limited. I realized this as I sat through the training. It dawned on me how important it was for us as a people, as Palestinians, to become self-reliant and how important that was for our sovereignty and independence.

During the training we discussed the importance of being able to provide for ourselves, especially with Gaza's economic decline. We were now doing just that by growing our own food. The markets are getting emptier, and even for what's available, most people cannot afford the high prices of flour, oil and vegetables. The women of Kherbit Al Addas knew this, as most of them break their fast with some fried eggplant, some hummas (chickpeas) with bread and onions. They were well aware they cannot afford to buy the vegetables from the market, so they saw the importance and necessity in growing their own gardens. We discussed health, nutrition, children's mal-nutrition, and preventable health problems. The training had turned into a larger discussion. The women were very engaging and wanted to share their experiences with gardening and farming. I also felt it was important for them to speak because I wanted them to feel safe and comfortable in the space we were in.

Everything we bought, including the plants, seedlings and the chickens for the project were local. It was important for the project to empower everyone involved, including the farmer who sold us the chickens. It was also important for us not to purchase any Israeli made products introducing the concept of divestment which was also discussed with the women. The point being made showed how buying local products will allow Gaza's economy to flourish, even on a small scale. The women already knew this, and knew that these gardens meant more than just health, and nutrition, but were also part of the resistance movement. Divesting from your occupier is a form of resistance, and therefore growing their own food and mobilizing their communities towards this is resisting the Israeli occupation.

I had to come to Gaza and see these women to realize how much a small project, with such a small budget could mean so much more, and could carry all this meaning. We had provided 20 families with vegetable plants and chickens and a three day training on how to care for them......But what really left me in awe, was the power of these women to take these tools, and their willingness to provide for themselves and their families, and not rely on foreign aid or Israeli products. It was their poor conditions, but hope for something better, no matter what obstacles stood in their way. It was their resistance to allowing Israel or the Israeli occupation to break them and their communities. The very people I hoped to empower had inspired me. It wasn't just about the gardens; it was about a community, about Gaza, about Palestine, and about our independence.

The project does not end here.....there is no end to sustainability.

More pictures...of chickens this time

Distributing Plants and Chickens-Day 3

More photos to come....including the chickens :)


Hanan bagging some plants, there were three kinds of plants
and the rest were seedlings.

Training Day 2

Second trainer Jamal, also agricultural engineer.


Ahlam, Director of the Women's Rural Organization whose
space was used for the training.


Sara, Amani, Hanna & Fatima

Training Day 1

Basil, one of the trainers. He's an Agricultural Engineer


Hanan, one of the 20 women, sharing with the group old
methods of composting passed down from her father.


The entire group

Home Gardens Update

On Oct. 1, we began training 20 women from Khirbet Al Adas, a small village in northeast Rafah, the start of our long awaited Home Gardening Project. Its a small community of Bedioun refugees who were exiled from mostly Beir Sheba in 1948. Most of the men in the village worked in Israel as construction workers, but in 2000 they lost their jobs with the beginning of the Intifada. Most are unemployed, adding to Gaza's growing 60% unemployment rate, and like everyone else do little jobs here and there, but mostly rely on UNRWA's food hand outs which come out every 3 months. Handouts mostly consist of dry milk, flour, sugar and dried lentils, but are never enough to feed the family especially when most of Gaza's families average 8-10 children.

This particular community was chosen for several reasons. The main one being that the area is somewhat isolated and therefore neglected. Located on the Gaza's easter border with Israel they do not have access to the rest of Rafah and therefore are indirectly neglected by UNWRA and other international organizations. These agencies shy away from such communities because of the risk involved in getting so close to the border. A border that belongs to one people, but controlled by another. Additionally, the Bedouin communities tend to be forgotten about or ostracized by most.

The second reason as to why the community of Khirbet Al Adas was chosen is because there is no infrustructure as compared to the rest of Rafah. Most of the houses are two bedroom asbestos infested homes, with more than ten people living in them, between dirt roads and cactus trees with very little space to spare.

And the final reason, and probably the most important we chose this community is because they have a space for, but cannot afford to invest in a garden. In the past, most of these families have been denied help from agricultural organizations because their gardening space was too small for farming, so they would not qualify to receive any sort of help in starting these gardens. There are two farming/agriculture categories in Gaza, two extremes, urban agriculture and large scale farming. Urban agriculture refers to roof top gardening which is what most of Gazans do because of limited space in and around their homes. And then there is large scale farming, which is mostly done with large pieces of land, mostly in norther Gaza such as Biet Hanoun and Biet Lahiya. The community of Kherbit Al Addas falls in between these categories. Most of the families there do not have large pieces of land for large scale farming, but also don't have the roves for urban-roof top gardening, but do have a small space of 100 metes or less in or around their homes.

