Tuesday’s Child Blog

Tuesday’s Child Returns to Gaza – Day 7

Sunday 12th July 2009

This morning started with mass at the Holy Family Church in the old part of Gaza city. The new parish priest, Fr Jorge Hernandez, newly arrived from Argentina 3 months ago, celebrates mass. He is young and vibrant and already bringing many new innovations to the parish. The faith of the people here is incredible, notwithstanding what they have endured over recent months. The prayer and singing especially, in Arabic, is very uplifting.

The Holy Family Church, Gaza City

Looking around the congregation I see that The Missionary Sisters of Charity are here, and after mass, I chat to the fabulous 83 yr old Sr Joan from Malta, whom I met last year, when staying at her convent. I give a donation from Tuesday’s Child towards the disabled children in their care and promise toys next week. Also here this morning, The Little Sisters of Jesus who live in solidarity with the people in the Christian camp of Rada. I am surprised to see one of them and glad that she has made it back into Gaza, after her antics and gesticulations to Israeli security at Erez last year. The memory makes me giggle. She entertained everyone waiting to cross Erez with her face pulling, tongue sticking and spectrum of salutations towards the Israeli security which while hilarious, could easily have prevented any possibility of return.

A parishioner who waved at me several times during mass, comes over to talk. She tells me her story and dissolves into tears, her whole body racked with sobbing. “I hate Gaza, I hate Gaza”, she screams, “I have no life here, only suffering and the little life I had they have taken away with the death of my son and the loss of our home. Please, help me get out of here. Please, I beg you, help me, I hate it, help me go to my son in Germany”. She opens her handbag and gives me a letter written by Fr Jorge outlining her predicament. I explain, gently, that I cannot help her but will refer her letter on to an organisation who may be in position to support her plea. She is very nervous and is shaking as she speaks “Why did my lovely son have to die, what harm did he do? How can God allow this to happen to me? All my life I have suffered, I cannot take any more”. I try and soothe her but she is inconsolable. I offer to take her picture and tell her story. The poor pet. She has no money and it is a Sunday, she explains and she has nothing for the family for lunch. I give her some money and she hugs me tightly, still crying. I put my arm round her and sit with her and listen until the hysterical crying reduces to quiet tears. I tell her that she must spend some of the money on herself and try to relax and I will be back next week and will see her again then.

Manairva Saba, aged 46 yrs who lost her son and her home in Operation Cast Lead

I go back into the church hoping for some quiet time, but I am inundated with parishioners, curious to know who the new arrival is. And there are many questions. Are you a journalist? Are you Swedish? Are you a doctor? I explain I am an NGO worker from Ireland. They smile when they hear Ireland. “We love the Irish, John Ging is Irish!”, one man says. I am now convinced really that John Ging should run for President. The young people gather round and three young guys continue to sit with me. No chance of any solitude now so we talk of life in Gaza for their generation and how they found the war. The speak of the horror of the war and their fear of further incursion. “It is all we have known since we were infants” offers one, “but this latest attack was on an unprecedented scale, it shook Gaza to the core”. I ask three young men, Jaleel, Amin and Karam what they enjoy. Jaleel tells me he loves traditional dancing and I ask him to give me a demonstration. “Here in the church?”, he asks surprised. “Yes right here, sure don’t you know I am The Lord of the Dance said He”. He gives me a big grin and tells me he likes that one and starts to dance, it is not unlike traditional Irish. I tell him it is like Riverdance, just a little slower. I also ask them what area they each want to follow. Jaleel, 19 yrs, is at university studying accountancy, Amir, 16 yrs is still at school and would like to be an engineer and Karam, 21 yrs, hopes for a career in business. I ask Amir what he enjoys and he says “I love music, all kinds of music but especially English music, however it is very boring for us in Gaza as there is little hope here and nothing to do each day and we cannot leave”. Karam says “I would love to travel, but we are imprisoned here and life is very difficult. I want to travel, to study abroad and to see something of the world”.

Three young men from the Holy Family Parish, Jaleel, Amir and Karam

Fr Jorge and I chat and he mentions the importance of music for the young people and for creative outlets. He tells me it is difficult for children and young people to access music and there are no music shops like we have at home. I tell him about the musical instruments I have brought from Ireland and his face lights up. He says he has been trying to source instruments but again there are no shops here for such things. I tell him we were hoping to start a music club here for children and maybe he could help with this. He says he would be delighted and we agree to meet back at the hotel in half an hour.

