Memories and Scenes from the Nakba Repeated

By Amjad Shabat, UNRWA USA freelance content producer based in Gaza.

From left to right: Nahed, Hani, Motaz and Amjad at UNRWA Summer Fun Weeks in the Gaza Strip, July 2023.

This piece of writing might be the only thing that tells the world I was once here. That I existed.

In these heavy days my memories, dreams, and biggest fears are mixed together. The sound of massive airstrikes are in the background all the time.

early days & motherhood

My name is Amjad Shabat. I am a mother of a 2-and-a-half-year-old girl that’s full of energy. Being a mother is one of the most important roles I used to enjoy, but these days it turns out to be one of my biggest fears. My daughter, Ghady, was born three weeks before the Israeli military assault on Gaza in 2021. I remember giving her a bath before putting her to sleep when the tower next to our flat was threatened to be destroyed. Feeling postpartum depression at the time, I only remembered to take her crib and milk container and run away in my pajamas to save our lives.

Ghady grew a lot during these two years. She now runs to my lap scared whenever she hears a warplane in Gaza's sky. I remember being 9 when the second Intifada erupted and how scared I was from the warplanes. I remember how scared I was from the bombing and airstrikes. I remember how scared I was going to school while there were escalations on the eastern borders. I am 32 now. I was born during the first Intifada and grew up in Jabalia refugee camp during the second Intifada. I witnessed all the wars, aggressions, and military escalations against Gaza which took place between 2008 until this day.

I am a daughter of two refugee parents. My mother originally comes from a village called Al-Sawafir al-Sharqiyya that was destroyed during the Nakba in 1948. My father is from a village called Beit Hanoun, located in the northern part of the Gaza Strip, which today is completely destroyed by the Israeli military. I grew up in Jabaliya refugee camp which is considered the biggest Palestinian refugee camp in Gaza. I grew up in poverty, I grew up and studied in UNRWA schools. The street where my school was located sank every winter during rainfall because of the deteriorated infrastructure. I had no place to play except at the UNRWA children and youth club where my friends and I danced dabke, did theater, sang, and drew. When I got sick, I got treated and vaccinated at UNRWA clinics.

I’ve lived through Gaza's darkest times. Directly after 2007, Israel imposed a tight siege on Gaza. We lacked all necessities including food, fresh water, electricity, medical supplies, and even paper. At one point, I could not find enough notebooks for my school classes, and for the first time our teachers allowed us to combine two subjects in one notebook. We could not even go outside the edge of the camp as there was no fuel for cars to operate. I remember studying to the light of candles and spending endless summer hot days not being able to sleep as there was no electricity to turn on a fan.

gaza now

It's been 25 days since the start of this crisis and it feels like it will continue forever. Life was a bit calm before this nightmare, we learned not to trust calmness.

A friend of mine always said "I'd suspect something is wrong when I laugh from the bottom of my heart." When he became a father, he found a way to migrate to Europe as he could not watch his children growing up in this horrifying atmosphere.

I am among the few in my circle of friends who made the choice to remain in Gaza and to take the risk of raising a child here. I always felt that I could not give up my hopes of a liberated future for us and I wanted my child to work hard as I do to see this day. During wartime, my only hope is to survive. 

One of my biggest dreams ever was having my own house which I believe is linked to my constant feeling of not belonging in any place. I wanted a house to feel like I belong. Just days ago I learned that the tiny flat that I spent years saving to buy was destroyed by an Israeli military airstrike.

our stories

I use words to tell the stories of Palestine refugees. I am a freelance writer and journalist and have dedicated my life to tell our stories: both of our suffering and our successes. Throughout my career I would get depressed learning about how hard life could be for some. But I was also inspired by how hard some people fight to live a better future. I met many talented men and women who are very aware of the necessity of giving back to the community. I also met dozens of families that don’t eat more than one meal per day as they live in extreme poverty.

I grew up hearing my grandmothers' stories about the Nakba. Today I am telling the story of the 2023 Catastrophe. 19 days ago, I had to evacuate the city I love and the house I dreamed of to the south of Gaza.

There is one main road that links the north to the south of Gaza, I saw cars lined up for a stretch of over 15 kilometers (9 or so miles). It was a similar scene that my grandmother described many times about the Nakba. I always noticed that my grandmother choked in her tears when telling us about the Nakba. She told us many stories about how peaceful life was in her village yet how awful and brutal the Nakba was.

I heard the word "uprooting" from her the first time. The sound of the word was very heavy. I feel like I'm being uprooted now. My biggest fear is that I'll never see Jabalia again.

Yesterday, October 31, Jabalia was massacred, and my fear has become a reality.