<div><strong>This Isn’t Life — It’s a Constant Escape from Death</strong>
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<div>Imagine waking up each day not knowing where you’ll sleep that night.
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<div>Imagine being forced to flee your home once… then again… and again… Until the word “home” no longer means anything.
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<div>Hello, My name is Anas Sibakhi, a young man from Gaza. I used to study database programming at Al-Azhar University. I had simple dreams: graduate, work, support my family, maybe pursue a master's degree.
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<div>But today, I’m not asking for dreams. <strong><em>I'm asking for survival.</em></strong>
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<div><strong>It All Started with a Night of Fire</strong>
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<div>One terrifying night, the sky turned into fire. Missiles rained down. Soldiers stormed homes. We waited for the sun to rise — just to run. Just to live.
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<div>We fled with almost nothing: just a few documents, some cash, and our faith. We left behind everything we loved: our home, our memories, our safety.
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<div><strong> Endless Displacement</strong>
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<div>Our first stop was Rafah, where we spent months in tents — freezing in the cold, suffocating in the heat. We cooked over firewood, carried water on foot, washed clothes by hand. Life wasn’t life — it was survival.
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<div>Then came the evacuation order. Again, we moved. To Al-Mawasi, then briefly to our destroyed neighborhood — which no longer exists. Just rubble. From there, we were displaced to Nuseirat, and now to Deir al-Balah.
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<div>Every time we settle, we're forced to flee again.
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<div><strong><em>No stability. No safety.</em></strong>
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<div>We never know where we’ll be tomorrow. We sleep with our shoes nearby — ready to run at any moment.
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<div><strong> What We’ve Lost</strong>
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<div>Our home is gone. My university was bombed. My sister <strong>Reem</strong>, a computer engineer, lost her remote job. My sister <strong>Areej</strong>, a student of education, lost her university too.
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<div>My <strong>mother’s</strong> health is worsening — she suffers from chronic respiratory issues, worsened by smoke and dust.
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<div>She urgently needs medical treatment abroad.
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<div><strong>Why We Need Your Help?</strong>
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<div>Because life in Gaza is no longer livable. Flour costs over $25 per kilo — if you can even find it. Clean water is scarce. Medicine is nearly impossible to get.
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<div><strong><em>But worst of all:</em></strong>
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<div>We are trapped with no way out.
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<div>The only open path is through Rafah crossing, but Egyptian travel agencies charge $5,000 per person to leave.
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<div>That’s a number far beyond our reach.
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<div>We don’t even know how we’ll afford our next meal.
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<div><strong>You Are Our Only Hope</strong>
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<div>I’m not writing this for pity. I’m writing this because your support might be the only thing that can save us.
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<div>Every donation — even just $1 — brings us closer to safety, to treatment, to rebuilding our lives.
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<div>And if you can’t donate, please share our story.
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<div>You might be the reason someone else finds us — and saves us.
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<div>From under a tent, from beneath falling bombs, I thank you.
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<div>Thank you for reading, for caring, and for giving us hope.
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<div>Anas – Gaza
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Anonymous

Save Anas’s Family from Starvation and Genocide

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