A short time later Fr Jorge arrives at the hotel, with Jaleel in tow and I bring down the cache of musical instruments to their great interest and pleasure. I explain the guitars and the violin will need tuning as the strings had to be loosened before flying. The violin was kindly donated by Patricia from Dublin the day before my departure. I take a photo of Fr Jorge with the violin and make a mental note to send her a copy when I get home. I have brought quite a range and a lot of percussion – tambourines, castanets, maracas, wood blocks, triangles, chimes, horns, bells, and 20 tin whistles with how to play the whistle books in 6 languages. Also, 40 sets of drumsticks, but they will have to make their own drums as I could not bring these through customs without being destroyed. I was relieved as it is, to get them through, as the luggage insisted on playing a few tell-tale notes as I tried to manoeuvre the heavy trolleys through Tel Aviv airport.

Fr Jorge and try out some of the musical instruments

I have to say good-bye to Fr Jorge as time to get ready to visit more families, this time in the Middle Area of Mousader. I have the procedure down to a fine art now – restock the sweets, select toys for range of ages, prepare envelopes with cash assistance, recharge camera, video and mobile – next time I must bring two travel plugs! Thank God for the hotel generator!

It is a glorious sunny afternoon, and, as anywhere else along the Mediterranean, this should be a fabulous place to be. However, I have yet to take a walk along the beach or even to the end of the pier, as the smell from the sea is putrid. If this was my beloved Donegal I would be out in flash walking along the coast, albeit with my springers, Hogan and Cusack, splashing beside me. That apart, a female is not permitted to walk along the beach, unaccompanied, at risk of being escorted off by Hamas. Bikinis and sarongs are an absolute no-no here, as are swimsuits, even shorts and t-shirts are not permitted. However, I continue to wear my T-shirts as it is simply impossible to bear anything with sleeves in this heat. Earlier in the week, there was sheer panic in our group as I tell them, while sitting at beachside cafe, that I am just going to the ladies to change into my bikini and take a swim. They put up their hands in horror and the men almost choke on their pipes as I insist, telling them I am Irish and not Palestinian and human rights and all that. It’s a wind up of-course and they fall about laughing when I return still clothed and realise I was only pulling their leg.

Road to Mousader

Driving down to the middle area, the view is beautiful with the sun skimming the surface of the water, but again the smell of raw sewage for the duration is terrible. God only knows what bugs are growing in the sea and yet the children are swimming and splashing in it. The beach is all they have. Mousader is very different to Northern Gaza, very rural, a bit like Armoy in comparison to Belfast. We meet our aid co-ordinator for this region, Mohammed, he has much more grey than this time last year I note.

Gazan coastline

Our first stop is with the Jomaa Gabrel family of 13. The mother here tells me she does a lot of baking and needs 4 bags of flour per month and most of her money goes on this. They talk of their terror during the war. A 5 KG bag of flour costs a staggering 140 shekels. The children who are at home come out to greet us and we speak of their hopes for the future. Here in this home, Aisha would like to be a journalist, Sadia, a teacher, Belal, a teacher of religion and Amal would be content having her own home and family and being a housewife. We give them so cash assistance and Ahmed dispenses the sweets.

Jomaa Gabrel family

Jomaa Gabrel home

Bag of Israeli flour costing 140 shekels

On to the Khalid Ead family, who live just down the road. Mrs Ead explains that 40 of their extended family came to stay in her house during the war and thankfully no-one was hurt or injured but that it was a terrifying experience. She shows me the many holes in her corrugated iron roof. Her eldest son was at university studying, but gave up his place to his younger sister who desperately wanted to go onto third level education and the family cannot afford to send more than one child to university. I ask how much fees are per year and he tells me 500 US dollars and there is just no way the family can afford it. Ameen has completed one year of social work and explains he would love to complete his degree. I promise to find him a sponsor in Ireland for the forthcoming year.

Khadra and Waaem Ead who would like to be a teacher and a doctor, respectively

The third call this afternoon is with the Mostafa Louh family, totalling 32 people including 25 children. It is huge, there are children everywhere! There are 4 small houses here together behind the gate , a small hut each for the father, his 3 sons and each of their families. There is great excitement as they are getting ready to go to a neighbour’s wedding and the arrival of visitors with sweets is almost too much. Mrs Louh is very excitable and keeps hugging me and kissing me. She also keeps stroking my face, the way an old man might pull on his beard and I wonder if I need a chin wax for she keeps playing with my face like this. This is quite a new experience for me and Sabah explains it is a term of endearment in Gaza and mothers often reserve it for their children. That apart, she is fascinated with my hair as well as my face and she strokes it now also, it is very weird. I try and call the extended family together for a photograph and the children appear from everywhere. How can the monthly food allocation feed so many, yet they are very happy with what they get. I ask her how she can manage so many children. She gives me a toothless smile and much to everyone’s amusement re-enacts her child-bearing and breast-feeding abilities. The woman belongs on a stage.

