Gaza Soccer Stadium Is Now a Shelter for Thousands of Displaced Palestinians

Palestinians displaced by the Israeli air and ground offensive on the Gaza Strip, walk through a dark streak of sewage flowing into the streets of the southern town of Khan Younis, Gaza Strip, Thursday, July 4, 2024. (AP)
Palestinians displaced by the Israeli air and ground offensive on the Gaza Strip, walk through a dark streak of sewage flowing into the streets of the southern town of Khan Younis, Gaza Strip, Thursday, July 4, 2024. (AP)
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Gaza Soccer Stadium Is Now a Shelter for Thousands of Displaced Palestinians

Palestinians displaced by the Israeli air and ground offensive on the Gaza Strip, walk through a dark streak of sewage flowing into the streets of the southern town of Khan Younis, Gaza Strip, Thursday, July 4, 2024. (AP)
Palestinians displaced by the Israeli air and ground offensive on the Gaza Strip, walk through a dark streak of sewage flowing into the streets of the southern town of Khan Younis, Gaza Strip, Thursday, July 4, 2024. (AP)

Thousands of displaced Palestinians in northern Gaza have sought refuge in one of the territory’s largest soccer arenas, where families now scrape by with little food or water as they try to keep one step ahead of Israel's latest offensive.

Their makeshift tents hug the shade below the stadium's seating, with clothes hanging in the July sun across the dusty, dried-up soccer field. Under the covered benches where players used to sit, Um Bashar bathes a toddler standing in a plastic tub. Lathering soap through the boy's hair, he wiggles and shivers as she pours the chilly water over his head, and he grips the plastic seats for balance.

They’ve been displaced multiple times, she said, most recently from Israel’s renewed operations against Hamas in the Shijaiyah neighborhood of Gaza City.

“We woke up and found tanks in front of the door,” she says. “We didn't take anything with us, not a mattress, not a pillow, not any clothes, not a thing. Not even food.”

She fled with a group of 70 other people to Yarmouk Sports Stadium — a little under 2 miles (3 kilometers) northwest of Shijaiyah, which was heavily bombed and largely emptied early in the war. Many of the people who ended up in the stadium say they have nothing to return to.

“We left our homes,” said one man, Hazem Abu Thoraya, “and all of our homes were bombed and burned, and all those around us were as well.”

Hundreds of thousands of people have remained in northern Gaza, even as Israeli troops have surrounded and largely isolated it. However, aid flows there have improved recently, and the U.N. said earlier this week that it is now able to meet people's basic needs in the north. Israel says it allows aid to enter Gaza and blames the U.N. for not doing enough to move it.

Still, residents say the deprivation and insecurity are taking an ever-growing toll.

“There is no safe place. Safety is with God,” said a displaced woman, Um Ahmad. “Fear is now felt not only among the children, but also among the adults. ... We don't even feel safe walking in the street.”



'We Don't Want to Die Here': Sierra Leone Migrants Trapped in Lebanon

Sierra Leone is working to establish how many of its citizens are currently in Lebanon -AFP
Sierra Leone is working to establish how many of its citizens are currently in Lebanon -AFP
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'We Don't Want to Die Here': Sierra Leone Migrants Trapped in Lebanon

Sierra Leone is working to establish how many of its citizens are currently in Lebanon -AFP
Sierra Leone is working to establish how many of its citizens are currently in Lebanon -AFP

When an Israeli airstrike killed her employer and destroyed nearly everything she owned in southern Lebanon, it also crushed Fatima Samuella Tholley's hopes of returning home to Sierra Leone to escape the war.

With a change of clothes stuffed into a plastic bag, the 27-year-old housekeeper told AFP that she and her cousin made their way to the capital Beirut in an ambulance.

Bewildered and terrified, the pair were thrust into the chaos of the bombarded city -- unfamiliar to them apart from the airport where they had arrived months before.

"We don't know today if we will live or not, only God knows," Fatima told AFP via video call, breaking down in tears.
"I have nothing... no passport, no documents," she said.

The cousins have spent days sheltering in the cramped storage room of an empty apartment, which they said was offered to them by a man they had met on their journey.

With no access to TV news and unable to communicate in French or Arabic, they could only watch from their window as the city was pounded by strikes.

The Israeli war on Lebanon since mid-September has killed more than 1,000 people and forced hundreds of thousands more to flee their homes, amid Israeli bombards around the country.

The situation for the country's migrant workers is particularly precarious, as their legal status is often tied to their employer under the "kafala" sponsorship system governing foreign labor.

"When we came here, our madams received our passports, they seized everything until we finished our contract" said 29-year-old Mariatu Musa Tholley, who also works as a housekeeper.

"Now [the bombing] burned everything, even our madams... only we survived".

- 'They left me' -

Sierra Leone is working to establish how many of its citizens are currently in Lebanon, with the aim of providing emergency travel certificates to those without passports, Kai S. Brima from the foreign affairs ministry told AFP.

The poor west African country has a significant Lebanese community dating back over a century, which is heavily involved in business and trade.

Scores of migrants travel to Lebanon every year, with the aim of paying remittances to support families back home.

"We don't know anything, any information", Mariatu said.

"[Our neighbours] don't open the door for us because they know we are black", she wept.

"We don't want to die here".

Fatima and Mariatu said they had each earned $150 per month, working from 6:00 am until midnight seven days a week.

They said they were rarely allowed out of the house.

AFP contacted four other Sierra Leonean domestic workers by phone, all of whom recounted similar situations of helplessness in Beirut.

Patricia Antwin, 27, came to Lebanon as a housekeeper to support her family in December 2021.

She said she fled her first employer after suffering sexual harassment, leaving her passport behind.

When an airstrike hit the home of her second employer in a southern village, Patricia was left stranded.

"The people I work for, they left me, they left me and went away," she told AFP.

Patricia said a passing driver saw her crying in the street and offered to take her to Beirut.

Like Fatima and Mariatu, she has no money or formal documentation.

"I only came with two clothes in my plastic bag", she said.

- Sleeping on the streets -

Patricia initially slept on the floor of a friend's apartment, but moved to Beirut's waterfront after strikes in the area intensified.

She later found shelter at a Christian school in Jounieh, some 20 kilometres (12 miles) north of the capital.

"We are seeing people moving from one place to another", she said.

"I don't want to lose my life here," she added, explaining she had a child back in Sierra Leone.

Housekeeper Kadij Koroma said she had been sleeping on the streets for almost a week after fleeing to Beirut when she was separated from her employer.

"We don't have a place to sleep, we don't have food, we don't have water," she said, adding that she relied on passers by to provide bread or small change for sustenance.

Kadij said she wasn't sure if her employer was still alive, or if her friends who had also travelled from Sierra Leone to work in Lebanon had survived the bombardment.

"You don't know where to go," she said, "everywhere you go, bomb, everywhere you go, bomb".