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The Independent
a day ago
- General
- The Independent
Gaza mothers struggle to feed families amid deepening famine: ‘The children remain hungry'
A single bowl of eggplant stewed in watery tomato juice must sustain Sally Muzhed's family of six for the day. She calls it moussaka, but it's a pale echo of the fragrant, layered meat-and-vegetable dish that once filled Gaza's kitchens with its aroma. The war has severed families from the means to farm or fish, and the little food that enters the besieged strip is often looted, hoarded and resold at exorbitant prices. So mothers like Muzhed have been forced into constant improvisation, reimagining Palestinian staples with the meager ingredients they can grab off trucks, from airdropped parcels or purchase at the market. Israel implemented a total blockade on trucks entering the besieged strip in early March and began allowing aid back in May, although humanitarian organizations say the amount remains far from adequate. Some cooks have gotten inventive, but most say they're just desperate to break the dull repetition of the same few ingredients, if they can get them at all. Some families say they survive on stale, brittle pita, cans of beans eaten cold for lack of cooking gas, or whatever they can get on the days that they arrive early enough that meals remain available at charity kitchens. 'The children remain hungry. Tomorrow we won't have any food to eat,' Muzhed said from the tent where her family has been displaced in central Gaza's Deir al-Balah. Once, her bowl would barely have fed one child. Now she ladles it out in spoonfuls, trying to stretch it. Her son asks why he can't have more. The Muzhed family's struggle is being repeated across Gaza as the territory plunges deeper into what international experts have called 'the worst-case scenario of famine.' On some days, mothers like Amani al-Nabahin manage to get mujaddara from charity kitchens. The dish, once flavored with caramelized onions and spices, is now stripped to its bare essentials of rice and lentils. "Nearly nine out of ten households resorted to extremely severe coping mechanisms to feed themselves, such as taking significant safety risks to obtain food, and scavenging from the garbage,' the Integrated Food Security Phase Classification said on July 29. Gas for cooking is scarce, vegetables are costly and meat has all but vanished from the markets. Families in Gaza once dipped pieces of bread into dukkah, a condiment made of ground wheat and spices. But today, 78-year-old Alia Hanani is rationing bread by the bite, served once a day at noon, allowing each person to dip it in a wartime dukkah made of flour, lentils and bulgur. 'There's no dinner or breakfast,' the mother of eight said. Some people don't even have enough to improvise. All Rehab al-Kharoubi has for her and her seven children is a bowl of raw white beans. 'I had to beg for it,' she said. For some, it's even less. Kifah Qadih, displaced from Khuza'a east of Khan Younis, couldn't get any food — the bowl in front of her has remained empty all day. 'Today there is no food. There is nothing.'
The Independent
2 days ago
- General
- The Independent
Mothers in Gaza stretch meager ingredients where they can, but say hunger persists
A single bowl of eggplant stewed in watery tomato juice must sustain Sally Muzhed's family of six for the day. She calls it moussaka, but it's a pale echo of the fragrant, layered meat-and-vegetable dish that once filled Gaza's kitchens with its aroma. The war has severed families from the means to farm or fish, and the little food that enters the besieged strip is often looted, hoarded and resold at exorbitant prices. So mothers like Muzhed have been forced into constant improvisation, reimagining Palestinian staples with the meager ingredients they can grab off trucks, from airdropped parcels or purchase at the market. Israel implemented a total blockade on trucks entering the besieged strip in early March and began allowing aid back in May, although humanitarian organizations say the amount remains far from adequate. Some cooks have gotten inventive, but most say they're just desperate to break the dull repetition of the same few ingredients, if they can get them at all. Some families say they survive on stale, brittle pita, cans of beans eaten cold for lack of cooking gas, or whatever they can get on the days that they arrive early enough that meals remain available at charity kitchens. 'The children remain hungry. Tomorrow we won't have any food to eat,' Muzhed said from the tent where her family has been displaced in central Gaza's Deir al-Balah. Once, her bowl would barely have fed one child. Now she ladles it out in spoonfuls, trying to stretch it. Her son asks why he can't have more. The Muzhed family's struggle is being repeated across Gaza as the territory plunges deeper into what international experts have called 'the worst-case scenario of famine.' On some days, mothers like Amani al-Nabahin manage to get mujaddara from charity kitchens. The dish, once flavored with caramelized onions and spices, is now stripped to its bare essentials of rice and lentils. "Nearly nine out of ten households resorted to extremely severe coping mechanisms to feed themselves, such as taking significant safety risks to obtain food, and scavenging from the garbage,' the Integrated Food Security Phase Classification said on July 29. Gas for cooking is scarce, vegetables are costly and meat has all but vanished from the markets. Families in Gaza once dipped pieces of bread into dukkah, a condiment made of ground wheat and spices. But today, 78-year-old Alia Hanani is rationing bread by the bite, served once a day at noon, allowing each person to dip it in a wartime dukkah made of flour, lentils and bulgur. 'There's no dinner or breakfast,' the mother of eight said. Some people don't even have enough to improvise. All Rehab al-Kharoubi has for her and her seven children is a bowl of raw white beans. 'I had to beg for it,' she said. For some, it's even less. Kifah Qadih, displaced from Khuza'a east of Khan Younis, couldn't get any food — the bowl in front of her has remained empty all day. 'Today there is no food. There is nothing.'
