I am Muhammad Abu Zaid, 31 years old, and I live in the northern Gaza Strip.
Before the war, I had a beautiful home where I lived with my wife and my son Ali. Our life was peaceful and stable, and we had access to comfort and a dignified living. I used to go to work, my wife took care of our child, and Ali grew up in a calm, clean, and stable environment—like any child who deserves a safe childhood.
We had a simple life, but it was full of safety and dreams. I would return from work to my home, find my wife and my son, and we would live our days normally. We did not ask for much in life; we had a home, a job, food, water, and electricity, and we lived with dignity.
A Joy That Was Never Completed
Two months before the war, I received beautiful news that changed my life. I learned that my wife was pregnant with our second child, and she was in her first month. I was overjoyed and began preparing for the baby’s arrival. I started buying her necessities, building beautiful dreams for her in my imagination, and picturing her growing up among us in our home, surrounded by love and safety.
I believed we still had time to properly live this joy.
But the war came before our dreams could be completed.
When the War Began, Everything Was Lost
Suddenly, and without any warning, the war began.
In the first days, we were forced to leave our home for fear of our lives, and for the safety of my pregnant wife and my son. We left our beautiful house and went searching for a safer place.
We were displaced from our home to a shelter center, then from one shelter to another, then to a hospital, from the hospital to a tent, and from the tent to another shelter center—all because of the bombing, destruction, and fear that surrounded us from every direction.
We lived through hunger, famine, thirst, cold, and fear. There was no longer any stable life, and no place where we could feel safe.
My wife’s suffering was the hardest of all.
She was pregnant, and her body needed rest, food, and safety, but she was living amid displacement, fear, bombing, and destruction. Her life and the life of the unborn baby were both at risk, and she was trying to complete her pregnancy under extremely harsh conditions that are not fit for normal life—so how much more difficult for a pregnant woman?
My Home That Became Rubble
I did not only lose my house; I lost the place where I built my most beautiful memories with my wife and my son.
My home today has become rubble.
And what is even more painful is that my home is located in the yellow zone, which means I cannot even go to see what remains of it. I cannot stand in front of the place that used to be our home, cannot see our memories, and cannot retrieve anything that was part of our life.
There was our room.
There was where Ali spent his childhood.
And there was where I was preparing to welcome my new daughter before the war began.
There were the details of our life and our dreams.
Today, even visiting the ruins of my home has become an unattainable dream.
The war did not only take our house—it took the place that held our memories, our life, and our dreams.
A Birth Amid War and Famine
After my wife completed nine months of pregnancy, the time of delivery arrived.
But her birth was not easy at all.
She underwent a cesarean section under war conditions, amid a shortage of medical equipment, anesthesia, beds, hygiene, and essential supplies. Those were difficult and frightening days, and everything around us increased our anxiety and fear.
By the grace of God, my daughter came into this world safely.
I named her Wateen.
Her birth was a moment of joy I will never forget, but it was a joy mixed with fear and pain—because she came into a world that was not ready to receive her as I had hoped.
[Place for image of Wateen after birth]
Wateen was not born in the beautiful home where I had dreamed of welcoming her.
She was born in a time of war, famine, and displacement, under extremely harsh conditions, inside a tent surrounded by insects and mice, without enough clothes, diapers, or milk.
She was an innocent little child who had done nothing wrong, yet she began her life deprived of her most basic rights.
I suffered as I watched her needing milk, diapers, clothes, and water, and I was not always able to provide what she needed.
Just Ten Days Later… Another Displacement
The suffering did not end after her birth.
Just ten days after my daughter was born, we were forced to flee again.
My wife was still exhausted from the cesarean section and needed rest and care, but the war did not give us that chance.
We had to carry what we could, leave where we were, and once again search for another place where we could try to survive.
[Place for image of tent or displacement]
The war took everything from us.
It took our home, our work, our stability, our safety, our dreams, and even the simplest things we once considered normal.
Three Years of War… My Children Growing Up in Deprivation
Three years of war have passed.
My son Ali, who was about one year old at the beginning of the war, is now four years old.
And my daughter Wateen, who was born in the midst of war and famine, has now completed her second year.
My children have grown, but not in the life I dreamed for them.
They do not know what it means to have fruit on the table whenever they want it.
They do not know what meat means like other children do.
They do not know what toys are, nor do they live a normal childhood filled with play, laughter, and safety.
My children have been deprived of many rights simply because they were born in a place at war.
Today, we live in a worn-out tent that does not protect us from the cold of winter or the heat of summer.
We suffer greatly in obtaining water, food, medical care, and basic necessities for my children.
My children live among insects and mice, in conditions whose harshness I cannot even describe.
And sometimes I ask myself:
What is my son Ali’s fault? And what is my daughter Wateen’s fault?
What did they do to be deprived of the simplest things other children enjoy?
What is their fault for being born into war?
Even Education Has Become a Dream
My son Ali is very smart, and he is now preparing to go to kindergarten.
I want to see him learn, play, and go to kindergarten like other children.
I want to be able to provide the monthly kindergarten fees, school uniform, and school supplies.
I do not want the war to deprive him of his right to education as well.
I do not want my son to grow up knowing only tents, hunger, fear, and displacement.
I want him to know school.
I want him to know books.
I want him to know games.
I want him to know life.
My Message to the World
I am Muhammad Abu Zaid.
I do not want anything big from the world.
I only want to be able to help my children obtain their basic rights.
I want to be able to provide them with food, water, medicine, clothes, diapers, and milk, to help Ali go to kindergarten, and to give Wateen the simplest necessities of life that she has been deprived of since birth.
I want my voice to reach the world.
I want people to see Gaza, to hear about Gaza, and to understand that behind every image there is a family, behind every number there is a child, and behind every news story there is a father and a mother trying to protect their children.
We are human beings.
We once had a beautiful home.
I had a job.
We had a stable life.
We had dreams for the future.
You can help Muhammed via Chuffed.