This is why this project is unique, while simple and small scale, it serves those families who have the space for a garden, but not the means to start growing it. We are merely planting a seed for sustainable development, but also self sufficiency so that these families can benefit from these gardens in providing for themselves and their families.

And with this we began on Oct. 1 our training and on Oct. 3 the 20 women will begin gardening. We will continue to update you with pictures and thank you for your support. We have come a long way, despite the many challenges of working in Gaza, especially in the recent months, and would not have done it without your support and help.

the waiting game....

they make normal sounds as do all planes, the sound you used to have fun with as a kid, until they fly really low and your heart jumps. its like an eagle that's soaring and dips to pick up his prey. your instinct is to duck, from the loud noise, but also because you're legs lose their balance from the fear that runs through your spine and the vibration of the ground. Not sure what will happen next, your heart stops, and you hold your breath as everything freezes.....complete silence, so you can wait to hear what comes next. It passes within a brief second, and now your heart beats again, and you release your breath. its gone...and you're safe....for now.

the sounds of israel's warplanes finally stopped tonight after hours of soaring through our skies. the t.v doesn't work, our phones don't work and you sit nervously inside your house, crippled by the fear, and restless in a chaotic refugee camp where children are crying and babies are screaming from the sound of the planes. its not normal for one to ponder what they would prefer, tanks coming in, at least we can see them and maybe we'll stand a chance at battling them; or planes that keep you up all night and can drive you to insanity without even touching you. we won't even mention the sonic bombs they can drop. its also not normal for one to want israel to launch its operation already, so at least we wont wonder when the plane will hit or how far or how long the incursions will be. we'll know what to expect, no vague threats....no uncertainty, where tanks are sitting at our borders, going in and out...conducting “routine incursion aimed at locating rockets and explosive devices," as Israeli officials claim; and planes are harrassing us...are they gonna hit or not?

its not over though, we'll be awaken at dawn with the loud thumping at the beach...israeli naval gunboats firing shells to scare off fishermen from making a living....

So what else is new??

Rafah hasn’t had running water for the now the third day, the electricity goes out for at least 6 hours a day; 6000 people are waiting to get permits from Israel to leave Gaza (whose names have been now been canceled), and Gaza just declared the Gaza Strip a “hostile territory,” including cutting off electricity and fuel. Wait!!! Did I miss something? So what were we before? Friendly territory? Or were we even free?? And compiling a list of sanctions to "lower the amount of goods and currency allowed to enter the Gaza Strip to the minimum needed to ensure the basic needs of the Palestinians?" And so the border closures, where people cannot leave or enter Gaza, or the denial of permits for leukemia patients, and the closing of 75% of Gaza’s factories because of limited resources leaving 30,000 workers unemployed, or that your human rights, including your dignity has been taken away from you….what was that, if not sanctions?

Shit, if we WERE JUST declared an "enemy entity,” then what else is left…how can it possibly get any worse?

Will they cut off the electricity? Because there are already frequent power outages. Will they cut off fuel? Again, pretty sure there’s an shortage there too? And they’ll only allow supplies considered “humanitarian,” as if they have let in “non-humanitiarn” supplies in the last three months. Or will they control out borders by ground, air and sea? Again, their planes roam our skies, the sea is covered from that end and the tanks are sitting on Rafah and Beit Hanoun’s border. So what else can they do?

The news didn’t make much of a difference to us here; people have been stocking up on food and preparing themselves for months. Declaring Gaza officially a “hostile territory,” just means now Israel has an excuse and a green light to continue with the sanctions, not that anyone in the world questioned them before, but now what is has been doing to 1.4 million people in Gaza for the past 18 months has just been legalized.

But we were very very relieved to hear that the US has no intention of, "abandoning the innocent Palestinians in Gaza."

Today Suriya turned 27. She was married at 19. Last Friday, on Sep. 14, her husband of 8 years, Mohammed, was killed by Israeli tank shelling on the border of Khan Younis, along with nine other Palestinians.

