The cry of a Gazan woman
Kia ora, today is International Women’s Day and while we rightly talk about pay equity and our government’s attack on women’s rights in Aotearoa - we must never forget the plight of our sisters in Palestine.
I have gotten to know Yasmin over the last year and a half, and she’s a beautiful soul and a beautiful writer. Here she shares her story of being a woman trying to survive a genocide. Please share and support her. To stay true to her voice, I have not edited this piece beyond formatting.
I paid for this piece as part of the Emily Writes Weekly kaupapa supporting writers in Gaza. At the bottom of the post, I will share a way to donate to Yasmin directly. By becoming a subscriber to Emily Writes Weekly you support these commissions.
Arohanui Emily x
On International Women’s Day: The Cry of a Gazan Woman Living in a Dark Displacement Tent
By Yasmin Bassam Malaka
Today, the eighth of March, marks International Women’s Day, a day when the world pauses at an important humanitarian moment to recall the long history of women’s struggles for freedom, democracy, social justice, and equality.
In Palestine, this day carries a special meaning. Palestinian women have never been on the margins of the national struggle; they have always been at its heart. Palestinian women have borne double burdens because of the exceptional circumstances our people live under due to occupation.
Since the first Nakba in 1948 and the second Nakba in 2023, with all the displacement and humanitarian tragedies that accompanied them, women have found themselves facing enormous challenges. In many cases they have had to combine the burdens of daily life with the demands of steadfastness in the face of occupation. Yet they have never retreated from their role; rather, they have remained a central pillar in the struggle for survival and the preservation of national identity.
In this piece I write as a Palestinian woman, Yasmin Bassam, who now lives in a dark tent in Gaza after the occupation destroyed my home, a home that was like a villa In its size, design, furnishings, elegance, and cleanliness, only for me to move into a dark tent with no light and no hope.
Before I begin my article, I would like to extend my deepest thanks, gratitude, and appreciation to the international woman, the great writer and ideal mother, Mrs. Emily Writes, who provided me and my family with significant financial and moral support. Without her help, our lives would have been far more miserable and difficult. The tent she provided for us has played a major role in protecting my family and me from homelessness and sleeping in the open after the occupation’s planes destroyed our home. Her weekly support for my family has also helped us secure some of the basic necessities needed to face the hardships of life.
Before the war, the house I lived in had electricity, cold water, and hot water. It had a refrigerator, an air conditioner, a washing machine, a dishwasher, and kitchen utensils of the finest and most expensive kinds. I had a wardrobe full of fashionable clothes, fashions that I have now forgotten. I used to follow trends closely and buy the latest styles.
In my old home, I had a living room set, a dining table set, and a very large smart television screen like a cinema. My husband and I would sit together watching movies and series, spending the evening talking and enjoying our time before going to my private bedroom, which contained everything I needed for comfort. It also held my makeup and my personal perfume, perfume I no longer wear, simply because it is no longer available, and because it would be pointless in a tent where the entire family lives together. I no longer have any privacy.
My home had a large kitchen with everything in it. I used to call it “the international kitchen” because it met global standards and had every tool needed for cooking. Whenever I wished, I would go into my kitchen and prepare the most delicious Palestinian dishes: mansaf, maqluba, musakhan, and maftoul. I also used to make the most famous and delicious Palestinian sweets.
Today I no longer have a kitchen, nor can I make any sweets because I no longer have an oven to bake them in. All I have now is a small stove that I light with firewood, nylon, or plastic,whatever I can find. It leaves black soot on my face and sticky black residue and burns on my hands, which are difficult to clean or treat.
In my house there was a washing machine where I could wash my clothes and those of my family without difficulty. Now I wash my clothes and those of my husband, sons, and daughters by hand, using a little water and soap when they are available.
My suffering began on October 7, 2023, when I was forced to leave my home and flee because of the war of extermination that Israel launched against Gaza, a genocidal war that burned everything in its path, leaving behind loss, total destruction, and deep wounds that do not heal.
In the Gaza Strip, women carry the burden of this crime: the loss of loved ones, severe injuries, homelessness, the destruction of sources of income, the collapse of the health system, a policy of starvation, and the absence of even the most basic elements of a dignified life.
A ceasefire was announced about five months ago, yet the genocidal war continues its slow killing. Its effects still gnaw at our bodies and souls, writing chapters of pain and suffering unlike anything the modern era has witnessed.
