From our special correspondent in Ramallah – Since Israel imposed a blockade on Gaza in the wake of Hamas’s October 7 terrorist attack, many Gazans in search of medical care for their children have found themselves stuck in Ramallah, in the West Bank. Some have not heard from their loved ones for days or even weeks, and are torn between the hope of securing treatment for their children and the desire to return home to their families in Gaza.
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Ahmed Abu Asar, a Gazan father of six, sits and stares into empty space. He is desperate. He has spent the past two months in Ramallah with his 10-year-old daughter Ariam, but since the hostilities broke out, they are stuck.
“My daughter has been sick for the past three years. She was being treated in Gaza, but the doctors told us we had to bring her elsewhere to do more tests.” Ahmed, who is in his 40s, recounts how, for the past two years, he has done everything in his power to get treatment for his daughter. The journey has brought them from Gaza to Egypt and, most recently, to the Israeli-occupied territories.
“Ariam was supposed to undergo a test they can only do in Israel. She has been diagnosed with a rare genetic mutation. There are probably only four similar cases in the world, but obviously there’s no treatment for it here in Ramallah,” he says with resignation, smoking cigarette after cigarette.
“We were waiting to hear back from the doctor to see whether we need to go to the United States, France or Israel for the right treatment.”
Ahmed calls for Ariam to join him. After a few minutes she appears. She looks like a ghost. Her complexion is pale and she has a famished look that doesn’t at all resemble other girls of her age. Her gaze is haggard and her movements are slow. She sits down by her father’s side. She doesn’t say a word.
Ahmed seems lost as to what to do. He insists on sharing his real name in the hope of helping his daughter somehow, perhaps through donations. But he’s worried about the rest of his family who are still in Gaza. His house is in an area that is among the worst-hit by Israeli shelling. “I don’t know where I am anymore. I’m very disturbed by what’s happening. I have to take care of my daughter, but I’m thinking of my children back home. I tried to call my brother, but he has fled to the north. I’m worried my wife and children might have sought refuge in the hospital that was bombed.”
The lack of news seems to be tearing him apart. “I don’t know how to get hold of them. The last time I spoke to my wife, she told me that she wanted to seek refuge in the school operated by UNRWA. I haven’t spoken to her in five days.”
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‘I hope for a ceasefire so we can go home’
Yaara* is 20 years old. She’s also from Gaza and is in Ramallah with her 11-month-old baby. “I’m on my own here with my son. I was supposed to leave on Sunday (October 8) but then the war broke out.”
Yaara hugs her baby tight, and despite the circumstances, still manages to smile. “My husband and my father did everything they could to bring us here. We hope he’ll get better,” she says, and explains that her baby is suffering from infantile spinal muscular atrophy – a rare genetic neuromuscular disease characterised by progressive muscle weakness. “He’s been sick since he was two months old. He barely moves now. I pray for my son to smile again, so I can interact with him, and that he’ll be healthy.”
When asked whether she is in touch with the rest of her family in Gaza, Yaraa’s otherwise sparkling eyes darken. “I spoke to them on the phone almost every day, but now there’s no electricity and I can’t get hold of them. Their phones have been turned off. They’ve had to evacuate the schools and the hospitals. They’re not doing well.”
Yaara talks about some of the images she has seen of the bombings that are being shown over and over again on TV. Some of the videos are graphic. “Bodies that have been turned into crumbs, injured people. And so we think about our families and we worry about them. We don’t know what will happen to them. No one could have imagined this.”
Still, Yaara wants nothing more than to go home. To her husband, her parents, and the rest of her family. “Life is good in Gaza. People are nice. There’s a lot of love. The only problem in Gaza is the pay. My husband only makes 20 shekels (about €4.60) a day. What’s 20 shekels when you have rent, food, diapers and now medical treatment for our baby to pay for? I hope things will get better, that there will be a ceasefire so we can go home. Inshallah! Inshallah! (God willing).
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‘The hardest war of them all’
Ghadir*, a Gazan native in her 50s, is not so optimistic. She is in Ramallah to seek treatment for her grandson while his mother, her daughter-in-law, remained in Gaza to take care of the other children.
“He was in hospital with heart problems and was weak. He was transferred here to see another doctor, but then the war started. Since then, we’ve been waiting for the doctor.”
While talking to us, she readjusts her veil with the little boy in her arms. She does not want to be identified for fear of “reprisals”. She appears terrified, and explains that her husband had a work permit in Israel when the war broke out. “He called me to say that he was coming to join us and that he would be here within two hours. He never arrived. I haven’t heard from him since. It’s been 12 days.”
Ghadir says she’s never experienced a situation like this before. “This war is different. In the previous wars there were deaths and there were martyrs, but this is the hardest war of them all. There’s no help. They need emergency aid. A lot of people, a lot of children, a lot of innocent people have died.”
Ghadir’s voice tightens as she repeats the last words her daughter-in-law said to her: “Please, if we die, take care of my son.”
* Names have been changed.
This article has been translated from the original in French.
This story originally appeared on France24