Her husband-Mohammed, used to work in Israel as a construction worker, building settlements for his enemy on the very land he was exiled from in 1948. He had a steady income but lost his job in 2000, at the beginning of the Intifada, along with 300,000 other Palestinians.

After three years of trying to have a baby, Suriya and her husband finally got pregnant in 2002. But her husband was not working and they relied mostly on hand outs, which meant Suriay wasn't getting the nutrition she needed for herself or her baby. Suriya's gave birth to a baby girl who suffered from anemia and mal-nutrition. She passed away when she was 6 months old.

Suriya didn't get pregnant again until this year. Both her and her husband were very excited.

Today was Suriya's 27th birthday; last Friday her husband was killed and yesterday she miscarried her three-month old fetus.

Yehya, Mahmoud and Sarah

The image that stuck in my head as I walked away from the funeral was Sarah Ghazali’s uniform laid out on her mattress, untouched as she had left it before running out after her cousins Mahmoud and Yehya. She was to begin the 4th grade on Sep.2, but the school would miss her this year. Her friend Amani who has walked with her to school since the first grade would walk to school alone this year. Sara’s mother had bought her the blue school uniform, blue jeans and the black shoes just the day before. Her mother had waited the last minute to buy Sarah’s school supplies because she was waiting for her husband’s salary, which had finally come through. That Wednesday, Sarah was laying her new clothes on the mattress she slept on when Yehya called her to come out. She had no idea she wouldn’t return and her little body would suffer injuries by Israeli tank fire and would be buried before her 10th birthday. Her uniform hasn’t been touched since.

Ten-year old Mahmoud followed Yehya wherever he went for he looked up to him, as he did not have any brothers of his own. On the day he died he had just finished telling his mother not to buy him anything for school yet until Yehya buys his things. He made her promise only to buy the same thing Yehya buys. Ironically, he was killed with Yehya and buried right next to him.

Yehya was heading to the 6th grade this year. He was one of nine children. He had spent most of his summer herding his family’s goats. His community is a small Bedouin community at the northern border of Gaza, by Beit Hanoun, bordering Erez. Because they are on the border with Israel, they always face the risk of Israeli aggression. Tanks come in almost every week, raze some land, arrest a few men and pull out. When I was at the funeral the tanks were sitting, stationed at the border. There was nothing that would have stopped them from coming in. Yehya’s father was arrested just last September and has yet to be tried, as he sits in an Israeli prison. Gaza was supposedly free; unoccupied when Israeli tanks came in at 3 am, raided the house and arrested Yehya’s father and uncle.

Yehya was walking his goats on that Wednesday afternoon when he lost sight of them. He spotted them sniffing around the rocket launchers, so he went to retrieve them. Yehya followed the goats, and Mahmoud and Sarah followed him only for the Israeli tanks to “suspect they were militants,” and shoot at them. The boys died immediately of shrapnel wounds. Sarah died later that evening, alone in the hospital. Her family did not make it in time to see her.

The Israeli army stated it had launched an attack after they, “identified and fired at several rocket launchers aimed at Israel.” Rockets had not been fired from that area for the past nine months and the Israeli army knew this. After all, the tanks were close enough to see the children, and if that failed, Israel could have relied on the reconnaissance plane, which is constantly hovering over Beit Hanoun.













Mahmoud (left) and Yehya (far right)


I had spent all morning trying to find a driver to take me to their funeral, the second of three days of grievance. The drivers were all afraid to go near the northern border by Beit Hanoun, and they had every right to be. I felt like I was asking them to go into crossfire. Beit Hanoun feels different from the rest of Gaza. There isn’t much life there, not like you see in Rafah. The streets are empty; there is rubble everywhere; trees uprooted, land razed and there isn’t much of a market. An area that used to be green agricultural land has turned into an empty space where no one dares to go. If there is a place in Gaza that feels like a war zone, it’s Biet Hanoun. You see and hear the Qassams we hear about in the news, as they fly over the Gazan border and into Israel in retaliation of Israeli F-16’s and tank shelling. And you see the large white reconnaissance balloon that feels like it follows you everywhere as you drive through Beit Hanoun. The F-16’s fly over the town more frequently than any other place in Gaza. And you begin to understand why drivers don’t want to go anywhere near Biet Hanoun.

