Support and help Malika and her family to survive

I hope this message reaches you well. I am Afaf Masoud, a 24-year-old Palestinian from Gaza City. My beautiful family consists of my mother Nermeen, my sister Omayma, my brother Adham, his wife Hanin, and their daughter Marmar.

Four months ago, I decided to move to Germany with my husband (Ahmed Dalloul), leaving all my family members in Gaza. I'm here to share our story and seek help during these challenging times in Gaza and for my family.

My beloved family, still in Gaza, continues to endure the harsh effects of the relentless war, suffering on all human and spiritual levels. When the war began, circumstances forced my entire family to leave our home and its surroundings. In that heartbreaking moment of evacuation, my family's tears flowed like rain. They bid farewell to every corner of the house that held memories of our joys and sorrows, including their beloved project "Sabara Plant Nursery."

This project was a source of life for us, and as my mother bid it farewell with tears, it was almost as if the plants were nourished by her tears. It was a painful collapse of their spirit and shattered dreams. Our all family the loved ones left the house, leaving behind shattered dreams, exhausted hopes, and simple belongings.

There is no news about our beautiful home, and all we have is uncertainty. Has everything been destroyed? Is our plant nursery and our plants still alive? The confusion around these questions wraps itself like darkness, and no one knows.

My family members were forced to leave their home in Jabalia in northern Gaza strip, the heartbeat of their home, towards the Sheikh Radwan area in Gaza City, carrying their remaining hopes. However, after a few days, they were displaced south to the Deir al-Balah area, finding themselves facing a station of despair, surrounded by the unknown and mystery.

Hours passed like years on the street until they managed to find shelter in a house in Deir al-Balah.

But after a few days, this place turned into a crowded house with displaced families, searching amidst the rubble for a straw of safety. The difficult and tragic circumstances are not easily understood, as communication and transportation were cut off, making obtaining food, water, and electricity a scarce endeavor. Basic necessities became incredibly rare, a bitter mix of suffering and despair enveloping their daily lives.

With repeated communication interruptions with my family, feelings of helplessness and fear crept into my heart for continuous days. Every bad feeling increased the worry, and the fear of losing my family accelerated. When I finally manage to contact them, even if for a few minutes, happiness fills me, and the worry subsides for moments. At the same time, the emotions of sadness and fear intertwine to create a complex mix of emotional conflict.

Upon hearing my mother's voice, tears of longing and fear welled up in my eyes, and I was overcome by intense crying. But one day, after a long period of contact silence, her voice came back, crying with pain and agony.

That moment was a whisper of deep pain and a message confirming the bitter truth. At that time, I wished I were dead instead of witnessing my mother suffer so painfully. I tried to console her, but she revealed to me a harsh reality: our area in Jabalia was subjected to destruction and bombardment, where we lost our home, our nursery plant project, my brother's house, and the homes of family members, leaving them without a shelter to return to.

That house and our Sabara Plant Nursery, founded on the basis of love, with walls that bore memories filled with nostalgia and dreams colored with hope, was completely destroyed this time. It's not the only time our home and nursery witnessed this destruction; it went through many trials in recent years and was damaged repeatedly. Despite all those times, we tried to repair it as much as we could, but this time it seems that hope went down with its ruins, and our hearts bleed deep sorrow for losing that corner that sheltered our dreams and deep feelings.

All our memories passed like embers, and the strong shock possessed all my feelings. I couldn't console my mother; sorrow dominated my heart. But I tried to encourage her, saying, "We will rebuild the nursery and restore it." However, my mother exploded again, saying with deep sadness, "Everything is destroyed, our dreams scattered, and nothing is left at all."

My mother continued, saying, "Our home and the source of our livelihood are gone. There is nothing left. Even us, when, how, we don't know." Her words reflected a state of despair and loss, showing the extent of the harsh blow their dreams and shattered hopes suffered.

In the face of my mother's words, I failed to bear the impact of her words. It has only been a few months since the departure of my dear father, and until now, it remains impossible for anyone to understand the difficulty of life without him.

I feel much weaker than being able to bear the loss of my family or any member of it again, and helplessness dominates every aspect of my life. I am helpless to change this harsh and painful reality.

I find comfort in communicating here; it's the only thing I can do and stand by my family's side. We are trying with all our might to help them get out of the grip of this war, and our goal is to move them to a safer place outside of Gaza, away from the danger threatening them. We look forward to rebuilding their lives and reviving their hopes, dreams, and projects anew.

Although these circumstances at this time have increased the cost of leaving, and financial resources pose a challenge, they find themselves compelled to bear the cost of departure. They are asked to pay amounts reaching around $7000 per person, making a difficult matter, with challenges increasing day by day.

In addition, I hope to have the ability to support my dear sister, Omayma, in her educational journey and the realization of her dreams and aspirations. Omayma, the outstanding student at the Faculty of Arts, majoring in French language, holds great ambitions in her heart.

She dreamed of completing her university studies and then obtaining a scholarship to pursue a master's degree in France. However, the difficult circumstances in Gaza made this dream evaporate, as her university and the French Institute were destroyed.

Amima's collapsed future carries great pain, and her golden dreams seem to be slowly fading away. I hope here to find the necessary support to revive those dreams and for Amima to continue her studies and achieve her dream of obtaining a master's degree, opening a new chapter of excellence and hopes for her.

Your support represents the spirit of solidarity and the sea of mercy in the face of these harsh storms. It's not just financial assistance; it's a beacon that lights the path of hope in our hearts burdened with sorrows. We suffer in silence, and our journey to safety poses countless challenges. Your support means a lot to us; it means extending a helping hand in moments of weakness and loss.

I am Afaf Masoud, and my words are a small gateway that we open to your compassionate hearts. I implore you with all humility and love, help us protect my family from the storms of life and continue searching for a safe haven. Don't just be witnesses; be part of our story, stand with us with gentleness and compassion.

Thank you, with deep gratitude and respect.