Arab News
2 days ago
- General
- Arab News
Mothers in Gaza stretch meager ingredients where they can, but say hunger persists
DEIR AL-BALAH: A single bowl of eggplant stewed in watery tomato juice must sustain Sally Muzhed's family of six for the day. She calls it moussaka, but it's a pale echo of the fragrant, layered meat-and-vegetable dish that once filled Gaza's kitchens with its aroma. The war has severed families from the means to farm or fish, and the little food that enters the besieged strip is often looted, hoarded and resold at exorbitant prices. So mothers like Muzhed have been forced into constant improvization, reimagining Palestinian staples with the meager ingredients they can grab off trucks, from airdropped parcels or purchase at the market. Israel implemented a total blockade on trucks entering the besieged strip in early March and began allowing aid back in May, although humanitarian organizations say the amount remains far from adequate. Some cooks have gotten inventive, but most say they're just desperate to break the dull repetition of the same few ingredients, if they can get them at all. Some families say they survive on stale, brittle pita, cans of beans eaten cold for lack of cooking gas, or whatever they can get on the days that they arrive early enough that meals remain available at charity kitchens. 'The children remain hungry. Tomorrow we won't have any food to eat,' Muzhed said from the tent where her family has been displaced in central Gaza's Deir Al-Balah. Once, her bowl would barely have fed one child. Now she ladles it out in spoonfuls, trying to stretch it. Her son asks why he can't have more. The Muzhed family's struggle is being repeated across Gaza as the territory plunges deeper into what international experts have called 'the worst-case scenario of famine.' On some days, mothers like Amani Al-Nabahin manage to get mujaddara from charity kitchens. The dish, once flavored with caramelized onions and spices, is now stripped to its bare essentials of rice and lentils. 'Nearly nine out of ten households resorted to extremely severe coping mechanisms to feed themselves, such as taking significant safety risks to obtain food, and scavenging from the garbage,' the Integrated Food Security Phase Classification said on July 29. Gas for cooking is scarce, vegetables are costly and meat has all but vanished from the markets. Families in Gaza once dipped pieces of bread into dukkah, a condiment made of ground wheat and spices. But today, 78-year-old Alia Hanani is rationing bread by the bite, served once a day at noon, allowing each person to dip it in a wartime dukkah made of flour, lentils and bulgur. 'There's no dinner or breakfast,' the mother of eight said. Some people don't even have enough to improvise. All Rehab Al-Kharoubi has for her and her seven children is a bowl of raw white beans. 'I had to beg for it,' she said. For some, it's even less. Kifah Qadih, displaced from Khuza'a east of Khan Younis, couldn't get any food — the bowl in front of her has remained empty all day. 'Today there is no food. There is nothing.'
Al Jazeera
4 days ago
- Health
- Al Jazeera
Video: Food aid dropped into Gaza contaminated with mould
Food aid dropped into Gaza contaminated with mould NewsFeed Palestinians collecting food aid parachuted into Gaza report some of the packages are covered in black mould. Others have been showing bags of flour from GHF sites contaminated with plastic waste and other rubbish, rendering the food inedible. Video Duration 01 minutes 11 seconds 01:11 Video Duration 01 minutes 19 seconds 01:19 Video Duration 00 minutes 23 seconds 00:23 Video Duration 01 minutes 52 seconds 01:52 Video Duration 00 minutes 24 seconds 00:24 Video Duration 01 minutes 59 seconds 01:59 Video Duration 00 minutes 56 seconds 00:56
Yahoo
4 days ago
- General
- Yahoo
‘We're Trying to Do the Best We Can Before We Die'
The Atlantic Daily, a newsletter that guides you through the biggest stories of the day, helps you discover new ideas, and recommends the best in culture. Sign up for it here. George Anton is hungry, but he's become used to the sensation—the urgent, aching feeling in his stomach, the heaviness of his limbs. He hardly has time to acknowledge the discomfort, given all the work he has to do. He is the operations manager for an aid-distribution program operating through the Holy Family Catholic Church in Gaza City, the sole remaining Catholic church in Gaza. Anton lives at the church in a single room that he shares with his wife and three daughters. Four hundred people are sheltering there, he told me; it was once a sanctuary from the war. Recently, however, the fighting has come to encircle it. An Israeli tank shell struck the church early last month, killing three people there, according to a statement by the patriarchate. This week, daily pauses in the fighting have calmed the neighborhood somewhat, but not enough for the church to resume aid programs: food hampers, a communal laundry, psychosocial support programs and clinics. Some of these functioned even before the current war. But these days, the church has nothing to distribute. Its food pantry is empty, and supplies have run out. When I reached Anton by phone on Wednesday, he was busy looking for a way to bring more food to the church's pantry. Anton is one of hundreds of Gazan aid workers—affiliated with religious, international, and local organizations—who are trying to find and distribute supplies to keep others alive. Complicating their work is their own hunger and