The Bedouin community lives north of Beit Hanoun, among razed citrus groves and demolished buildings. I arrived at Yehya and Mahmoud’s house. Their fathers were brothers so they lived in the same three bedroom asbestos house. The bedrooms were covered with asbestos, the living room was the sand in front of the bedrooms and the kitchen was a small stove and a table with a few pots. They have no electricity, which means no running water. Most of the Bedouins of the community used to work daily on their lands and used it to provide for their families, but weekly razing has destroyed their lands and therefore their livelihoods. They receive some aid from UNRWA, but have to travel to Beit Hanoun or Beit Lahiya for everything else. Their means of transportation are animal carts.

The mothers of all three were sitting next to each other when I arrived. Yehya and Mahmoud’s mother were each holding a picture of their sons, while Sara’s mother was holding a poster with Yehya and Mahmoud’s picture with their names. In between their pictures was a picture of a bouquet of red roses, with Sarah’s name under them. “Israel just wants to shed our blood,” said Yehya’s mother choking on her words. “They didn’t do anything wrong…they had no rockets, no tanks…just playing,” added Mahmoud’s mother. They were all sitting on the mattress Yehya shared with Mahmoud to sleep on. Mahmoud would sneak out of his mother’s bedroom at night to go and sleep by Yehya. “They were meant to go together,” said Yehya’s mother, “Mahmoud would not have lived without Yehya, May God rest their souls together.”

Sarah's picture held by her sister

The next day, on Friday the Israeli military released a statement stating the killing of Yehya, Mahmoud and Sarah was an accident, stating, “at the very last second, it was apparent that they were children, but it was impossible to stop the explosion,”(BBC). There was no justice mentioned, or repatriations at the very least to help the community. They cannot leave their area, or their land, as they have nowhere else to go. Where’s the justice for 12-year old Yehya and his childhood, or 10-year old Mahmoud who wanted nothing more than to have the same clothes Yehya had, and Sarah…who was ready to go to school on Sep. 2 but would be missed this year?

How it works

Last night the BBC reported: PARTS of the Gaza Strip were still suffering power cuts overnight after the European Union suspended the financing of fuel deliveries for the impoverished territory's only power plant.

Here is how it works:
The Gaza Generating Company supplies the Gaza Strip with about 25% of its electricity, while the rest comes from Israel's Electric Company or Egypt (Rafah and Khan Younis get their electricity from Egypt).

The catch:
The Gaza Generating Company cannot operate without getting fuel from Israel, so technically while we think we supply 25% of our electricity, Israel actually has full control of our electricity, including those in Rafah and Khan Younis. Two days ago, the Gaza Company shut three of its four generators because there was not enough fuel to supply all four of its generators.

Last night, it shut the last (the fourth) generator, as it did not receive fuel from Israel, for the border remains closed. But that’s the 25% of the electricity. What happened to the other 75% of electricity that comes from Israel and why is there a black out in Gaza? Israel is cutting it off on Gaza to save it for its people, especially since the temperature is high and there is a heat wave, after all the people of Israel have to be air-conditioned and fanned. They get full access to electricity while we sleep on top of one another in the heat without electricity, fans or water (water cannot be pumped up without electricity).


How does this effect Rafah and Khan Younis who get their electricity from Egypt?
Electricity has to distributed, so Egypt has to alternate between Rafah the Khan Younis. Rafah gets electricity for a couple of hours, then shuts up to give some to Gaza City, then to Khan Younis, then that shuts off to give some to Bens Hala, and so on and so forth. Hence Gaza's black out.


Collective Punishment: is the punishment of a group of people as a result of the behavior of one or more other individuals or groups.

Under the 1949 Geneva Conventions, collective punishment is a war crime. Article 33 of the Fourth Convention states: "No protected person may be punished for an offense he or she has not personally committed," and "collective penalties and likewise all measures of intimidation or of terrorism are prohibited."

The Voices of Palestinin Women in Rafah, Gaza

This afternoon, over 50 local women in Rafah gathered downtown to rally and protest against the situation in Gaza, including the Israeli occupation; Hamas and Fatah, economic sanctions, border closures, poverty, unemployment and safety and security.

They closed the main street in Rafah, stopping all traffic, and read what they are asking of Abu Mazen (Fatah Representative) and Haniya's (Hamas Representative) government, of Israel and of the international community. They ask for the following:

We are mothers, sisters, daughters of Palestinians in Rafah and we ask for the following:

First and foremost, end the Israeli occupation of Gaza, and the West Bank and the rest of Palestine.

We ask Hamas and Fatah to stop the violence on our young men, to stop dragging them into your politics and getting them killed.

