For Gaza survivors war will live long into the future

Since the war the work has been his life. Most of the people who were bombed were his neighbors, the people he grew up with.

Hatem Al-Atar, 25, was never married. His courage was not reckless, or born of ignorance. He knew he could die any second.

“All the days of war from 7 October so far it was difficult. Every second of this battle was difficult. You can lose your life, that of a loved one every second,” says Hatem.

He has been in the public security office in Deir al-Balah with his colleagues. They chat and look at their phones. Everyone is a survivor.

Ninety-four of their companions were killed. More than 300 were injured – nearly half of Gaza’s civil defense organization.

For Hatem, death was very close to the explosion that hit him in a house near Nasser’s hospital.

“There were people injured and dead around the house,” he recalls.

“I went in to see if anyone was there, dead or alive. As soon as I went in, a search missile hit the building.”

Pictures taken by the friend show him climbing into the house. A fire is burning on the left side of the frame.

Then there’s a huge explosion, clouds of smoke, a man staggered outside, but it’s not Hatem.

His friends return to the house and drag him outside. He is coughing and needs to be stopped. But they survive.

Other people who were close to him were not so lucky.

On March 14 last year – the start of Ramadan – she received a call at 4am from one of her relatives.

No one in Gaza, during the war, came with a good reputation at that time.

“They told me that our house in al-Bureij was hit and my father was killed.”

Hatem went to al-Aqsa Martyrs Hospital in Deir al-Balah and met a family friend who led him to the morgue.

“When I went there, my father was laid on the ground next to eight other bodies. It was my brother-in-law and his seven children! I was scared.”

However, Hatem continued to go, to the place where the bombing took place, the collapsed buildings, the ruins where the dead and sometimes the living were buried. He brought out the bodies, and the parts of the bodies.

Then the hour came when the bombing and shooting stopped.

First night without a storm. Time to start thinking about something that hasn’t been confirmed in the past 15 months – the future.

His thoughts turn to education, and love.

“With this agreement, I have to think about what to do next. I will continue my university studies when universities resume business. I am single but I am thinking of getting married.”

In order to tell the story of how the people of Gaza have experienced the war, my BBC colleagues and I have relied on the efforts of local journalists working on our behalf.

Israel banned foreign media from entering Gaza describing the war itself.

Local BBC journalists have been on the streets almost non-stop for the past 24 hours capturing Gaza’s emotions during the ceasefire: a gunman standing on Nuseirat Street in central Gaza, firing into the air; Hamas fighters and police are also coming out; a few yards down the road another group of men are shooting at the sky; crowds of people gathering in the streets and intersections; a person kneeling and kissing the ground.

But all this is happening because of destruction. Trucks and cars pass by, burdened with people’s goods. Others use donkey carts to pull the leftovers after they have been moved several times.

There are thousands of tours in Gaza today. The rest is inside. Some exist in the mind. They all have one way – home.

Prof Jumaa Abu Shiha has arrived at the rest of his house in Nuseirat.

First, he says hearing that he survived is “unbelievable”. He is praying in his heart that: “God is the one who keeps our things well.”

He repeats this as he moves from one ruined room to another. His wife and several children follow him.

The walls have been blown up. Inside there are scars from machine guns and shrapnel.

Prof Abu Shiha explains how he built the house “block by block”, painted it and appreciates the time he brought his family to live here.

“I can’t find a house, I only see destruction and not a house,” he says. “I didn’t expect this. I was expecting to go home and find a place to hide myself and my children.”

He points to his daughters’ room, and his sons’ room, beautifully decorated and now in ruins. He said: “These thoughts are unbelievable.

There is a lot of rebuilding ahead. The UN and aid agencies have repeatedly done so He accused Israel of blocking the flow of aid; The United States once threatened to withhold military aid to Israel unless more aid was allowed to Gaza. Israel rejects deterrence aid.

Support vehicles were crossing the line throughout the afternoon. Among them was a group from the Jordan Hashemite Charity Organization, which we reported last weekon the way from Amman to Gaza.

Forklift trucks moved tons of medicine and food to help the nearly two million displaced people in Gaza – nearly 90% of the population.

Such support is tangible support. It can be measured, quantified, promoted, and ultimately shared. People can be fed and given medicine. But there is another problem whose interests are greater, which will have a major impact on the future of Gaza.

The war has produced an unknown number of wounded adults and children. We have written some of their stories but he knows about tens of thousands of others who remain untold.

Children are faced with serious problems. According to a survey of 504 caregivers, for UK charity War Child96% of children feel that death is near.

The survey also found that 49% had a wish to die. Our journalists often hear young survivors say that they wish they had their dead mother, father, or brother.

Ten-year-old Amr al Hindi was the only survivor of an Israeli attack on his home in Beit Lahia last October. Our friend in the area filmed Amr at the hospital shortly after the incident.

On the ground around him were wounded. A woman had blood coming out of her ear. A neighbor had just died.

“Where’s the sheriff?” Amr asked again and again. The nurse told him that Sherif was fine. “I’ll take you upstairs to see him.” But his brother Sherif did not survive. Not even his brother Ali, or his sister Aseel, or his mother and father. The whole family was gone.

After announcing the cease-fire agreement, we went back to see what happened to Amr al Hindi. He was living with his grandmother, and it was clear that they loved him carefully and lovingly. The child had three of his fingers amputated after his toes were blown off, but he was able to walk.

Amr sat on his grandfather’s lap and looked at the camera. He remained silent, writing, as if looking behind a protective screen. He started talking about his brother Ali and how he wanted to go to Jordan to study to be a doctor.

“I want to be like Ali. I want to fulfill his dream, and go to Jordan to become a doctor,” he said. But in the last few words the tears started to fall and she just cried.

Amr’s grandfather kissed him on the cheek; He said “darling” and rubbed his chest.

At this time it sounds like there is a lot of fighting going on here.

Others paused. Some that, for the survivors, will live long into the future.

With additional reporting by Alice Doyard, Malaak Hasona and Adam Campbell.