exhaustion, as well as the paucity of food coming into the territory altogether. An alert on Tuesday from the Integrated Food Security Phase Classification, an organization made up of United Nations agencies and aid groups, noted that the 'latest data indicates that famine thresholds have been reached for food consumption in most of the Gaza Strip and for acute malnutrition in Gaza City.' The people sheltering at the church have, in the absence of communal supplies, begun to ration their own small stashes of food items, mostly gathered from the markets when the situation was stable enough for them to venture out. The Gaza Humanitarian Foundation, which has become the official mechanism for dispensing food aid, has very few distribution points, all in areas far from the church. Many Gazans fear visiting these sites: According to the UN, more than 1,000 people have been killed by Israeli forces while seeking assistance from GHF, the UN, and other aid convoys. (GHF has called these numbers 'false and exaggerated statistics.') [Read: Food aid in Gaza has become a horror] I spoke with one Palestinian aid worker who did try to get food from GHF. In early June, Youssef Alwikhery, an occupational therapist with Medical Aid for Palestinians, hadn't eaten for close to a week. Several of his brothers, uncles, and cousins had tried to get food from GHF before—30 attempts altogether, he estimated—but only one had succeeded in bringing a box back. So Alwikhery rose one morning at 3 a.m. and made his way to Salah al-Din Street in central Gaza, a main thoroughfare leading to a distribution point that was a little over a mile from his home. He saw thousands of people. Some started running toward the distribution point, and he ran too. 'It was like a game, like a death game,' he told me. Soon came the sound of shots and explosions. Alwikhery turned back. 'It's not help. It's like Russian roulette,' he said. 'If you want to run, you might die, or you might get injured. You might get a box. This is the formula. This is the point.' Alwikhery now pays exorbitant prices for small amounts of food at the market, and he eats just one meal a day. He lives with his parents and his brothers' families, including 9- and 11-year-old children. They, too, eat only one meal a day, usually around four or five in the evening, and if a family member needs to cook, they burn whatever they can, because the price of fuel is high. One photo Alwikhery sent me shows his occupational-therapy textbook being used as kindling. I first met Alwikhery in the summer of 2022, at Al-Awda Hospital in the Jabalia refugee camp in the northernmost part of Gaza, when we worked with the same international medical organization. He specialized in helping patients with congenital disabilities carry out their daily activities. Israel ordered the closure of Al-Awda in May, and now Alwikhery works in Medical Aid for Palestinians' emergency clinic in central Gaza. He told me that he finds the state of his pediatric patients disturbing; he described children with cerebral palsy who couldn't move their bodies to do simple exercises because they were so calorically deprived. My call with Anton was at 9 p.m. on Wednesday, and so far that day, he told me, he had consumed nothing but coffee and tea. He rises early, at 6 a.m. The first thing he does is check to make sure the church's solar panels, water tanks, and piping are still functioning and did not sustain any damage overnight. Then he reads the news, goes to morning prayers, and calls his colleagues in Jerusalem for updates on when food trucks might reach Gaza and how they will be secured. Around 4 p.m. the day we spoke, his wife and three daughters, ages 9, 11, and 14, had shared one can of tuna with some bread. In recent weeks, his girls have taken to spending much of their time in the family's room, sleeping and reading to conserve their energy. The oldest and youngest used to enjoy soccer and basketball, but now they don't feel safe going out, and anyway, they're too tired. Anton told me he encourages them to pretend they're fasting, as though for Lent. [Photos: Starvation and chaos in Gaza] Sometimes, fellow aid workers or journalists tell Anton about families on the brink, and he gathers any extra supplies he can from the families sheltering in the church to deliver by foot. Recently, a journalist told him about a father of six who used a wheelchair and could not access income or aid. This man had no extended family nearby to share resources. Anton was able to gather only enough food to last the family approximately one week. When conditions were safe enough last Saturday, he delivered the food to the family's tent. The children, two boys and two girls, were 'really suffering,' he told me. 'They're like skeletons, you know.' Families such as that one, where one or more members have a disability, or whose kinship networks are small or nonexistent, are among those hardest hit by starvation, both Anton and Alwikhery told me. Anton's day would not finish after we spoke. He said he would try to find himself some bread later in the night. He and some other people sheltering at the church would stay up to monitor the hostilities in the neighborhood, tend to anyone needing help or comfort, and assist some of the elderly to use the communal bathrooms in the dark. 'We're trying to do the best we can before we die, you know,' he told me. 'Because I'm telling you, if this situation will last for a longer time, all of us will die hungry.' Article originally published at The Atlantic