We ask for the unity of Gaza, of our Palestinian People;

We ask Hamas and Fatah for protection, for safety for our children and our families;

We ask for medical aid for our children;

We ask for our salaries to be paid so we can buy school supplies for our children and pay their tuition;

We ask for our rights and our children's rights;

We ask Hamas and Fatah to return our children that were kicked out and are sitting in Egypt;

We ask the world to open the Rafah border, to open Erez, to open Kerem Shalom;

We ask the world to find us a solution to Gaza's economic situation, to find us a solution for our conditions;

They ended with the following:

We're tired and our children are tired....we just want to live in safety and be protected and provide for our children...

Almost 100% aid-dependent

Two days ago, the United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (OCHA) released it's situational report (below) referencing the economic and humanitarian situation due to border closures. Gaza's borders remain closed and conditions continue to deteriorate. Today the UN in a press conference also warned of an economic collapse in Gaza, stating that, "Gaza risks becoming a virtually 100 percent aid-dependent, closed-down and isolated community within a matter of months or weeks if the present regime of closure continues."

Below is OCHA's situational report from July 31 to August. 7th 2007:


Access and Crossings:

Since 19 June, several days after the Hamas takeover of Gaza, a total of 4,339 truckloads (excluding gravel and aggregates) have been allowed through the crossings, including 457 from humanitarian agencies. This represents an average of 118 truckloads/day, as opposed to an average of 238 truckloads/day which were allowed into Gaza prior to mid-June. Food supplies represent 89% of the total commercial supplies transported into Gaza.

Karni crossing has been closed since 13 June – representing 59 days as of 6 August. Only one conveyer belt remains open on two days/week for the inflow of grains and animal feed. 474 truckloads of grains and animal feed came through Karni since 19 June.

Rafah Crossing has been closed for 58 days. Between 10 June and 6 August, fewer than 200 Palestinians were allowed into Gaza and none allowed out. During the same period last year 17,758 were allowed in and 11,045 were allowed out of Gaza through the crossing.

Since 29 July, Israel has allowed 5,166 Palestinians stranded in Egypt for two months to return back to Gaza through Nitzana Border Crossing and then Erez Crossing. At least another 1,000 are still waiting to cross in the next few days.

As a result of the Karni closure, the Sufa and Kerem Shalom crossings continue to function as the principal alternative entry points for commercial and humanitarian supplies. Between 19 June and 6 August, 153 truckloads of commodities from humanitarian agencies and 291 commercial truckloads entered through Kerem Shalom; 289 humanitarian and 3,017 commercial truckloads entered through Sufa; and 9 humanitarian truckloads, carrying mostly medical supplies, entered through Erez.

Gazan Economy:

The limited opening of the Gazan crossings continues to weaken the Gazan economy. The Palestinian Shippers’ Council estimates the total losses of the private sector since the closure of the Gaza border in mid-June at $35 million.

Due to the shortages of raw materials, of which 90% come from Israel, the 600 Gaza-based garment factories that provide employment to more than 25,000 Palestinians have all closed down. 1 million pieces of clothing worth $12 million, which were scheduled to be exported over the last 8 weeks, will not be exported as a consequence of the closures. 90% of garment products are usually exported to Israel.

More than 1,600 containers of non-food items (including clothing, furniture and spare parts) that were scheduled to enter Gaza in the last 8 weeks are still on hold at the Israeli freight terminals and warehouses. Delays in processing the containers are costly for the shippers: each container is charged $50/day by the International Shipping Company and $300/month by the Israeli Port Authority. At the same time, none of the 500 empty containers stranded in Gaza since mid-June have been shipped back out, resulting in a cumulative loss of $1 million by commercial shippers.

In the 2007 season, farmers are likely to cultivate less than 500 dunums (50 ha) due to the severe shortages of raw materials (such as fertilizers and pesticides) and the unlikelihood of export (1). During the 2006 season, more than 3,000 dunums (300 ha) of a variety of crops were cultivated. If the closure continues, the estimated loss to the agricultural sector this season will be more than $12 million. Large quantities of vegetables including tomatoes, cucumbers and sweet peppers are being sold on the Gazan local markets for very low prices instead of being exported.

Construction materials are still not allowed through to Gaza. As a result, 11 tile-making factories, 30 concrete-making factories, 140 marble-making factories and 145 brick-making factories, which collectively employ 2,500 Palestinians, are coming under severe pressure. More than 90% of these factories have closed down and laid off their staff.

