"I Am a Mother Without a Home, But Not Without Hope"
A heart wrenching account by Doha, a mother in Gaza will crush your heart.
I used to tuck my children into bed with bedtime stories. Now, I tuck them under a broken ceiling, praying it won’t collapse on us before morning.
I am Doha, a mother of four. My oldest, Waseem, is only ten, but his eyes carry the weight of a man who has seen too much. My twins, Jihad and Sameeh, haven’t held a pencil in months. And my baby, Owais—just one and a half years old—was born into a warzone. His skin burns with rashes from the filth we cannot escape. He has never known a safe night’s sleep, a full belly, or a clean diaper that wasn’t a luxury.
A Life Reduced to Rubble
Our home is gone. Our tent was shredded by winter winds. Now, we live atop the ruins of our former life, surrounded by broken concrete and memories. The walls that once held our laughter are now piles of debris. The kitchen where I cooked meals for my family is now a graveyard of shattered dishes.
My husband, Mahmoud, is a shadow of the strong man he once was. After his surgery, he can no longer work. He tries to hide his pain, but I see it in the way he winces when he moves, in the way his hands tremble when he holds our baby.
And me? I fight through my own pain—a burning stomach infection that never lets me forget its presence. But what hurts more than my body is watching my children fade before my eyes.
The Things We Have Lost
Safety– We sleep under a cracked ceiling, never knowing if tonight will be our last.
Food– Some days, we share a single piece of bread, pretending we’re not hungry.
Medicine– My husband needs treatment. I need treatment. But the clinics are gone, and the pharmacies might as well be on another planet.
Childhood– My boys don’t play anymore. They scavenge. They beg. They flinch at loud noises.
The Things We Still Have
Each other– For now, we are still alive.
Hope– Faint, flickering, but not yet extinguished.
A Mother’s Plea
I am not asking for miracles. Just the basics of human dignity:
Milk for Owais– so he stops crying in pain.
Diapers– so my baby doesn’t have to sleep in filth.
Food– so my children don’t go to bed with empty stomachs.
Medicine– so my husband and I can stay alive for them.
A safe place to sleep– just four walls and a roof. That’s all.
I am not a beggar. I am a mother. And I will do anything to keep my children alive.
You Can Be Their Lifeline
$20 could buy milk and diapers for Owais.
$50 could feed my family for a week.
$100 could get my boys back to school.
Sharing this story could mean a handful of people with humanity intact see Doha and her family to help them.
I still believe in kindness. I still believe in humanity. Because if I stop believing, what else is left?
From the ruins of Gaza, with nothing but a mother’s love. Please, help us survive.
— Doha
Donation link: https://chuffed.org/project/dohaamah-gaza
Doha’s Twitter: https://x.com/dohaamah
I recently travelled to Palestine and heard and saw this suffering myself. If you can chip in anything worth even a coffee, it will help this young mother keep her family safer and alive for a few more days.