Mrs Louh and 6 of her children

I am told later of a story that is perhaps one of the most shocking I will hear in terms of lack of food during the war. One day, Mohammed called with supplies for the family and he found a baby being suckled by a dog that had just had pups. As they had no money for milk and the mother had finished breast-feeding, they fed the children this way as they had nothing else to give them and the dog kindly obliged. I cannot believe it, truly shocking, that this blockade has reduced families to such extreme measures. I give Mrs Louh her envelope of cash, quickly backing out the gate to avoid any more face and hair stroking but she runs after me and I am caught again much to the amusement of Sabah and Ahmed.

The extended Louh family

The fourth stop is with a much smaller Bedouin family of 4. Their home is very poor but they have a range of animals including rabbits, chickens, hens and sheep. Mrs Kwash tells us that the monthly food coupon makes a huge difference and they would not survive without it. Also, that it lasts them for about 3 weeks. I chat to the only daughter who is at home and she tells me she loves school and she wants to be a doctor when she grows up, that way, if there is another war, she will be able to save the lives of some of the children who might otherwise die.

Aysha Kwash family

Aysha Kwash farm

It is a short drive to our next family and, as we approach, I recognise the laneway that leads to Mona’s home. We met Mona and her 10 children last year and they featured in our film. It is great to see them all alive for plastic sheeting gives very little protection against mortar bombs and white phosphorus. I notice the large mound of rubble that was the former home, demolished by Israeli tanks in 2007, has been removed now; at least they no longer have to look out on the wreck of it. Most of the children are out playing and only the 4 youngest are at home with their mother, Baha, Mohammed, Sada and Ensaf. I give Mona an envelope with cash assistance for the coming year and multivitamins for all of children under 12. I notice that the two boys have an eye defect and will need referral for treatment, but this is expensive. We talk of the war and the Mohammed tells me “I was not afraid of the planes and helicopters, only the tanks” and I tell him he is very brave (it was ofcourse a tank that came in the night and demolished their home 2 years ago, closely followed by his father’s death). The children say the all love school and all subjects and school and all here want to be teachers when they grow up. Mona is looking better than she did this time last year, I tell her and she is pleased.

Mona Said, widow, and 4 of her 10 children

Mohammed and Baha Said

We drive several miles to the next family, through fields ruined by a stampede of tanks. Track marks are still evident and it hits home that this was a war of unleashed huge military power against the most impoverished of people with little in this area to defend themselves. This visit is to the Maleha El Kodaim household of 8 children and here we have 2 aspiring doctors and 3 teachers. The mother, grandmother and one brother all suffer from a disability. Their father explains how they managed through the war “We left our home each night to stay in the nearest UNRWA school and returned to our home each day. The bombing was worst in the night-time, it was terrifying. We were short of food and water and the children still have nightmares. As you see we are only 500 metres from the border and they will not go anywhere now unless I am with them. We are very lucky to be alive, you can see how close they came, ploughing through the fields beside the house”. Again, we give the same cash assistance as to the other families here.

Tank tracks still evident 6 months on

Maleha El Kodaim family

Our next stop is at the home of the Salah El Louh family of 13 children. This family is sponsored by Peggy, who joined the Tuesday’s Child team last summer. All the children here love school and their favourite subjects include reading, Arabic, English and football. Two of the children want to be doctors and two say they want to be teachers. The 2 eldest wanted to study nursing and teaching but were unable to continue after secondary school as the family had no money for college fees. Mrs El Louh tells us that with so many to feed, the food just lasts for 10 days at the most. I ask how she manages, and she says she struggles, but neighbours here help each other out. I ask what the family had for lunch today and she says bread and tomatoes. I was unaware until this visit that so many teenagers miss out on the opportunity of third level education because of lack of funds. Support for these young people is essential and a consideration we will have to develop on my return. We give the family cash assistance and the parents are overwhelmed. It is the same story in each home, and on each occasion, these God-fearing people give thanks to Him. Hamdullilah!

Salah El Louh family

It is getting dark now as we arrive at the small homestead of the Hekmat Obaid family. Here, 11 children live with their mother, a widow. Their father Joseph died of cancer last year. I ask about the war. “Words cannot begin to describe the sheer terror of the war that seemed never-ending. Many of the children cried for their father and missed him more than ever in their fear. We live only 300 metres from the border and we thought we would all be killed. We hid in the animal pens. My younger sons clung tightly to their uncle in the absence of their father. We did not sleep for over a month and even when it was over we were too traumatised to sleep. Many of the animals in the fields were shot or run down by tanks; it was terrible, there was no regard for any form of life”. I ask how long the food lasts and I am told just over one week, it is not enough. I talk with the eldest son, Mohammed, he has just finished school and wants to be a teacher but there is no money for him to go to college. I tell him I will try and find him a sponsor in Ireland.