Infrastructure:

About 50% of the Gaza Power Plant’s production capacity has been lost due to delays in maintenance in both turbines. On 7 August, due to extensive coordination by UN staff, one of the two turbines needing maintenance was shipped to Israel through Kerem Shalom for servicing by the corporate supplier. The servicing period is estimated at 10-15 days, after which the second turbine will undergo maintenance in either Gaza or Israel.

Protection of civilians:

IDF air and ground military operations in Gaza left 4 Palestinians dead and 15 injured during the reporting period, while an additional 3 Palestinians were killed and 8 injured in internal factional violence. Palestinian militants fired 24 Qassam rockets and 6 mortar shells from the Gaza Strip, most of which targeted the southern Israeli town of Sderot.

United Nations - Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (OCHA) occupied Palestinian territory P.O. Box 38712 East Jerusalem Phone: (972) 2 – 5829962 / 5825853 Fax: (972) 2 - 5825841 Email: ochaopt@un.org www.ochaopt.org

Where do I begin....

Today I went with my cousin's wife and her children to Gaza's Office of Social Welfare to pick up her monthly pay-check from the government. My cousin was killed last September by an Israeli sniper while he stood in front of his house. Overnight his children and wife became eligible to receive 375 NIS (a little less than $100) a month from the government because their father was now a martyr.

This is our third time coming to the office in the last month, because each time it is closed. Rather, the gates are open, with guards, but the office was not operating, and there were no staff members to help us. "Why closed," I asked one of the guards, "On strike," he replied. "So what do we do now"? I pleaded, "Hope we get paid so we can come back to work," he replied. I glared at him with frustration, but I knew I could not really blame him or the office staff for not coming to work. He was just like any other employee in Gaza. I guess the government staff had enough, I mean after all, they haven't been paid since January 2006 but yet still came to work. I've even met people who would borrow from their neighbors, just to pay for a taxi to come in to work. But that's just life in Gaza.

Every attempt I make to write about Gaza to give the world on the outside an idea of what the people are going through, it is overwhelming. I am never sure exactly where to begin to even give readers an idea of life in Gaza and the accelerating humanitarian and economic crises. Do I begin describing the effects of the border closures, where according to UNRWA, Gaza is on the verge of an economic collapse and if there are no changes in the next two weeks the entire population will be aid dependant? And we can certainly feel the effects, with the fact that all we have in the market are a few vegetables and are forced to rely on UNRWA's food packages of flour, rice and cooking oil. Ironically, we cannot even grow our own food if we wanted to because farmers have run out of supplies, including fertilizer due to the border closures, but Israel does allow its Israeli grown fruits and vegetables into Gaza when it so chooses. So, we are forced to purchase and eat out of our Occupier's hand, and help them maintain their economy, while ours cripples. So you can forget about divestment here in Gaza.

Or should I write about the 1,000 Palestinians still stranded at the Rafah border, away from their families and running out of money as they sit and wait for the border to open. And how they are living in unsanitary conditions and the sick are getting sicker, and the healthy are getting sick from the lack of proper living conditions. The news does not report about their skin that is peeling from being in the sun all day without drinkable water or proper showering.

How can I describe to people the effects of the government workers going on strike, including the municipalities and solid waste, where Gaza's trash has not been picked up for the past two weeks and how flies, cockroaches and rats run around in our streets and homes? We have to keep everything refrigerated, including sugar because of the rats. Gaza has even run out of rat poison of all things. Or the fact that pharmacies have literally run out of certain medicines which does not register in your mind until you watch your uncle in his bed unable to breath because he does not have his heart medication, or your neighbors 6-month old baby hospitalized for treatable diarrhea.

And God help those that are not refugees, Gazans who were in Gaza before 1948. At least refugees are eligible to get food and medical aid from UNRWA; non-refugees are not. Instead they have to rely on the government and with the government's hospitals closed, many do not have access to medical care. And so the women sit there with their children at the doors of the government's medical clinics hoping the doctors decide to come in, out of the kindness of his heart, even though they too have not been paid since last year.

Or how do I begin to explain to the readers the fact that Abbas's government has completely denied the recognition of all documents coming out of Gaza, including passports, licenses, and degrees. Just yesterday 1,000 college students graduated from Gaza's two universities, yet their degrees are not recognized internationally, or locally within their own country, the rest of Occupied Palestine.

