Update May 13, 2025

My name is Atiqa. I live in California and I’m fundraising for the Abutuaima family in Gaza for my friend Ibrahim.

This family does not have a social media account and nor do they have a phone. I have been on video call with them last year before their phone got broken. They communicate by using someone else’s phone.

We have also decided not to share any pictures or videos. Palestinians should not need to perform on social media in order to survive. They have enough to deal with and they deserve dignity. They are very proud and steadfast.

This tribe has had over a hundred martyrs.

Last year, I saw a video going viral about Qusay, a young teen from this family. My friend called his family only to be told his cousin Qusay is the only survivor after he lost his parents and siblings. Qusay lives with Ibrahim’s family now and he depends on us to help.

There are many orphans in Gaza like Qusay who need our consistent support even if it is small.

edit July 1, 2025:

Ibrahim’s mother took in a widow and her orphans into her tent recently following a missile strike which burned tents near them.

She needs to help these orphans buy another tent and supplies. A tent costs around $1000 due to lack of supplies in Gaza.

Help them be steadfast in their land.

Our donations are their lifeline.

Funds exceeding the needs of this family will be spent on other families and friends in Gaza with gratitude.

These are verses from his poetry:

I am a Palestinian child. The people of this land know me and know that I am made of them. I have no fear or terror. Their hell will terrify and deter me. And if they increase the injustice of my siege, the salt of the earth will suffice.

I am a Palestinian child. If I die at an early age, whether from bombing, hunger, or my own injustice, do not grieve or cry for myself, for my condition does not grieve you.

I am a Palestinian child, rooted in the belly of the earth. The earth contains me, and the clay of the earth is my clay. If they cut off my arms and increase my suffering, the roots of the earth will carry me.

And the morning breeze from the clouds waters me, and if they increase the affliction of my wounds, my mother's arms reach out, and they lift me up and call out to our Creator to heal me and revive me.

I am a Palestinian child. I promise you and I appreciate that I am the future that will remain in their consciences and grow up in their wards. I am a sword that I will cast against the enemies of my homeland.

They called me with pride. They proudly covered me. Exile will not benefit me, and hell will not suffice me.

I am a Palestinian child, not a child in my homeland, as you know. Children who learned the art of counting and tallying from an early age. Today, eight of their shells fell on our camp.

Ten on our farms, and others on my neighbors. Hamdan was martyred. On that day, four and seven in my orchard. At dawn, raids occurred, some of which were ours, and a few were monitored. This is counted from time to time.

How can I be a child without freedom? How can I play while my cause is forgotten? I am a child of an orchard, Palestinian in identity. I am the one who fought in the name of freedom. I will only play with stones, and I will make a rifle from wood.

This is my childhood. Take it from me to you as a gift. I was born here long ago, before you were created, before you came to my land.