Yes, I survived death, but I did not escape deep wounds and serious internal injuries that changed the course of my life. I lost my femininity, and my body was scarred by burns and injuries, leaving marks that will never heal and a frail body unable to endure the hardships of life.
I carry endless pain after losing the dearest people in my life during this war. I lost my father, who was killed in this cursed war, and I was not even given the chance to say goodbye to him. I did not even have the space to mourn him, because every day brought a new tragedy, and every night was heavier than the one before.
My heart is crushed with pain, and sorrow gnaws at my soul without mercy. For the first time, I truly understand the meaning of brokenness, how a heart is crushed when we lose those we love. I never imagined loss could reach this level.
The Israeli occupation has imposed conditions in Gaza that effectively prevent childbirth. Women in Gaza have been left unprotected under relentless bombardment, deprived of the most basic medical care and struggling to reach medical services that are almost nonexistent.
At the same time, they suffer from starvation policies that weaken their bodies and from living conditions that turn every moment into imminent danger. As a result, many women have lost their fetuses or have been forced into premature births under deadly circumstances, exactly as happened to my sister, who was pregnant and faced serious complications threatening both her pregnancy and her life, multiplying her suffering.
My sister was nine months pregnant when Israeli forces stormed her home in Gaza City. A dog equipped with a camera, used by the soldiers, bit her, causing severe wounds in her thigh and heavy bleeding. The dog did not just bite her, it dragged her along the ground for more than twenty meters as she struggled and begged for mercy. The soldiers laughed as if they were watching an entertainment scene. She was suffering severe pain due to pregnancy and bleeding. At the hospital she was diagnosed with preeclampsia and had to undergo an emergency cesarean section. She had been waiting eagerly for her baby so she could hold the child to her chest, but the occupation brutally stole that joy from her. Her newborn was placed in intensive care, and she still suffers indescribable psychological pain.
I found myself in a relentless daily struggle after my husband lost his job because of the war. He had been the only provider, and suddenly the heavy responsibilities fell on my shoulders without warning, in a destroyed and besieged city with no food, no shelter, and no source of income.
The Israeli occupation imposed a harsh starvation policy that pushed us and our children to the brink of collapse.
Amid my bitter inability to feed my children and the sound of their hunger and crying, I never hesitated to put my children before myself, until illness and emaciation began to consume my exhausted body to this day.
Despite the ceasefire announcement, my suffering did not stop. I still live in a tent, displaced with no proper shelter, sleeping on the ground in the open under inhumane and unsafe conditions, deprived of warmth, healthy food, clean water, and the most basic elements of human dignity, amid the total collapse of infrastructure and essential services such as water, electricity, and fuel.
In the camp where I live, there are women whose situation is even worse than mine. Among them are the injured and amputees who are deprived of the chance to restore their former lives in an environment lacking proper medical care and rehabilitation programs.
Other women endure the bitterness of losing their children and loved ones, carrying deep wounds in their bodies and souls that will remain with them for decades, in a harsh reality that strips them of any chance to heal, even as they are expected to support their families, perform household duties, and care for relatives.
As much as my husband and I can, we try to help them with a little food, water, or whatever services we can provide.
Together we try to build some form of life, even at the minimum level. I try as much as I can to prepare meals for my family despite the scarcity of food and vegetables. Sometimes I even try to make sweets despite their high cost for us, trying to create hope for my family from the heart of suffering.
In short, so as not to take too much of your time, the war destroyed our lives and took everything from us.
We lost our loved ones, our homes, and our stability. Even the simplest needs we can no longer secure, even after the truce.
I feel no real difference except that the bombing has temporarily calmed. I feel completely exhausted. My nerves are constantly tense, and I can no longer bear more pressure.
We have no source of income, and my clothes cannot protect me from the severe cold. Now we live in an old tent surrounded by sewage water, in unbearable conditions. We suffer from a severe shortage of clean water and food. We receive only a small amount from charity kitchens, barely enough for one day. I feel that we are trapped in an endless cycle of suffering.
I feel as though we are trapped in a nightmare, and I cannot wake up from it. I wish I could wake up and discover that what I am living through is only a nightmare that has finally ended.
If you would like to donate to support Yasmin you can donate through her GoFundMe here. Or via her husband who is also a writer here. Please check that you're paying in NZD - Ko-Fi should convert you to NZD but it's important you check.
You can support the Aotearoa 2 Gaza Mutual aid fund by donating directly via Prosean Pictures 06-0574-0906928-00 or via the Chuffed page.