People here have run out of money? Even if their basic needs of food are met, people have no money to buy clothes or school supplies for their children, or enough money to pay tuition, or pay house rent. They have no jobs, and no money and so they spend their time driving back and forth to Gaza's beach because there is nothing left to do in Gaza.

Gazans are being denied every fundamental human right, right to live free, without occupation, without fear; right to an education; right to work; to provide for their families, and the very right to govern themselves and their lives. All the while, Beit Hanoun and Biet Lahiya are being bulldozed away and we are being terrorized by the tanks that sit at our borders and the F-16's that roam our skies. And how do I describe the planes that fly low at random hours of the night to frighten our children who then scream for the rest of the night.

Everything has been taken away from the people of Gaza to the point that if a young man wants to work as a taxi driver because there are no other employment opportunities, he cannot even get a license because licenses can no longer be issued in Gaza. Yet, Ms. Rice met with so-called Palestinian leaders but failed to include Haniya or Hamas in the talks. Gazans were not represented or included in the negotiations. We had no voice. Our needs were not heard, or even considered. We could not even rely on our own President to give us our right of representation. So I ask Abbas, Rice, Fayyad, Bush, Blair and the rest of the world:

What about the 1.4 million Palestinians in Gaza?

A Tribute To My Grandparent's Demolished Home

I first learned of my grandparents' home being demolished a few months after it actually happened in October 2003. Rafah was under siege by the Israeli Army at that time and phone calls to Gaza were nearly impossible. Al-Barazil housing project was hit especially hard because it was alongside the Gazan-Egyptian border. I remember I was driving to school in Pennsylvania when my mother called to tell me. She was very calm, and reported it to me like she reported every other piece of news that came out of Gaza. I could not comprehend what she was saying. The shock did not allow for me to make sense of anything she was telling me. It didn't make sense that the house my grandfather built was no longer a house, but just rubble. And when I asked her how she felt, she replied like she did with everything else, "We're no different than the other Palestinians." My grandfather died in that same house a year before it was destroyed. Since that time my uncle and his 10 family members had been living there.

Now, almost two months of being in Rafah, I worked up the courage to go visit the Al-Barazil Housing Project to pay respects to my grandparents' demolished home. It was time to come to terms with the reality of the situation. I think it was also important for me to see where the house I spent so many summers used to stand. Perhaps to understand why it was demolished in the first place, or to make sense of yet another one of Israel's unjust and inhumane acts.

I took my cousin with me because I didn't think I would be able to find it on my own. The entire area around by the border and around the house area was demolished in October 2003. I read in the news, and my uncle confirmed that Israel destroyed all the homes because they apparently were looking for tunnels between Rafah to Egypt that they said were used for smuggling weapons. So basically Israel was doing its job in reportedly, "dismantling the terrorist infrastructure."

After walking around in what felt like circles around the flat land looking for the remnants of the house, we found it! There right in front of me sat but a small piece of land with a few strings of grass growing on it. The house my mother grew up in no longer stood there. And there I stood staring at the land wondering how or what could have wiped away an entire house from the ground up. And neither did the garden my grandmother grew, or the fig trees, or the olive trees. What about the small shop my grandfather had inside the house he built to keep himself busy? Or the gate that I hated for the many times it shut on my fingers. Or the backyard where my mother had her wedding? Where was the room that I saw my grandmother for the last time before she died … Gone too?

I felt lost; I couldn't make out exactly where I used to sleep during the summers, or where the steps that I played on used to be. It was all gone, and all that was left of it was flat land with a few strings of green grass. "Are you sure this is it? Are you sure, maybe there were still some parts left to it," I asked my cousin. "Yes, of course," he replied. There wasn't any way to come to terms with what I was looking at. It was hard for the land to mean anything to me. I had no relation to it. It was nothing to me if it did not have my grandparents house, just land alongside the border of Rafah. Without the walls, or the rooms, or the gardens, it meant nothing to me. All my rationale was suddenly gone, and I felt like a child again wondering and in denial if I would ever see my grandparents' house again.

