Guest blog by Farah Hassan

I invite you to spend one hour with me in your imagination. Walk beside me through the streets of Gaza. Feel the heat of the day, hear the voices of people around you, and see the small details of life that often disappear behind the headlines.

My name is Farah Hassan, and this is not just a story about a place. It is a story about people — about families who wake up every morning trying to find the things that every human being deserves: food, water, safety, and dignity.

If you walked with me today, our first question would not be where we want to go, but where we can find what we need.

Buying food in Gaza is no longer a simple daily task. It has become a journey filled with waiting, searching, and difficult choices.

Let me take you with me on my last trip to buy food.

The road to the shop was long. As we walked, we could see people carrying bags, children moving through the streets, and families searching for basic supplies. Everyone seemed to be carrying a story of their own.

The sun was strong, and the heat followed us along the road. When we reached the shop, it was crowded. People were standing close together, asking about prices and looking for whatever was available.

Inside the shop, the air was warm and the place was filled with voices. A mother was trying to choose food for her children. An elderly man was counting the money in his hand before buying what he could afford. A shopkeeper was answering questions about prices and explaining what was available.

Everyone was making careful decisions. Nobody was buying extra things. People were choosing only what they needed because every amount of money mattered.

I went to buy simple ingredients for a meal for my family. I bought rice and a chicken breast, but even these basic items cost around $32. That didn’t include the other ingredients we needed, like spices and the wood we use for cooking.

Not everyone in Gaza can afford to buy everything they need. Prices are very high, and many families have to choose between necessities because their money is not enough to cover everything.

When I carried these items home, I thought about how a simple meal had become a difficult task. In the past, buying rice and chicken was something ordinary. Today, every ingredient has to be carefully considered, and every dollar counts.

At home, I started preparing the meal using the resources available to us. Cooking is no longer just about making food; it has become another challenge.

Because fuel for cooking is not always available, lighting a fire can take a long time. While I was trying to cook, the fire kept going out because there was not enough wood. Smoke filled the room, and I sat there trying again and again while my eyes were streaming from the smoke. But I continued because preparing a meal for my family was what I had to do.

That moment made me realize how much life has changed. Things that were once simple — buying food, lighting a fire, and preparing a meal — have become struggles that require patience and strength.

The smell of the rice and chicken filled the room, but behind this simple meal was a story of searching, waiting, and trying to survive.

After preparing the meal, it was just my husband and me sitting together. We sat in our small space at home, sharing the food we had worked hard to prepare.

The meal was simple — rice and chicken — but to us it was much more than just food. It was a moment of peace in the middle of a difficult life. We sat together, talking about our day, the challenges we faced, and hoping for better days ahead.

We did not talk only about the difficulties. We also tried to find moments of comfort, to laugh a little, and to remind each other that we were still together despite everything happening around us.

Looking at that simple meal, I thought about how things that once seemed ordinary had become precious. A meal with my husband, sitting together for a short time, and sharing what we had became a memory worth holding on to.

A meal that might seem ordinary to someone else carries a much deeper meaning for us. It represents effort, patience, and the hope that tomorrow will be better.

Water is another part of our daily reality. If you walked with me through Gaza, you would see people waiting for water, carrying containers, and trying to secure clean water for their families. Something as simple as a glass of water has become something people deeply appreciate.

But if you spent this hour with me, you would also see something else.

You would see kindness.

You would see neighbors sharing what they have. You would see families supporting each other. You would see people refusing to lose their humanity despite everything they have experienced.

And on Fridays, you would witness another powerful scene.

Many mosques in Gaza have been damaged or destroyed, but people still gather to pray. They stand in the streets and among the rubble, beneath the open sky, and perform the Friday prayer.

The broken stones around them tell a story of loss, but their prayers tell a story of hope. The buildings may fall, but the faith and spirit of people remain.

Gaza is not only a story of destruction. It is a story of people who continue to live, love, help each other, and dream.

I wanted you to spend this hour with me because numbers and headlines cannot tell the whole story. Behind every meal, every drop of water, every step to a shop, and every prayer among the ruins, there is a human being with feelings, memories, and hope.

This is Gaza. This is my story. And this is the story of many people who are still holding on to life.

Farah Hassan writes professionally as Farah Rebhy, and she’s on Instagram. If you enjoyed this post, please contribute to her fundraiser – paid work is scarce in Gaza’s shattered economy and she will be very grateful!