My name is Ahmed and at 26 years old, I write to you from Gaza at a time when drones hover above my head, and I'm sharing an apartment with 18 other refugees after two days and nights of severe terror, in addition to the previous 66 days. Despite the unstable network, I have managed to send my story to you.
This is the opening of a message on the "Mediapart" blog, from a student living in Gaza, addressed to the Deputies and to the French people at large, describing his condition and circumstances and what he and the people of Gaza are enduring under the buzzing of drones, and the bombing of planes and tanks in a war that spares nothing and no one.
Ahmed begins his life story by sharing that his family was forcibly expelled in 1948 from the village of Nabi Rubin near present-day Tel Aviv, finding refuge in Gaza, where he was born in 1997. There he lived through "four wars" until past the age of 26. Since October 7, 2023, he has been living through what may be the fifth and potentially last war.
Gaza Unrecognizable
Even though life in Gaza was abnormal even before the war due to the ongoing blockade, it had its moments of joy, where there was play, fun, and the delicious smells of home-cooked meals, and the warmth of family home.
In yesterday's Gaza, "from my window, I would dream of coming to study in France someday. I watched Paris Saint-Germain matches, hoping to see Mbappé play in real life. I imagined myself wandering the streets of Paris, going to the cinema."
"But since December 12 last year, I no longer recognize Gaza. Israeli bombs destroyed 60% of our homes. They bombed our hospitals, schools, universities, mosques, churches, our businesses, and our archive centers. Today, my university is closed, as is the French Institute where I once studied."
"In Gaza today, the red color of blood flows and spreads, it's the pervasive scent of death everywhere. In Gaza today, all the lights are out. We no longer hear children playing. We hear drones flying over us all day. We hear the sounds of missiles bombing nearby houses. In Gaza, we hear nothing but the screams of victims and those trapped under the rubble, and the wailing of those crying for their children and loved ones."
In today's Gaza, the fog and dust clouds from the Israeli bombing replace the blue skies. Today in Gaza, we have aged in our twenties. In Gaza today, we drink unhealthy water, and we eat only one meal a day if we are lucky."
Living Between Sorrow and Hope
We in Gaza today wait for our time like those condemned to death, – Ahmed wonders – what kind of life is this? He remembers that one must stay at any cost because leaving is what Israel wants. Yet he questions again, are we obliged to pay with our bodies for this right to exist? Don’t we have the right to life? Are we all condemned to death just because we live in Gaza?
"I am a Palestinian youth and I aspire to live – says Ahmed – I yearn for a normal life. I'm not a 'Superman' nor am I a human animal, and that's why I decided, with my family's blessing, to flee this hell if I get the chance to realize my dream of coming to France, where I was accepted at a prestigious university in Paris.
That moment of happiness was quickly overtaken by reality – as Ahmed says – for bombs rain down on us and I do not know if I will live till tomorrow, my present is a dead-end and my future is suspended. My first visa application was denied within 10 minutes; because I did not personally go to the consulate in Jerusalem, which is impossible for any citizen in Gaza under siege since 2007.
I have requested a reconsideration of my file and that France helps me to leave my country which is being bombed, and if I were lucky enough to survive the dangers on the road to the Egyptian border, I would have to cross the checkpoint after looking back at my land and all the life I left behind. And if I leave tomorrow, I do not know when I will see my country again. I will live between sorrow and hope."