We continued to walk alongside the Wall, over empty lands and I imagined the houses that stood under my feet as I walked over it. I wondered whose homes I was stepping on, whose memories I was walking over, and whose lives were shattered with the demolition of their homes. I imagined as my cousin described where the tanks stood just two years ago and shot 10 children dead, and where the Israeli snipers hid in a hole they dug in the rubble. It was still there. I imagined the shelling of the houses, and where people must have run to with their children. But I didn't recognize any part of El-Barazil, for it wasn't houses I was looking at, only empty flat land. The school my parents met and feel in love was gone, and I stood face to face with the Wall, in the same spot I used to stand over 10 years ago, but it was barbed wire then. The same barbed wire that my grandfather stood in front of and spoke to his son who was on the other side in Egypt, with wires between them. All of Gaza used to be surrounded by barbwire, but it was now a Wall. And Palestinians in Egypt who are not allowed in Palestine cannot meet us at the Wall, and if my grandfather were alive, he wouldn't be able to see or speak to his son through this 25-foot Wall like he used to.

I cried at what was left. I had nothing left to imagine, nothing but memories of my grandparents home. The house ceased to exist and there was no way to get it back. I am left along with many other Palestinians trying to come to terms with the reality of our situation. And we are supposed to accept unquestioningly that this is what the world has willed for us as life goes on regardless.

This is where the house used to be

Could It Get Any Worse?

Every morning, I usually wake up to the sound of construction in front of my home in Southern Rafah. The UN is building homes here for over
25,000 Palestinians whose homes were demolished by Israel during the past six years. But in the last two days, I have had to wake up on my own. There are no trucks loading sand, or construction men screaming at each other because the UN has halted the project along with some $93 million in other projects when the cement and other building materials ran out. And Israel will not include the necessary building materials in any emergency package to Gaza. I don't think anyone outside of here realizes how negatively this will affect Palestinians
in Gaza.

For example, my uncle and his family of eleven are just one of the many waiting to get a home from UNRWA. His home was demolished almost 3 years ago, one of the 3,000 destroyed since the beginning of the Second Uprising (Intifada). Although he was lucky enough to find an
apartment, it has only one bedroom, one bathroom and a small kitchen for his family of eleven; and he was still one of the lucky ones. Most people had to crunch themselves in with relatives whose houses are already crowded. With 1.4 million people crunched in 139 sq mi, almost twice the size of DC which is …… people per square mile, Gaza is one of the most densely populated places in the world. So, when the news of the halting of the construction reached my uncle, all he could say was, "Could it get any worse?"

Like many Palestinians, my uncle, earns his income by going to Egypt and buying merchandise -- mostly cigarettes since that's what sells in Gaza -- and comes back to Rafah to sell it. When the Egyptian-Gazan border was functional, he made a trip to Egypt every two weeks. Many times he would buy, for instance, $200 worth of merchandise but the Egyptians at the border checkpoints between Gazan and Egypt would often dump the products they didn't like, such as cigarettes, or keep some of what they did like, or just mistreat them while rifling through my uncle's bags so that most of electronics wound up not working properly. So, even then he didn't always profit from his trips; and this was his only source of income. The border however has not opened since June 6th, and my uncle has already sold all of his merchandise. So, he now sits and waits, and finds ways to keep himself busy until the border opens, without which he has no source of income. And neither does his son who works as a police officer and has not been paid for 18 months, since Hamas's election. The economic embargo has not allowed any
funds to reach Hamas's government because the US classified Hamas as a terrorist organization, but it is people like my cousin and 19,000 other government employees that suffer as a result, and therefore must work without salaries.

Similar to others here in Gaza, life for my uncle is becoming desperate. He has 10 people that he has to feed and clothe, but he doesn't even have a shekel to cover the cost of his children's
transportation to school. And to make matters worse, he has a heart condition and the pharmacies have run out of medicine he needs. Last year, he was able to get through to Egypt to have a heart operation, but now if something were to happen to him, we don't even know where we would take him or how we would even get him there. The border is closed and there are 6,000 people waiting to get out, 28 of which have already died in just two weeks. No one besides his family would care if he were to die. To the rest of the world, he would just be another number; another one of the 60% of Gazans who are unemployed; another one of the 81% of Gazans living below the poverty line; just another poor Palestinian waiting for his demolished home to be rebuilt by UNRWA. My uncle is still my uncle, and not a number, but he is just one of the hundreds of thousands of Palestinians whose life has been challenged in every aspect; his very right to live has been violated by Israel's collective punishment of all who reside in Gaza.

After we heard of the news, I stood with my uncle at our window and as we stared at the dozens of concrete skeletons of homes and schools bathed in the fading light of the sunset, when he said quietly, "I guess we won't be moving in September."

"God willing, soon," I replied. "Don't worry." But inside I knew -- we both knew -- that life here in Rafah will only get worse before it gets any better.