A message to the world from Jamil of Gaza

Note: 1 CAD = 0,72 USD / 0,54 GBP / 0,64 EUR

I'm Jamil, a Palestinian father from Gaza. I have three children: Mazen is 7, Mohammed and Inas are 5 and 3 respectively. The life I knew before the war is no longer the same. Before the sky began to send hell, I worked as a deliverer. I loved my job: the moto, the streets, laughing with the customers and coming back at the end of the day with sandwiches for my three children who ran to me every time I arrived. We lived simply, but peacefully.

Then the war came. It began with the sound of a distant explosion, then the flames drew closer. I left our house in the north of the Gaza Strip, left the motocyle, everything I knew and I headed South, with only one priority in mind: the safety of my children. In every tent where we slept, in every row where there was a queue for bread, I repeated to myself inwardly, “It doesn't matter, because my children have to live.” 

I couldn't stand the tent. Although it was a temporary shelter, the heat suffocated us, the cold gnawed at my children's bones, and sickness was part of our daily lives. I said to myself: “A single room in my destroyed house would be better than a tent where you don't know the night.''

So I went back up North to discover what was left of my house: no windows, no roof intact, just broken walls and the sound of the wind coming in through all the openings. I thought I'd find some comfort, but I was wrong. No food. No water. No medicine. Even the supplement that helped my vulnerable children was gone. It was as if the war had started again, or maybe it hadn't ended at all.

I get up at night, look at their sleeping faces and wonder: "How many children must go hungry for the world to understand that we are human? How many cries must we hear to awaken consciences?''

I've never asked anyone for anything, I've worked and made sure my children were fed with dignity. But today, I have nothing: no house, no job, no medicine, not even a hot meal for my three children. I went back to my destroyed house, thinking I'd find a glimpse of security, but I found war waiting for me once again.

All I ask of the world is to help me stay on my feet, not to live in luxury, but only to not be overwhelmed by the eyes of my starving children. Help me to remain a father who is capable of protecting them. Help me to remain human.

https://www.instagram.com/jamil_mazen193/