A widowed mother of seven from a-Shati Refugee Camp
My husband passed away about seven months ago. My children suffer from genetic conditions. Mashur (32), who is married and lives with his wife in a room in the house, has a leg handicap and impaired vision; Wiam (30) is also married and has impaired vision. He also has a severed nerve in the right arm. Muhammad (28) is deaf and visually impaired; Lorinnne (27) is deaf. Ahmad (18) and ‘Abd a-Rahman (10) also have impaired vision, and my youngest, ‘Abd al-Majid, eight, is deaf.
There are eight of us, and we live in a very crowded house with three bedrooms. Living conditions in the house are very difficult. It’s not fit for human habitation. Since Israel put Gaza under a blockade, things here have been indescribably bad. We’ve suffered so much in these years.
My husband, may he rest in peace, was a maintenance man at the Gaza Chamber of Commerce. We’re still living off the death benefits and his pension - about ILS 1,000 (1 ILS = USD 0.28) a month. That’s not enough for all the medication and treatments the children need, which come to about ILS 600-700 per month. On top of that, Muhammad needs a cornea transplant, and the other children need glasses and eyedrops. But I don’t have enough money for everything, and we don’t get welfare benefits anymore or support from URWA. My husband’s death has left me with a heavy burden and a huge responsibility. I cry day and night because of our situation.
Sometimes, our power gets cut off. I dream of a constant power supply, at least during the day. It’s very hard at night without electricity too. My little children are very afraid of the dark, and when they get frightened, they scream so much. Muhammad, who can only see silhouettes, has a particularly hard time in the dark. Unfortunately, I can’t afford to buy a generator.
I wish one day we could have a house with a room for everyone. I dream of seeing my children happy, living with dignity, wanting for nothing. I dream of opening the fridge and seeing it full of fruits, vegetables, and meat, so the children aren’t hungry anymore. I also dream of having drinking water running in the taps at home. Sometimes, I have to go to the mosque twice a day to fill up water and carry it home, which is very heavy. I’m exhausted.
My daughter Lorinne has no nice clothes or fancy shoes. I dearly wish I could buy her beautiful things. She asks for such simple things, and even those I cannot give her. Sometimes, when the smell of cooking comes up from our neighbor’s house, she stands by the window, sniffs and says: “Mom, I really feel like having a chicken dish...!”. My heart breaks with agony, and I say to her: “I wish your father were alive, and I would have died in his place.” We only eat meat and chicken if we receive a donation. Sometimes I feel that even a meal like that has become a dream.
I also dream that Mashur and his wife will have children. They’ve been married for 11 years and can’t have children. I wish I could pay for their fertility treatments, but it costs a lot. It hurts me to see them like this.
I owe money to the pharmacy, I owe NIS 800 to the grocery store, and I owe money to the falafel stand, where I take sandwiches every day on credit. I hope I can start paying them back. I dream of someone helping me open a food stall. Then, maybe I could pay off debts and support the family.
I used to dream about making the pilgrimage to Mecca and doing the Umrah, but I know that will never come true. It’s very expensive and simply impossible. Today, only simple dreams are left. I trust in God, and inshallah, He will give me what I ask for my children. I pray for them to be happy.
* Testimony given to B'Tselem Field Researcher Olfat al-Kurd on 28 September 2022.