A Mother’s Struggle in Gaza — Sabreen’s Story
A typical day for us is a struggle for the most basic needs. Still, I refuse to give up.
My name is Sabreen. I am a mother of three children: Osama and Jana, seven-year-old twins, and Khitam, who is five. I am also in my ninth month of pregnancy, waiting for another child to be born under the harshest conditions imaginable.
Before the war, our life was simple but full of love. My children went to school, played football in the street, and laughed with their cousins. Our house in Beit Lahia was small, but it was filled with safety and warmth. I could cook for my family, put them to bed with full stomachs, and dream of a better future for them. That life is gone.
The war destroyed everything. I lost my father and then my brother. Our home was reduced to rubble. Since then, my children and I have been displaced more than seven times. Every time we had to leave, it meant packing what little we had left, carrying the children through dangerous streets, and trying to find a place to survive. Each move brought more fear, more uncertainty, and more grief.
Now we are in the Al-Bureij refugee camp. I no longer dream of a house — I only dream of a tent to protect my children from the burning sun and the freezing nights. But even a tent is too expensive for us. We live on debts, and most nights my children go to bed hungry. They sometimes cry at night, asking me if there will be dinner tomorrow. I have no answer.
Throughout this pregnancy, I have suffered from severe malnutrition. Most days I ate only bread or tea, and often gave my share to the children. I was constantly afraid for my baby’s health. Now that the time to give birth is near, I am filled with fear: Will there be a hospital bed? Will there be a doctor or any medical care? Will I survive for my children, or will they be left without a mother?
A typical day for us is a struggle for the most basic needs. In the morning, I walk long distances with my children to try to get clean water. Sometimes we wait in line for hours just to fill a small container. Finding bread is another battle — the bakeries are often closed, and when they open, the lines stretch endlessly. Gas for cooking is impossible to find, so I try to cook over scraps of wood when I can.
The children have lost their childhood. They no longer play freely; they jump in fear at every loud sound. At night, they wake up screaming from nightmares of airstrikes. My twins ask me when they can go back to school, but there are no schools left standing for them. Instead of pencils and books, they carry memories of running from bombs.
My husband is unemployed, not because he does not want to work, but because there is no work left in Gaza. There is no income, no assistance, and no stability. We are surviving with the bare minimum, always one step away from disaster.
Still, I refuse to give up. I have launched a fundraising campaign to cover essential needs: food, medicine, clothing, and shelter for my children and for the baby who will soon arrive. I am not asking for much; I am only asking for a chance to keep my children alive — a chance for the new child who will otherwise know nothing but war, hardship, and pain.
Every donation, no matter how small, could mean a meal, a blanket, or medicine that could save our lives.
Please, if you are reading this, help us survive.
You can support Sabreem’s family via GoFundMe.