The thin canvas flutters dangerously in the winter storm. Wear and tear has made holes in the flimsy canvas and Amna can see the contours of the neighbours’ collapsing tents. They look as if they are about to collapse – just like her own.
Amna’s three daughters cling to her.
“Don’t be afraid. Everything will be okay. This storm will pass, just like everything else,” she whispers again and again.
Amna* struggles to keep her voice steady, but inside her heart is trembling. First, she lost her home. Then she lost her son. Again and again, she has fled bombings and destruction. Now she fears that this storm will be the one that finally wipes out the rest of her family.
Eventually, the canvas can no longer withstand the pressure. Water pours in. The blankets, the clothes, and the little food they still have left – everything is soaked.
Amna and the children try to seek shelter with the neighbours. But the entire camp has turned into one big, soggy mud pit. There is nowhere left to go.
A life with dignity
Until October 2023, 46-year-old Amna lived with her husband and their three youngest daughters and two sons in the Southern part of Gaza. Her two oldest daughters had moved out and started families of their own.
Amna’s husband has suffered from a brain injury, so she was the one providing for the family. She produced soap, baked bread, and sold eggs and vegetables to teachers at the nearby school.
“It was hard work, both physically and financially. We often had to rely on aid to get by. But the children went to school, life was stable, and I felt content. It was a dignified life,” Amna recalls.
But with the war, everything she had spent her life building disappeared in a split second.
Dangerous to find food
On the very first day of the war, Amna and her family were forced to leave their home. First they fled to a tent camp in Rafah in the south, and later they were displaced again.
Everything they owned was left behind. They had no income – and nothing to eat.
“My sons tried several times to get food from the Gaza Humanitarian Foundation, but it was too dangerous. I tried to stop them,” she says.
The Gaza Humanitarian Foundation was set up by Israel and the USA with the intention to bypass the United Nations as the main supplier of aid in Gaza. Repeated attacks by Israeli forces on civilians on their way to and from distribution sites made it life-threatening for the boys to get food that way. In the end, the family survived on sporadic meals from community kitchens.
From time to time, Amna’s middle son, 18-year-old Khaled, returned to their old home to collect a bit of food and firewood. That would prove to be fatal.
The loss of a son
Khaled was inside the house when an Israeli missile struck the building without warning. The walls collapsed on top of him.
Neighbours and ambulances rushed to help, and after three hours they managed to pull him out from the rubble and take him to the nearest hospital. He had severe internal injuries.
Doctors succeeded in transferring him to a specialist ward in Egypt, but after a few days the 18-year-old boy died from his wounds. Amna never got to say goodbye.
“My son was the one closest to me. He was always by my side and helped me with everything. His death left a void that cannot be described – a deep sorrow that will never disappear,” she says.
On the outside, Amna remains strong – for her sick husband and her daughters. She carries the family’s grief on her shoulders. But inside she has already collapsed when yet another terrible message arrives: her youngest son has also been hit in an airstrike.
“At the time of the attack, I was standing in line to bake bread. I overheard my neighbours whispering behind me, but none of them had the courage to tell me. It was my grandchild who came to tell me that my youngest son had been injured. I completely broke down and cried uncontrollably,” she says.
“I left in distress and found my husband even more devastated. I could no longer keep myself together, so I just embraced him, took him into the tent, and became the one who had to console him.”
The boy survived the attack – but with severe injuries, which he will have to live with for the rest of his life.
“It pushed me into a psychological breakdown. I was filled with helplessness, fear, and a constant anxiety about my children’s fate,” she says.
A small win
Shortly after, the winter storm tears the family’s tent apart. Amna is mentally and physically exhausted, and she begins withdrawing from everyone, even her closest family.
“I lived in a prison of grief, anxiety, and fear. My sleep was shattered by nightmares, and my thoughts circled endlessly around death and loss. I woke up each morning with an exhausted body and a heavy soul, facing yet another day of trying to survive. I lost the desire to speak and saw life as an endless series of losses.”
The turning point for Amna was when she met the people from a local organisation, which has worked closely with DCA/NCA throughout the war in Gaza.
Her first meeting with the organisation was a session on psychological first aid. Staff could immediately see that Amna needed further support, and she was referred for additional assistance.
Through DCA/NCA’s local partner, Amna received a cash grant equivalent to around €320 EURO as well as a hygiene kit containing items such as soap, toothpaste, and towels. This allowed her and her daughters to regain a small sense of privacy and dignity – things that are often the first to disappear when living in a refugee camp.
“These things may seem small to others, but for us they made a huge difference. Even the smallest step toward a dignified life matters. Every safe meal, every quiet moment of security can feel like a small victory over everything we have been through,” she explains.
Finally, Amna could provide food and cover some basic needs for her children.
“For the first time in a very long time, I felt that I was not alone – that someone saw us, cared about us, and wanted to help. They reached out when I was at my most vulnerable. It changed our lives,” she says.
“I still exist. I am still a human being.”
A fragile hope
Beyond the immediate support, Amna also entered a longer psychological counselling programme with DCA/NCA’s local partner. Here she began putting words to her trauma for the first time.
“Before, I felt that the world was closed against me and everything was dark. The sessions taught me to breathe, to calm down, and to try to live despite everything that had happened. The pain can hurt me, but it is not my identity. I deserve life,” she says.
Slowly, Amna is moving out of her isolation. She talks a lot with her best friend about what they are going through. And she’s opening up to neighbours in the camp too. They are all in the same situation, so they help one another, which creates a sense of solidarity and community in the midst of the hopelessness.
“My confidence as a woman and mother has grown, and I feel more resilient. My relationship with my daughters has also improved. We can share small moments of joy and safety in the middle of this harsh life,” Amna says.
The family still lives in a leaking tent in a cold refugee camp. And they have no idea where they will be next month. But Amna has hope:
“I dream of returning to my home and feeling safe again – a place where my family can live in peace. And I long to rebuild my small business so I can restore our lives with hope, dignity, and a sense of normality.”
*All names in this story have been changed for safety reasons
Making our work possible.
DCA/NCA Palestine and its local partners in Gaza have been able to assist Amna and others in a similar situation with support from the Norwegian Agency for Development Corporation (NORAD).
