Ayda Abdalbari is a Palestinian woman who was born and lived most of her life in Gaza.
When the Gaza offensive began in December 2008, she was working as a field researcher for Israeli human rights organization ‘Gisha,’ and nursing her brother, Ashraf, who was dying of a brain tumor.
Ashraf died during the offensive, and shortly after the ceasefire, the Norwegian government agreed to give asylum to his widow and three children, as well as Ayda, at their request.
On January 6th, Ayda wrote the following letter to her friends, from her new home in Norway.
Dear friends,
It’s 11 o’clock at night, Norway time. It’s Norway, but if you lived this night the way I am living it, you would say it’s Gaza. Yes, tonight I feel I am in Gaza.
Since 7 pm we have no electricity. I called the company and two people came to fix the problem, but unfortunately they both gave me the same answer: the problem isn’t here, it’s in the street. It is a big problem and we cannot fix it. The local electricity company should do this, not us. You have to call them, even though we are not sure if they can fix it tomorrow.
Well, I’m a woman from Gaza and like most Palestinians, I never give up. I used my Palestinian way of thinking: “think of the situation, then make a plan of action.”
The Situation:
There is no electricity, and little hope for it to be fixed tonight. I have three small kids who need a warm environment. The temperature outside is minus 18. I have candles so I am luckier than people in Gaza, but I have no wood for the fireplace. The local gas station also has no wood, they say it will only arrive next Sunday.The Action: call the municipality.
I phone the municipality. “this is the situation, I just need your help in offering me wood for the fireplace to keep the hall warm”.A miracle it worked! The manager of the immigrants’ section personally brought wood over to my house! I thanked him.
I took a big mattress and put it in the main hall, put all the blankets and covers over it, and lit the fire.
I told the kids to imagine that we are in Gaza today, I told them it’s a sign from God to remember how people live in Gaza. Little Hussain and Sara started to remember, and asked the many questions about Gaza and the Israeli occupation, it was our bedtime story… We talked about the conflict, and in fact we argued, me and them, about that conflict, until they finally slept. I covered them…
Now it’s my turn. I must watch them all night long and watch the fire to be sure it’s lit all the time, so we will not be in the newspaper tomorrow in the accidents page “Palestinian family died of cold in Norway - not from war in Gaza!”
It’s 11.35. I start to feel the temperature insidedecreasing. I put more wood on the fire.
Now there is a hush. Everything is quiet. Very quiet. There is an internal conversation inside me and yes, its title is Gaza…
I go back in time one year, to the same time. We too had no electricity in Gaza. We were so cold, so scared, because of Israeli soldiers in the streets invading Gaza, and we were sad because my brother Ashraf was dying of cancer, and I wasbeside his head listening to his last breaths, and praying for him to live. Exactly at this time last year Ashraf said the last words in his life: “ya rab, ya Allah.” Then he waved to his son Hassan and closed his eyes and entered a coma. He left us the following day at 3 pm…
It was a tragic night. I did my best to avoid remembering it, but Norway insisted on reminding me of it… Yes, tomorrow last year I lost Ashraf my best brother and my best friend.. Tonight, he was dying and I was crying
Tonight I am also crying, sadness is a part of me as a Palestinian who has never lived a normal life. I am crying because I feel I have betrayed my people because I am here, living my life and they are there, still suffering. I am crying because I had forgotten about the shortage of electricity, food, medicine,clean water and everything that is necessaryforthe lives of human beings.
I am crying because I stopped my work against Israeli violation of Palestinian human rights. I am crying because I remembered myself and forgot them.
I am crying because it’s my only way tonight to say to them forgive me, and to say that I will never forgive myself.
When I was there I was working with Gisha, the human rights organization, and every dayIfelt that my life had value becauseI was struggling against Israeli occupation by showing the world how the Israeligovernment and Israeli army are inhuman, and how they deal with us in an inhuman way.
What am I here, and who am I here? What have I done for Palestine here?
Why do I keep silent and why do I not show the world what Israel did and is still doing?
Why is Gaza still under siege? Why is the world just keeping silent? Why when we do small things we are criminals, while when Israel kills a whole nation the world justwatches and keeps silent and most of the time gives it its blessing?
When and how will the world think of us as human beings? When and how will the world wake up?
I have to stop writing now, not because I’m done, but because the battery of my laptop will be finished soon.
As Salaamu Alaikum,
Ayda Abdalbari
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