I am a grandmother for 13 kids. The war began and destroyed every single detail in my life. I escaped from my home and displaced many times until I reached the south whereis no life. I stay in a shelter made of fabric ; it is really a catastrophe as it does not suit eldrly as my husband (69 years) and I (64years). No clean water, no healty food, no warm moments with my daughters and grandchildren. War dispersed us as my daughters displaced in different places. I really missed them and feel pathetic towards them as they lost their homes and dreams.

The first daughter, Dalia had displaced to the south, Rafah with her six daughters and her house had burned and she lost everthing. She suffered a lot in the camp as her daughters have many dangerous diseases because of dirts which are everywhere. The second daughter, Bisal had lost her dreams as it was supposed to discuss her master's dissertation in December, 2023 but the war was faster than her dreams. Her sons and she suffered a lot in the North. The faced starvation, bombing, displacement.... . The third daughter, Rasha had also lost her home as Israeli Occupation had bombed the whole building without mercy. We all became homeless.

We are now 26 persons dreaming of leaving Gaza, so we wish if you could help us achieving this dream and donate an amount of money which could help us move away and begin a new life with the rest of my family in safe conditions in any country can recieve refugees like us. Gaza hasn't become a safe place for any, any life.

After the events in Rafah and the overcrowding of people in a narrow area, life became more difficult. We began living without clean drinking water to quench our thirst, in addition to the high cost of living and, most difficult of all, environmental pollution, with sewage everywhere around us. Additionally, there was no water for bathing or washing food if it was available. The days pass with difficulty, and as they become more difficult, I remember the day we were displaced from our homes under bombardment. We left, leaving everything behind except the clothes we were wearing, and went to one of the shelter schools. Before we could lay our bodies on the ground, where there were no mattresses to sleep on, we were forced to leave again that same night. This arduous journey of displacement was repeated ten times until we moved to the south. We thought we would rest after the difficult journey from the north to the south, which we made on foot under the sun. But we started another journey of suffering in the south, where we went to a shelter school. Life in this school was extremely difficult, with the room accommodating thirty women and children, while men slept in the hallways. The bathrooms were used by two thousand people and, of course, had no water. Then we moved to another place under bombardment, and this journey was repeated eight times until we ended up in displacement tents without water or bathrooms. Even if food was available, it was mixed with sand. The journey of suffering does not stop. Whenever I try to close my eyes to the tragic situation, I wake up to the sound of my granddaughter asking me about our relatives who were martyred, numbering 42 children, women, and men. Then my granddaughter asks me about her school bag and school uniform, and asks me to go and retrieve them from under the rubble. She then asks me when she will go to school and if she will find her friend who used to sit next to her and play together during the break. Then she falls silent for a moment, her eyes filled with tears, and asks me about her doll, whether it is still there or was lost under the rubble of the house. I find no answer to all these questions except tears, sorrow, and pain. I wish I had enough money to be able to live in this high cost of living and to help me travel to a safe place when the circumstances allow for travel.