Support Abdul Fatah and his family

Finding myself suddenly below zero was a shift from a life of safety to being stripped of my basic rights and necessities. My once carefree children now bear the weight of fear and deprivation, their innocence lost in the ongoing horrors of genocide. My newborn, born into war, knows nothing but displacement and uncertainty. Denied even the most fundamental basic rights, he was born displaced and uncertain of life. Our house, built with abundant love and sweat, now lies in ashes, destroyed in rubble. My life has fallen apart; what I once knew and loved has become a passing dream. I was a proud owner of a kindergarten nursery, always finding myself among the children’s laughter and smiles; now, not a single stone of it remains. In the blink of an eye, our dreams, memories and years of effort and dedication have been reduced to rubble and dust. Life became unknown, permanently displaced, moving from camp to camp, never knowing when your last moment would be. Our beds have become the earth, our cover the sky, our air is thick of rocket powder, we hear the sounds of bombing and missiles all day and all night. It feels as though death is at every turn, yet we are persistent, clinging to the hope that remains with us. We are not weak, but we only wish to see my family happy in life and not live in constant fear, A life where our children can smile and laugh as they once did. My dear friends, I hope you can extend your hands to me and my family of five—three kids, a 4 year old, a 2 year old and the youngest of them a 5 day old newborn a mother and a father—to allow us to begin a new life filled with hope and safety, where the simplest joys are cherished. Let death not be our comfort.