Doctors Without Borders/Médecins Sans Frontières (MSF)'s Palestinian staff in Gaza have worked tirelessly throughout a year of devastation and violence, providing care to patients while bearing the burden of war on a personal level, including the loss of loved ones and repeated displacement by Israeli forces' evacuation orders.
One of our colleagues in Gaza is Dr. Sohaib Safi, an MSF medical coordinator who has remained in the Strip working after his wife and daughter managed to flee to Egypt. Here, Dr. Safi describes what he misses about life in Gaza before the war that began last October, and the uncertain future.
A doctor’s story of Gaza before and after the war
Listen to Dr. Safi tell his story
Dr. Sohaib Safi:
Before the war, life in Gaza was generally difficult. But on a personal level, things were stable. I had my small family; my daughter Rita and my wife Nour, my parents and my brother as well. I dreamed of owning a house and a car.
I enrolled my daughter in kindergarten for a joyful childhood and education. We used to laugh and joke with my parents, we’d go out to restaurants and take Rita to play at Kids Land. We were happy despite the general anxiety. I had ambitions to learn and travel, I played oud and sang for my homeland, about life and love.
When the war started, everything changed. We were displaced on the first day. The house was no longer ours. The place no longer felt like home. We lived through days and nights of fear, constantly feeling that death could come at any moment. Every day, I wished the war would end.
At around 4 a.m. [one day], I was sitting at the kitchen table when suddenly I felt an explosion right in front of me. I was literally thrown into the air and started hearing screams. The place was dark and full of dust and it was hard to breathe.
I rushed to check on my daughter and family. They were scared but unharmed.
All I could feel was the taste of blood in my mouth. I realized that I was injured very close to my right eye and my nose, and other parts of my face, on my right eyebrow and my nose. I will always remember that day, the shock and pain, and my daughter’s words when she asked: “Why is daddy bleeding? He’s the one who saves others.”
Now I am alone with my parents. Between me, Rita, and my wife there are borders and tanks, the army, destruction, and war. Everything is uncertain. My daughter, who is now in Egypt, tells me every day that she misses me, and I tell her every day: God willing, I will come to you soon. But the truth is, I don’t know if I’ll be able to see them again, I don’t even know if I will survive.
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