Lives Destroyed
Series of Personal Testimonies, Reveal
How One Year after Operation Cast Lead, Life in Gaza is Not Back to Normal
Day 22:
No Safe Place
On 17 January 2009, at around 6:00am,
the Israeli military fired white phosphorous artillery shells over Mashrou
Boys School (Beit Lahiya UNRWA School) in north Gaza. The school had been
opened as an emergency shelter on 5 January and the GPS Coordinates communicated
to Israeli army by the United Nations. Nujud Al-Ashkar, 30, lost two of
her children, Bilal, 5, and Mohammed, 3, and is now permanently disabled.
Al Mezan interviewed Nujud nearly a year after the attack.
Seeking Refuge
"We fled from our home on 10 January
because the Israelis dropped warning leaflets saying we should evacuate
the area. We went to a UN shelter in Beit Lahiya town. On 16 January, in
the night, we heard shouting and screaming. A young girl sleeping in the
classroom next door had been injured. The school guards kept telling us
not to be afraid, but I was terrified. I was afraid that if there was an
attack, the glass in the windows would shatter on the children. I got up
and measured the distance from the window to the children. I decided it
was safe but I covered them with more blankets to try to make them safer.
Nujud and her children were near the
door of the classroom when the shells struck. Mohammed and Bilal were killed
instantly, while Nujud was seriously injured and lost consciousness. When
she came to she found blood pouring from her head. "I was bleeding and
yelling, 'What's happened! What's happened!' I heard people shouting,
'Ambulance! Ambulance!' I couldn't see my fingers and then I fainted.
It's like I was half asleep. I could hear people but I didn't really
know what was going on. I don't remember anything else. I woke up two
days later in hospital. My sister-in-law, Sahar, was there. I asked about
my children, Bilal, Mohammed, Madeline and Sabri. She said, 'Don't worry,
they're fine. They're at home. They don't want to see you like this.'"
Treatment in Egypt
After undergoing surgery on her head
and hand, Nujud was transferred to Egypt for treatment. "I still didn't
know that my children were dead. I kept asking to see them but my family
told me I should just go to Egypt. Sahar came with me. We stayed there
for one month and three days. I was in intensive care for 23 days and then
in a normal ward. There, some people from Egypt came to visit me. They
asked me about my children and brought presents, clothes and toys for them.
Their visits made me really happy but I missed my children so much. I was
longing to see them. I told Sahar that I needed to speak to them, just
to hear a word from Bilal. She told she didn't have any credit on her
phone so I asked a stranger if I could use hers. When she said yes, Sahar's
face changed. She became really panicky. I called my brother and told him
to put Bilal on the phone. He told me that Bilal was at a relative's house
and I said, okay, I'll call him there. That's when he told me that Bilal
was dead. That two of my children are dead. Then I remembered and understood.
In the hospital in Gaza my husband, who is deaf and dumb, held up two fingers
and made a sleeping sign. He was trying to tell me that two of our children
were dead."
My husband says it's all my fault
Back in Gaza Nujud is struggling to
cope. Her right hand was amputated and she's lost all feeling in her left.
Her husband blames her for the death of their children. "My husband keeps
telling me that it's all my fault. He tells me that I killed our children.
He says that I am disabled now and that I'm useless. I think he blames
me because we were the only family injured in that classroom. He tells
me he wants to marry someone else. He's horrible to me every day. But
how will I cope if he leaves us? I used to ask my husband to help me with
things, but now he refuses. My daughter Madeline, who is eight, helps me
in the kitchen now. She tries her best but everything takes her ages. I
feel like I want to shout at her to make her do it quickly. Then I feel
awful because she's just a child. I can't do anything for myself now,
even brush my children's hair. Sometimes I ask the neighbours for help,
but often I'm too afraid. I feel ashamed. Life before was lonely sometimes
because I couldn't speak with my husband. But I was happy. Those memories
are so painful."
Now Nujud's only hope is that she can
get a prosthetic hand. "I went to the prosthetic hand place in Gaza, but
they only have hands which don't move. I told them I didn't want it.
I want a hand that I can use. When my husband puts my headscarf on for
me, he says, 'You've lost your hand. You can't use your other one. Your
head is a mess of scars. Nothing is left of you.' I feel like I'm dead
now. I wish I'd died with my sons. My only hope in the world is to get
a new hand. Yesterday my father came over and dressed my son for me. I
just started to cry."