Asyafamily

My name is Asya Musallem, and I am writing to you from Gaza, the city of death. If you are reading this, I am still alive, fighting to survive with my family.

On New Year’s Eve, December 31, 2023, at 4 a.m., our lives turned into a nightmare. Our home was hit by tons of missiles, making us hostages of death. The explosions left us deafened for ten minutes, unsure if we were dead or alive, trapped under rubble in complete darkness. Where is my mother? Where are my siblings? The scene was horrific, with the smell of blood, sulfur, and gunpowder choking us as we fought to stay alive. Our cries were the only proof that we were breathing, even though none of us could see the other.

Our neighbors pulled us from the debris, believing we had become martyrs, as ambulances couldn’t reach us. The nightmare didn’t end on January 1, 2024. While fireworks marked new beginnings elsewhere, each explosion here signaled another massacre. We ran in every direction, with tanks in front of us, planes above us, and shells everywhere. Bodies lay on the ground. Where could we go? We had no money to escape this hell. We were bankrupt, left with nothing, not even a tent to shelter us. We fled with only a shoulder bag holding our IDs and anything proving we were human, to avoid being unidentified corpses among the ruins, saying goodbye to our childhood, youth, and dreams.

Even in our desperation, I didn’t forget to feed the street cats, who, like us, had no shelter or food. We slept on the street, our safest place in this ghost city, battling fatigue, psychological and physical pain, and sudden fainting. The winter cold was deadly; we had no clean water or food, only what we carried in our bags.

My mother was forced to cook in the street, and we ate our meals beside piles of garbage and scattered graves, sharing with stray cats. My mind was consumed with thoughts of survival, as our lives depended on money for "coordination through the Rafah crossing." But where would I find the money to get us out of this ghost city after losing everything?

Desperation led me to consider selling a kidney or hoping for media coverage of our deaths to attract aid. We are seven people, still together despite my father’s heart condition, separated by only a few kilometers we cannot cross. My 22-year-old brother had to take on my father's responsibilities, losing his dreams of becoming a breadwinner.

From a graphic designer, he became a seeker of flour bags to feed us. We shared a single loaf of bread, eating one meal a day. Their dreams were shattered by Israeli airstrikes, and my other brother abandoned his studies in automotive engineering to gather firewood for my mother to cook.

My mother lied to us to make moldy bread seem edible and claimed contaminated water was full of vitamins. She endured the pain of sitting by the fire every day, cooking and heating water for us to bathe. Despite the heat reaching 35 degrees Celsius, she remained our angel, patient and enduring.

Life here has become a struggle for survival. We lack water, electricity, internet, and face countless deaths and destruction. We share a bathroom with 30 strangers and live in a makeshift room with newborns. Waiting in endless lines for basic needs, I use the bathroom before dawn to avoid bursting my bladder.

I am exhausted from waiting for the suffering to end. Where can I go to escape this genocide? Do I face death by hunger, poisoning, pollution, or watching my family wrapped in white shrouds because I cannot afford to leave this city of death? Humanity is lost here, but I am still a human being reaching out to another in this world, asking for help to stay alive.

Your support can make a difference. This is how your donation will be used to evacuate the family of 7:

$6,000 per person: Coordination for crossing the Egyptian border

$1,000 per person: Travel arrangements within Gaza and securing accommodation after crossing.

"To support our campaign, every $5 donation is equivalent to 51.15 Swedish Krona. Your contribution will make a big difference!"