As I mark my 40th birthday in bombarded Gaza, I have only one wish: for peace

Exhausted by more than 6 months of bombardment and attacks, an Islamic Relief aid worker* in Gaza reflects on a birthday blighted by suffering, but refuses to give up hope.

Yesterday was my birthday. My life is nothing like I imagined it would be when I turned 40. I am displaced, have lost my home; I can’t visit my friends and wider family; and I am living in imminent danger of bombs and airstrikes.

Before the escalation began, on my birthdays I used to go out with my wife and kids – we’d just enjoy having lunch together and driving around in the car. It was just a simple, happy day. But now there is no such thing as a simple day. Every day is a challenge, a step into the unknown. Each passing moment means more people dead, more homes bombed, more children orphaned, more roads destroyed, more Palestinians expelled from their land, and more pain. We Palestinians have been stripped of our hopes and dreams, and left with tents, hunger, displacement and sorrow. We are totally exhausted. We can’t go on anymore.

Shamefully, many world leaders remain silent about what is happening in Palestine. Shamefully, governments across the globe are oppressing younger generations as they stand up and speak the truth about what we are suffering here. At 40 years old, I am losing faith in the international community and international humanitarian law.

Will we have water today?

Sitting down to write on my birthday, I kept getting up to check if the municipality water is connected – this only happens once or twice a week, so I needed to keep checking the taps. When there was water, everyone in the house gathered to fill pots, buckets, and bottles. We refilled the water tanks on top of the building, using a solar-powered water pump. This process took 4 hours of my day but afterwards I could take my weekly shower. I can’t help but remember how I used to turn on the shower, never doubting that water would come, and then go about my day without worry. Nothing is easy now.

Palestinians fill whatever contains they can, not knowing when they will next be able to access water

My kids were sad they could not get me a birthday present. I don’t want a present, but we have been raising our children to appreciate special days. Last year they got me some chocolate – no doubt with my wife’s help – from our favorite shop in Gaza. My dear readers, it is the 21st century and there are still people in the world, like the Palestinians, who are deprived of the taste of chocolate. The ruthless, brutal occupation destroyed the chocolate factory, the bakeries, coffeeshops, restaurants, hotels, heritage places, markets, parks, schools, and the future.

The legacy I hoped to leave for my children was that I invested in their education, that I chose the best for them, that I helped them learn music, football, basketball, Daabka dancing, swimming and many other things. My heart aches when I think that my kids are losing so much precious time at school.

Will there be more birthdays?

I do not know if we will be able to celebrate any more birthdays, but I try to keep hope alive. I told my wife that we will not celebrate my daughter’s birthday, which is in July, like this. We must have a party, just to feel like we are normal people; just to feel we are still alive. But if the desperate situation in Gaza has not improved by then, maybe we’ll have to leave this place.

In this attack on Gaza, we learned that before, our days were blessed. Now we long for an ordinary life, our routines, and even our bad days. We would be thankful for boring days, stress at work, the broken car, doing the dishes, going to the gym, an appointment with a doctor, taking medicine, and cleaning cat litter. We miss everything.

Will our wish for peace come true?

My daughter hugged me, saying, “Happy birthday, insha’Allah next year the war will be over”. I nearly cried because that is my greatest hope; the end of the war. Not next year, but right now, before anything else. Everyone here shares this daily wish, this prayer. Sometimes it feels a little bit like watching your favorite football team losing 7 – 0 at the 85th minute of the game: I just want it to stop, it is painful to watch more. We only hope for it to end. Then we can fix what is broken, we can walk together and discuss what happened, we can return home, find our clothes, sleep deeply in our own beds once more.

I used to feel depressed thinking of turning 40, feeling the age represented the start of a downward curve toward the end of life. But for 208 days I have lived at the bottom of the curve. I learned that 1 bad chapter does not mean the whole story is bad. I hope I can still achieve my dreams to start my own business, to travel, to watch a Manchester United football game in person, to see my children thrive, to have my country free. For that, I need this war to stop. We all do. If I had a birthday cake, I’d blow out the candles and make a wish with you: for this war to end.

Please help Islamic Relief support people in desperate need in Gaza: Donate to our Palestine Emergency Appeal now.

*This blog is anonymised to protect the safety and security of our colleague and others mentioned. Read the other blogs in this series here.

Editor’s note: This blog was submitted amid a fast-changing and deepening crisis. The information was correct as of Thursday 2 May 2024.