Last Sunday, I stepped out of my family’s tent in az-Zawayda, in the central Gaza Strip and headed to the nearby Twix Cafe, a coworking space for freelancers and students. Ten days had passed since the “ceasefire” was announced and I thought it must finally be safe for me to go out. Venturing out was supposed to be a step towards reclaiming a small part of my old life.
My brother and I were almost at the cafe when we heard a very familiar sound – the thunder of an explosion. An Israeli drone had hit the entrance of Twix Cafe.
I froze. I thought, this is it – it’s my turn. I won’t survive this war.
Three people were killed and several others were injured. Had my brother and I left my family’s tent a few minutes earlier, we, too, may have been among the casualties.
As the news spread, my family went into panic, calling us over and over again. The signal was weak, and their attempts to reach us were failing. We were able to comfort our mum only when we got back to the tent.
I asked myself, what kind of “ceasefire” is this? I felt more anger than fear. …..more
