fuck, so i'm unemployed again and i'm kinda desperate cause i need to buy food for me and my siblings and i'm in so much debt 😢

PAYPAL   /  KOFI

✅️Vetted by @gazavetters , my number verified on the list is ( #523)

✅️ Vetted by @90-ghos here

Ramadan in Gaza is not the same.

While the world prepares for iftar with warm meals and family gatherings, we prepare with fear… fear of hunger, fear of bombs, fear of tomorrow.

In Gaza, Ramadan comes under war, siege, and unbearable prices. Basic food items have become luxuries. Flour, rice, cooking oil — things that should be simple — are now out of reach for many families.

We are not asking for comfort. We are asking for survival.

This holy month is meant to be about mercy, compassion, and giving. Please let your Ramadan kindness reach Gaza. Your donation — no matter how small — can help us secure food and basic needs in these impossible days.

Stand with us. Remember Gaza in your prayers. And if you can, please donate and share.

I was there with my mother, my sister, and my three younger brothers.

When the missile hit, everything turned to smoke, blood, and silence.

My mother and sister were killed instantly.

My brothers and I were pulled from the rubble, injured — but alive.

Moments later, my father arrived at the hospital.

He didn’t know if any of us had survived. He ran through the halls, searching.

Al Jazeera Mubasher filmed that exact moment — the moment he found us.

This video isn’t easy to watch. But it’s the truth.

It’s the moment my father found his sons alive…

and learned that his wife and daughter were gone.

source:

https://www.instagram.com/share/_qqk5pMrz

I’m sharing this not to cause pain, but because I want people to understand what we’ve lived through.

This isn’t just a story. It’s our life.

It’s the moment that changed everything.

I’m still here. I’m trying to raise my brothers now.

We are trying to rebuild something from what was taken.

If you can help — even with a share — thank you

Hello, my name is Nadin I’m from Gaza. I’m a graphic design graduate. I’m a wife. And now — I’m a mother.

I finished my design studies just before the war began. I had dreams of starting a small design studio, of making art that told stories. I used to think about colors, fonts, sketches. I used to think about the future.

Then the war came. And the future became something we tried to hold onto, moment by moment.

On October 22, 2023, I was pregnant when a missile destroyed my husband’s family home. 25 members of our family were killed — his mother, his siblings, his nieces and nephews, children. Entire branches of a family tree gone in seconds.

We were displaced twice after that. Everything we had disappeared — home, safety, routine, rest.

A few weeks later, I gave birth to our daughter. There was no crib. No stillness. No celebration.

But she came into the world quietly and beautifully. And in her eyes, I saw something I hadn’t felt in weeks: life that still wanted to grow.

Now, I spend my days holding her and trying to build a world around her that doesn’t shake with explosions.

We don’t know what comes next. There is no clear path. We are walking toward the unknown, step by step — with our daughter in our arms and hope as our guide.

🧡 How You Can Help

This is why I’m asking for support. Not for comfort — but for survival. To help care for one baby girl who entered the world after everything else collapsed.

If you can spare anything, it will help us:

Cover basic needs, so we can breathe and heal

Support a path toward even the smallest stability in a place that has none

My husband manages the donations securely through a U.S.-registered Stripe account. Everything is converted to USDT and exchanged here in Gaza. The rates are difficult — $100 becomes only 195 shekels (July 2025) — but we use every shekel carefully, with full transparency and documentation.

🎨 Sharing a Piece of Me

I want to share more than my need. Over the next few weeks, I’ll begin posting some of my graphic designs from before the war. They are pieces of who I was — and who I still am.

They may not be perfect, but they hold something real: my story before the silence, and my belief that beauty can still live alongside survival.