Help Ahmed and his family survive genocide

Hello, this is Morgan in the UK, helping Ahmed with this fundraiser. As the genocide continues, Ahmed and his family need your help more than ever.

From Ahmed:

I am Ahmed Hamad, a young deaf man from Gaza. Here is my story.

Those who think that I lack the sense of writing and poetry because I am deaf are mistaken. We were raised in a wise, literary family that loves reading and books. And whoever believes that my father would abandon or neglect me because I am deaf is also mistaken. From a young age, he sent me to a special school for the deaf, and I learned just like anyone else in this world.

From an early age, I was bullied by other children who would steal from me and beat me. This forced my father to send me to a karate club so I could defend myself. As I grew older, I learned tailoring from my father, and then I learned carpentry, thus gaining a profession from which I could earn money. I excelled in tailoring, just like my father.

I got married in 2008, but I didn't get to celebrate much as the 2008 war soon followed. We, especially the deaf community, suffer greatly from the sound of the bombings, which significantly affect the eardrum. Sometimes I would wake up to find blood flowing from my ears.

Despite all this pain, we managed to overcome our suffering. I have several children: my daughters Salma, Fatima, and Manoa; and my sons Khalil and Ibrahim. Thank God, they can all hear and speak. I don't want them to suffer as I did, and I want them to grow up and become writers like their uncle Omar.

I worked hard in tailoring until I managed to build my own house, which cost me around $40,000 or more. It not only cost me money but also years of effort and exhaustion to bring together a home for my family-only to have a tank driver, unworthy of being called human, destroy the house that had been my family's refuge for so many years.

On the 8th of October, I fled from Beit Hanoun to Sheikh Radwan. I took my children, my wife, and my family, fleeing under constant shelling and missile strikes from this Nazi occupation. We stayed there for a week until the missiles falling around us forced us to move again. We sought refuge at Salah Al-Din School on Al-Jalaa Street. The next day, the occupation dropped leaflets from its planes, ordering us to move to the south of the Strip. We thought the south, as they claimed, would be safe. But, as usual, this occupation is always treacherous. They tightened the noose around us all and trapped us in Deir Al-Balah. Between one displacement and another, we finally ended up at a school overlooking the sea in Deir Al-Balah.

There are no words to describe the experience of displacement. The question was always: where do we go? Where will we die?

One of the most painful moments for me is not being able to comfort my children when the bombing happens because I can't hear it. I find them scared while I am unaware of what's happening. After a look of helplessness, tears slowly fall, and suddenly I find them in my arms, realizing that this occupier has terrorized them.

If you've made it this far, you've read my story. You are not obligated in any way to help me, but I hold onto hope that you might. Being deaf does not mean I don't deserve to live like everyone else. I am just like any other person on this earth. I love life and want to live in peace and security with my family.

Thank you.