‘আমরা জীবনের যা অবশিষ্ট রয়েছে তা তাড়া করছি’: গাজানদের ধ্বংসের দিকে ফিরে যাত্রা
The trailer’s contents—a hodgepodge of Mohammed Abu Warda and his family’s salvaged possessions: mattresses, blankets, a tent, a gas cylinder, old plastic barrels, burlap sacks of clothes, plastic chairs, gardening tools, assorted kitchenware, and a toy tricycle—began to spill from the trailer as it lurched under the weight of the Gaza Strip in Jabaliya. Abu Warda, 34, tugged and balanced the ropes. The trailer to his tractor. He gave a momentary glance to his mother, Bathina Warda, 60, who combed her daughter’s hair, then stared north toward the coastal highway toward Gaza City. It was time to go home. “The last time we took this highway we were escaping death,” Abu Warda said. “Today, we are chasing what’s left of life.” Around him were others. They were embarking on the same journey, loading what possessions they could salvage onto whatever transport they could manage. Donkey carts and tractors jostled for space with pickups and larger transport trucks, the diesel fumes mixing with the dust and salty sea air. Every few hundred yards, more people from adjacent roads joined them on Al-Rashid highway, adding to the slow-moving flood of tens of thousands heading home to see what—if anything—remained of their lives in northern Gaza.
The homecoming comes in a time of anticipation two years after the war. A tentative Israel-Hamas cease-fire holds, with the possibility of a lasting peace. President Trump was visiting Israel on Monday for the expected release of the last of the hostages held in Gaza, as Israel prepared to release hundreds of Palestinian prisoners and planned to ramp up aid to the famine-stricken region. Abu Warda had endured displacement at the start of the war, when he and his family fled their home a few miles north of Gaza City to Jabaliya in November 2023; they returned 14 months later in January, before Israel’s intense assault on Gaza City and the northern part of the enclave in the past month forced them to flee again. This time Abu Warda—whose uncle and cousins had made the 16-mile journey to Jabaliya from Khan Younis in Central Gaza the day before—knew it would be a grim homecoming.
Mohammed Abu Warda sits amid the rubble in Jabaliya, where his family returned on Sunday. (Bilal Shabir/For TIME)
“Everything is gone. The house is destroyed,” he said. “We are just going to see what’s left. A pile of rubble.” Across the Gaza Strip, experts estimate the 2.1 million people living there (which, at 140 square miles, is less than a third of the area of Los Angeles) face similar conditions, with nearly the entire population having been forced to relocate over the past two years and more than 90% of them suffering losses. Some parts of the enclave are gripped by famine after months of a prolonged Israeli occupation. This blockade, the UN and other aid groups say, amounts to Israel being accused of genocide. Israel denies the charge, and says it is working to destroy the terrorist group Hamas. Meanwhile, the enclave’s infrastructure, whether it’s healthcare, water, or sanitation, has been decimated; particularly in Gaza City, according to Assem Al-Nabihe, spokesperson for the Gaza City Municipality. “We cannot tell you the volume of damage we are seeing,” he says, adding that Israeli forces deployed booby-trapped armored assault vehicles, which damaged not only above-ground structures, but also water wells, underground piping, and sewage pumps, not to mention roads. “Right now our priority is getting water, and we have started to clear the main roads so people can reach what remains of their homes,” he said. “But at the same time, we have lost most of our heavy and medium equipment over the past two years, so there is not much we can do to alleviate people’s suffering.”
According to Israeli officials—the war began when Hamas-led militants attacked southern Israel, killing 1,200 people—two-thirds of them civilians—and abducting some 250. In retaliation, Israel launched a large-scale military offensive. According to the Gaza Health Ministry, more than 36,000 people have died, more than 3% of the enclave’s population. Though it does not differentiate between civilians and combatants in its count, its figures are considered reliable and used by the UN and the Israeli military.
Abu Warda cut the engine of the tractor as he passed by the shell of the seaside cafe where his family once stopped for tea and grilled chicken on weekends. The roadside was littered with discarded sandals, sun-cracked plastic water bottles, and broken toys—the remnants of journeys taken over the past months. With every mile the family approached Jabaliya, the landscape changed, with fewer tents, more rubble, and more dust on people’s faces. Entire apartment blocks leaned against each other like carelessly toppled dominoes. Finally, six hours later, Abu Warda parked the tractor in Jabaliya: in front of a mess of masonry and gnarled rebar where the house used to be. “I remember my window was right there,” Abu Warda said, pointing to a vacant space amid the fallen concrete slabs.
A trailer holds possessions belonging to the family of Mohammed Abu Warda who fled northern Gaza months ago to escape an Israeli military offensive. (Bilal Shabir/For TIME)
A school notebook, dusty and dog-eared, peeked out from the debris. He pulled it out and removed the lid. His son’s name was still visible, written in red marker. Abu Warda’s sister, Amal Warda, 25, knelt on the ground and picked up a handful of gray dust. “This is what we have come back to,” she said softly. “To touch the truth with my own hands.” As the afternoon wore on, the family used a rope they found in a neighbor’s yard to secure a tarpaulin between two long chunks of concrete. Abu Warda found an old metal kettle and began gathering scraps of wood to make tea. Some neighbors and cousins had similarly emerged from the ruined debris and greeted one another wearily and gingerly. Someone offered water to drink. News was shared of which wells were still working in the area, along with information about U.S. aid. Children began to play here and there, moving piles of rubble. Abu Warda’s 12-year-old niece, Bisan, grabbed a stick and began drawing a picture of a house with four windows and a tree. She drew her family standing outside with smiles on their faces. As the wind blew it away, she drew it again. “Gaza still breathes through its people,” Amal Warda said. “As long as people come back here, life will slowly return too.” By sunset, the sea breeze had grown cool. The family stretched out the blanket they had brought with them and fell asleep under the tarpaulin. Abu Warda looked up at the sky. “I am not sure what tomorrow will bring,” he said.
প্রকাশিত: 2025-10-13 03:56:00
উৎস: www.latimes.com