Mrs Obaid points to the Israeli border, 300 metres from her home

Mrs Obaid, widow, with her 11 children

Brothers, sisters, friends and neighbours

The word spreads in the area and many other families arrive at this homestead asking us for help. It is impossible to help everyone and yet I am acutely aware that many others here are also in great need. Sabah has a difficult job selecting families for support. One young father approaches me begging for help. He carries two young children, one in each arm, brother and sister, Bara and Rouia. Both children are blind. How terrified they must have been in the war. He tells me his story and I listen. Both children were referred to eye specialists here in Gaza. The cost of investigations cost him 2000 USD and he had to raise first before treatment was considered, only to be told that in each case, the blindness was reversible and correctible by surgery only available outside of Gaza. I asked how he managed to raise such a large amount of money. He explains, his father and uncles helped, each giving him something and many neighbours here in the area chipped in what little they could and he also sold some of his few possessions. He asks us if we can help him. I give him money for his family but tell him there is not much else I can do directly. I ask him however for copies of letters from the hospital and I will refer them on to others who may be in a position to influence transfers and effect treatment. I am outraged that professional people here can charge a starving farmer this kind of money for ophthalmic examination of two blind children. How can they bleed their own people like this? It is appalling.

Bara and Rouia Abo Shehada, who both need corrective eye surgery for blindness

We return to Mohammed’s home and meet his wife and 5 children who also get a share in the sweets and toys for this area. We discuss at length the families tonight, their needs and the many more families here who are in need of help. Really, we are only scratching the surface and soon the cash assistance provided to each household on the trip will run out. The need is vast and, at times, our work seems a little futile, like putting a band aid on an aneurysm.

I get back to my hotel at midnight. The combination of heat, ongoing sickness and dehydration are taking its toll and I feel quite weak and dizzy. Yet I am healthy. How must those who have been starved over the years of this blockade be feeling, and as if this was not enough, to then have to deal with the mighty blow of this war and its grim repercussions. Suffering to this extreme, should not be permitted. The tragedy is, that unlike many countries in the world, the humanitarian crisis in Gaza is not a natural disaster, it is man-made and nowhere in the world is man’s inhumanity to man, more evident. I wish everyone in Ireland could experience the horror of Gaza, maybe then Tuesday’s Child could make a real difference. However, as far as the media are concerned, Gaza is yesterday’s news and raising awareness is a challenge.

I take the two letters handed to me today out of my bag and read them. The first is that of Manairva Saba, whom I met in the chapel this morning. The letter is in English and starts To Whom It May Concern and reads as follows: “We are a Christian family of 6 members who used to live in the Sheikh Redwan Quarter in Gaza. On the 6^th January 2009, our home was shelled with 5 missiles at 4 a.m. and was followed by a shell from an F16 that destroyed the whole house. The next day, our son was shelled and martyred while he was talking on the telephone with his brother in Germany, while he was standing before our shattered house. We are now temporarily living in a rented house owned by relatives as our house was totally destroyed. We kindly ask you to help us get out of the Gaza strip for we can’t bear living here any longer. Our elder son who lives in Germany is preparing immigration paperwork for the whole family. Therefore, we ask, whosoever can help to reunite our family to do so with our thanks, prayers and gratitude. I now have three children, Salim aged 26 yrs, George aged 22 yrs and Ramzi, aged 14 yrs. My son, Nazeem, who was killed, was also 26 yrs”. There must be hundreds of letters like this in Gaza.

The second is a medical letter on Ministry of Health headed paper outlining a referral report with the medical history and clinical findings of the Abu Shehada family. The investigations are relatively routine and I am again appalled that this impoverished family have been charged 2000 USD for routine eye examinations of their twins. It makes my blood boil.

I note that the respective letters are from the first and last people I have met today and I pray to the Infant Child for his intercession in both cases. I open volume 6 of direction for our times and my gaze falls on the following words “My little ones, it is My greatest wish that you remain close to Me..always remember me and remember that I love you. I will help you dear child. I will help you in many ways...If you are my friend, you can ask Me to do things for you and I will, as long as you are asking Me to help others. Believe in Me, dear child”. I ask Him to help these people today in their struggles and their needs for the families. I will pass these letters on to others and leave my petition for help for them in His hands.

If you are in a position to help any of the families we met during our time in Gaza, please contact us at info@tuesdayschild.co.uk or donate online here »

Continue to read Day 8 »