At times, Hamza Salha's voice is lost in the crackle of the poor-quality telephone line, the only link he maintains with the rest of the world. "I'm lying in bed, I've lost all my energy. I don't know whether my fatigue is due to the war, the bombardments, or the fact that we're lacking the most essential things like water," said the 21-year-old Gazan slowly, searching for words. He had just returned home after a night in his brother's apartment in northern Gaza – he remained evasive about his exact whereabouts for fear of endangering his family.
Outside, the autumn sun had already been rising for several hours over the rubble of the buildings in his partly destroyed neighborhood. On October 7, Gaza's ruling Hamas carried out an unprecedented, mass-murdering attack on Israeli territory, killing over 1,400 people. Since then, the Israeli army has been relentlessly bombing the Palestinian enclave, with the support of Western powers. According to the latest figures from the Hamas-led Gaza administration, more than 4,600 Gazans have been killed, including over 1,800 minors. Many bodies are still lying under the rubble of buildings gutted by Israeli strikes.
"Last night, the bombardments were very close to the house. They increase in intensity once the sun goes down: it's psychological warfare, at night everything is more terrifying for civilians. Last night, I took some of my mother's medicine to try and sleep; I woke up with a heavy head. There were so many of us in the apartment, you don't feel at ease, you're afraid of being a burden on others," remarked the English literature student.
"There's no more day or night. Some days, we don't sleep at all. Other times, the men take turns, so that there's always someone awake, in case we have to evacuate," agreed Enas Mohammed. The 24-year-old fled with her family to relatives in Rafah, in the south of the Gaza Strip, when the Israeli army called on Gazans to leave the north of the enclave on October 13. She was only able to take a few clothes and her papers. Over a million people have been displaced in Gaza since October 7.
"In the morning, we buy bread, and there are between 100 and 150 people queuing at the bakery. We share the cost between the 60 people in the building. We eat food that doesn't need to be cooked because there's no gas. Our neighbor has a solar panel, so we come and charge a battery at his place to have a bit of light and plug in our mobiles," described the young accountant. She now lives a reclusive existence, "day by day, coloring with the kids, talking with the older ones, keeping life going. Sometimes we cry, then we play a bit; the other day, we made popcorn in a festive atmosphere. During the bombings, the children get scared, they gather around us, the little ones scream, they say we're going to die, the older ones grit their teeth."
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