GAZA, (PIC)
“Beep… beep… beep.” At this sound, Mohannad opened his tired, sunken eyes. With great difficulty, he lifted his eyelids, which were surrounded by the darkness of fatigue and exhaustion. He realized, as every morning, that he was not in his familiar home, but in something made of wood and nylon coverings called a “tent.”
The tent, which for Mohannad is associated with the Nakba, the Naksa, and defeat, today houses a tragedy that repeats scenes he has seen before, embellished with the drama and television of the famous series “The Palestinian Exile,” directed by the late Hatem Ali.
He removed the very heavy winter blankets that he wouldn’t normally use at this time of year, as we are still in autumn. However, the tent, dampened by the drops of autumn dew, turns into a real refrigerator at night, with temperatures matching the bitter cold of winter.
With the previous sound, now mixed with the voices of those rushing to get the scarce water—children, women, men, and the elderly—Mohannad confirmed that the fresh water truck had arrived at the camp. He woke his three sleepy children, even though it was still around six in the morning.
“Wake up” is just a word that signifies the beginning of a phase of hard work unsuitable for his children, who are all under ten years old. Yet, they have aged beyond their years due to the immense difficulties they face in the tent and the camp.
Their waking didn’t take long, as everyone in the tent sleeps in a space no larger than nine square meters.
“Bring the white bucket, and the yellow one, the blue one has some water… empty it and bring it here so we can fill it,” Mohannad called to his children, and they all set off with whatever containers they could carry to fill them.
“Look at this line… who’s better and who’s less? Let’s stand here…” With these words, Mohannad directed his children. They lined up, and the tedious wait began.
Water flowed onto the ground as it was poured into whatever containers and buckets people had. Everyone rolled up their clothes to avoid getting wet, but it was futile. Each time one person stepped into the pool of water that formed, it splashed onto their clothes and those of others nearby. Voices rose, urging everyone to be quiet and walk carefully, but this was a difficult wish to fulfill. The focus here was solely on the water hose, and all other cautions were mere details of no importance.
The people here are excused; fresh and even salty water has become rare in the displacement camps, which now house the largest population density in the world.
Don’t be surprised, dear reader, for the Israeli genocide against Gaza has reduced the per capita share of water to between 3-15 liters daily amidst the war, compared to a consumption rate of about 84.6 liters per person daily in 2022.
Currently, only 10 to 20% of the total water available before the war is accessible in the Gaza Strip, and this amount is not stable, depending on fuel availability, according to Palestinian official reports.
For those who may not know, 40% of the water networks have been destroyed by the Israeli occupation army, leaving residents unable to obtain clean water.
Mohannad’s battle, along with around 2 million people in Gaza for water, is one of the most important battles of the tent and displacement today in the devastated enclave.
“If we left this almost daily morning ritual, we would find ourselves without water, and we wouldn’t know what to do in the tent. This water is essential for drinking, cooking, and even washing and bathing… it’s indispensable,” says Mohannad.
With great difficulty, Mohannad maintained the line, filled what he brought, and returned to his tent victorious in the battle for water for one day, awaiting a new day to repeat the same waking ritual.
This happens in the hope that one day he will wake up to find himself back in his neighborhood, in his residence and apartment, where he provided his family with all the comforts, after 14 months of genocide that has killed all his hopes and dreams.
