I am 26 years old and about to give birth in Gaza. I am terrified.
Nine months ago, my husband, our 3-year-old daughter and I were all filled with joy, and began planning a beautiful future for our small family in a loving home in northern Gaza. I was excited to experience motherhood again.
We took family photos, had a gender reveal party and prepared for our new daughter’s arrival by buying necessities. We eagerly anticipated her birth, imagining how we would all come together to welcome our beautiful baby.
However, after Oct. 7, the situation changed completely. As Israel began bombing Gaza, we were told to evacuate our small, memory-filled home. But we’d hoped to return in a couple of days. Eight months pregnant, I stood in front of the wardrobe we’d filled for the new baby, thinking it would still be a while before I gave birth and we would return. I decided not to take any of the clothes, toys and trinkets we’d carefully chosen for our baby girl with me, assuming we could come back for our things later. I closed the wardrobe and headed to the south of Gaza.
A month later, the war hasn’t ended, and there seems to be no hope of it ending soon. I have been staying at my relatives’ house in southern Gaza. I became anxious about giving birth, about finding clothes and baby formula for my daughter. I have to deliver by cesarean section and when I read about the shortage of anesthesia for surgeries, my mental and physical health crumbled. I’ve had high blood pressure, dizziness and a constant state of fatigue.
I tried my best to prepare essential items for my delivery. My husband went to the pharmacy for milk, diapers, medical supplies, wound dressings and painkillers. He returned with nothing; most supplies were out of stock. I was shocked. My fear, stress and confusion only increased.
I started questioning why we even bring children into this world if they will suffer in this unjust reality. What sin does an unborn child commit to deserve a life where even the basic necessities can’t be provided, let alone a safe birth?
My husband took risks to go to pharmacies in more distant places around southern Gaza and managed to get some supplies, but not everything we needed. I struggled to find baby clothes due to store closures and the risk of movement. There is a small hospital nearby in the Nuseirat refugee camp that’s still operating, but how do we reach the hospital for delivery, when our car is out of fuel and there’s no communication network to call for an ambulance?
We are barely surviving here in Gaza, and what you hear in the news is just the tip of the iceberg. Israel claims that Gaza’s southern areas, including where I am, are safe. But Israel’s airstrikes, artillery shelling and targeting of supposed “safe houses” in the southern regions do not stop. We are safe nowhere.
All I can do now is pray for safe passage and delivery, for the safety of my unborn child and for a cease-fire and end to Israel’s attacks on Gaza. I long to return to my home and find that it’s safe and intact, but I’m consumed by fear that it has all been reduced to rubble.
We Palestinians are people like any other, entitled to the most fundamental human rights, the least among them the right to live safely and readily obtain the basic necessities of life. Our utmost concerns shouldn’t be how to find clean drinking water, flour for bread or warm clothes for our children.
Why have Western governments abandoned us? We too have dreams and aspirations, curious minds and innovative ideas, and a younger generation that we want to raise to serve the greater good in the world.
I hope that my daughter comes into this world and hears my voice before the sounds of explosions, bombings and screams. I wish for her a long, happy and safe life — free from bombardment, casualties, injuries and occupation. May she experience childhood in a world of innocence, not war.
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