Middle East ......

mickeyrat said:

mickeyrat said:

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“When I entered Gaza the Israeli military had a rule: I was only allowed to bring in seven pounds of food. As I was weighing out protein bars, trying to get under the limit, I said to my husband: ‘How sinister is this?’ I’m a humanitarian aid worker. Why would there even be a limit on food? I’ve worked in many places with extreme hunger, but what’s so jarring in this context is how cruel it is, how deliberate. I was in Gaza for two months; there’s no way to describe the horror of what’s happening. And I say this as a pediatric ICU doctor who sees children die as part of my work. Among our own staff we have doctors and nurses who are trying to treat patients while hungry, exhausted. They’re living in tents. Some of them have lost fifteen, twenty members of their families. In the hospital there are kids maimed by airstrikes: missing arms, missing legs, third degree burns. Often there’s not enough pain medication. But the children are not screaming about the pain, they’re screaming: ‘I’m hungry! I’m hungry!” I hate to only focus on the kids, because nobody should be starving. But the kids, it just haunts you in a different way. When my two months were finished, I didn’t want to leave. It’s a feeling I haven’t experienced in nearly twenty years of humanitarian assignments. But I felt ashamed. Ashamed to leave my Palestinian colleagues, who were some of the most beautiful and compassionate people that I’ve ever met. I was ashamed as an American, as a human being, that we’ve been unable to stop something that is so clearly a genocide. I remember when our bus pulled out of the buffer zone. Out the window on one side I could see Rafah, which was nothing but rubble. On the other side was lush, green Israel. When we exited the gate, the first thing I saw was a group of Israeli soldiers, sitting at a table, eating lunch. I’ve never felt so nauseous seeing a table full of food.”

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Aqsa Durrani is a pediatric doctor and board member of Doctors Without Borders USA, with nearly twenty years of experience in humanitarian projects. During our interview Aqsa repeatedly expressed a desire to center the voices of her Palestinian colleagues. To this end I’ve spent the past week collecting stories from the Palestinian staff of Médecins Sans Frontières / MSF in Gaza. I will be sharing these stories over the next several days. I’m so grateful for the time that these people gave me; they were sleepless, hungry, traumatized, and often working 24-hour shifts. Because of the unreliable internet connection their images are sometimes grainy. Their words, however, will be crystal clear.

“My name is Weam. It’s a beautiful name for me, because my mother gave it to me. She died of cancer when I was eight years old-- so I love my name, because my mom loved it. It’s also perfect for me because it means ‘peace, love, and harmony.’ And everyone who meets me says that I’m positive energy shining everywhere. I’m a team leader for twenty-three pharmacists. ‘The pharma army,’ we call it. Ask anyone: we are the happiest team in the hospital. After we start our morning meeting, I’ll put on a bit of music for everyone. If they want to dance, they can dance. If they want to sing, they can sing. We are working 24 hours, seven days a week without stopping. They are under so much stress, all the time. There are always mass casualty incidents. And everyone in Gaza is living their own nightmare: with the bombings, the displacements, the hunger. So I’m just trying to make it easier for them. When I help others, it feels like I’m doing something right, that I’m still useful in this life. In Islam, if you speak a good word to someone else, it is also a good thing for you. So if someone smiles, and says: ‘Good job, you did it, you survived another day.’ This is a big deal for us. So I try to keep a smile from ear to ear. But on the inside, no. I am not happy at all. I haven’t slept for more than three hours since the war began. We are all screwed up in this world. Even if you are still alive in this moment, maybe in five minutes you will die. The smallest spark of light can be destroyed in the blink of an eye. How can anyone be happy when they are surrounded by so much death? But there is something that my mother said to me, right before she died. It’s the only memory that I have of her. She told me: ‘Weam, please keep that smile on your face. Because everyone loves your smile.’ So that’s what I’m trying to do. I’m trying. You will find that even when I’m crying, I am smiling.”

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Weam’s story is part of a series featuring the Palestinian staff of Médecins Sans Frontières / MSF (Doctors Without Borders) in Gaza, which I will be sharing over the next several days.