Besieged Gazans Share Shoes, Wear Same Clothes for Months

Palestinians wait for a cobbler to repair their shoes in the city of Khan Younis, in the southern Gaza Strip on July 5, 2024, amid the ongoing conflict between Israel and the Palestinian Hamas group. (AFP)
Palestinians wait for a cobbler to repair their shoes in the city of Khan Younis, in the southern Gaza Strip on July 5, 2024, amid the ongoing conflict between Israel and the Palestinian Hamas group. (AFP)
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Besieged Gazans Share Shoes, Wear Same Clothes for Months

Palestinians wait for a cobbler to repair their shoes in the city of Khan Younis, in the southern Gaza Strip on July 5, 2024, amid the ongoing conflict between Israel and the Palestinian Hamas group. (AFP)
Palestinians wait for a cobbler to repair their shoes in the city of Khan Younis, in the southern Gaza Strip on July 5, 2024, amid the ongoing conflict between Israel and the Palestinian Hamas group. (AFP)

For months, Safaa Yassin has dressed her child in the same white bodysuit, an all-too-familiar tale in the Gaza Strip, which has been devastated by 10 months of war.

"When I was pregnant, I dreamed of dressing my daughter in beautiful clothes. Today, I have nothing to put on her," says Yassin, one of thousands of Palestinians displaced from Gaza City.

"I never thought that one day I wouldn't be able to dress my children," says the 38-year-old, now living in Al-Mawasi, a coastal area designated as a humanitarian zone by Israeli forces.

"But the few clothes I found before evacuating to the south were either the wrong size or not suitable for the season," she adds, as Gaza bakes in summertime temperatures of 30-plus degrees Celsius (86 Fahrenheit) every day.

Finding clothing -- any clothing -- has become increasingly difficult for the 2.4 million people living in the territory besieged by Israel.

Gaza once had a thriving textiles industry but since the war began on October 7 with Palestinian group Hamas's unprecedented attack on Israel, it has received just a trickle of goods.

Faten Juda also struggles to dress her 15-month-old son, Adam, who is squeezed into ill-fitting pyjamas, his bare arms and legs sticking out from the tight fabric.

"He's growing every day and his clothes don't fit him anymore, but I can't find any others," the 30-year-old tells AFP.

- Same headscarf -

Children are not the only ones suffering from the lack of clothing in the Gaza Strip, which counted 900 textile factories in the industry's heyday in the early 1990s.

The sector employed 35,000 people and sent four million items to Israel every month. But those numbers have plummeted since 2007, when Hamas took power and Israel blockaded Gaza.

In recent years, Gaza's workshops had dwindled to about 100, employing about 4,000 people and shipping about 30,000-40,000 items a month to Israel and the Israeli-occupied West Bank.

By January, three months into the war, the World Bank estimated that 79 percent of Gaza's private sector establishments had been partially or totally destroyed.

Even the factories that are still standing have ground to a halt, after months without electricity in Gaza. Any fuel that arrives for generators is mainly used for hospitals and United Nations facilities such as warehouses and aid-supply points.

In these conditions, finding new clothes is a rare event.

"Some women have been wearing the same headscarf for the past 10 months," Philippe Lazzarini, head of UNRWA, the UN agency in charge of Palestinian refugees, posted on X.

Wearing the same clothes all the time is not just unpleasant, it is a health hazard. With limited water to wash them, disease-spreading lice abound.

Ahmed al-Masri, 29, left his home in the north of Gaza at the start of the war.

Today in Khan Younis, in the south, he says he does not have any spare shoes or clothes.

"My shoes are extremely damaged. I've had them repaired at least 30 times, each time paying 10 times more than before the war," he says, his gaunt face burnt by the sun.

- Walking barefoot -

With two-thirds of Gaza's population living in poverty even before the war, many people were forced to sell their clothes once the conflict broke out and tanked the economy further.

But "there are no more shoes or clothes to sell", says Omar Abu Hashem, 25, who was displaced from Rafah, on the Egyptian border, to Khan Yunis further north.

Abu Hashem left his home in such a rush that he was unable to take anything with him. He has been wearing the same pair of shoes for five months, but only every other day.

"I share my pair of shoes with my brother-in-law," he explains.

On the days when he goes barefoot, he fears the worst, tiptoeing around the waste and rubble that carry diseases and contamination of all kinds.

Ahmed al-Masri, meanwhile, just wants some soap to wash his only T-shirt and pair of trousers.

"I have been wearing the same clothes for nine months. I have nothing else. I quickly wash my T-shirt and then I wait for it to dry," he says.

"And all this, without soap or detergent."



Graves on Top of Graves… Undertakers in Gaza Are Exhausted

Palestinian gravedigger Saadi Hassan Barakeh say he has been burying the dead for 28 years, but has never been so busy amid the Gaza war. MAHMUD HAMS / AFP
Palestinian gravedigger Saadi Hassan Barakeh say he has been burying the dead for 28 years, but has never been so busy amid the Gaza war. MAHMUD HAMS / AFP
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Graves on Top of Graves… Undertakers in Gaza Are Exhausted

Palestinian gravedigger Saadi Hassan Barakeh say he has been burying the dead for 28 years, but has never been so busy amid the Gaza war. MAHMUD HAMS / AFP
Palestinian gravedigger Saadi Hassan Barakeh say he has been burying the dead for 28 years, but has never been so busy amid the Gaza war. MAHMUD HAMS / AFP

More than 10 months into the Gaza war, so many bodies are arriving at Al-Soueid cemetery in Gaza’s Deir el-Balah that gravediggers are forced to build graves on top of other graves.

Undertakers are working like bricklayers in the cemetery, piling cinder blocks into tight rectangles, side by side, for freshly dug graves.

Leading his team of gravediggers, Saadi Hassan Barakeh, 63, now handles Al-Soueid cemetery, with its 5.5 hectares of graves. Previously, he also oversaw burials at the nearby Ansar cemetery, which covers 3.5 hectares. But now “the Ansar cemetery is completely full,” he told AFP.

The two cemeteries are located in the city of Deir el-Balah in the center of the Gaza Strip that has been bombarded by Israel for more than ten months after Hamas launched the unprecedented October 7 attack in Israel.

“Before the war, we had one or two funerals per week, maximum five,” Barakeh says, wearing a white prayer cap that matches his long beard.

“Now, there are weeks when I bury 200 to 300 people. It's unbelievable.”

Yet even with one cemetery instead of two, Barakeh said he works “every day, from six in the morning to six in the evening.”

Piles of Martyrs

Barakeh, leading his team of gravediggers, says “The cemetery is so full that we now dig graves on top of other graves, we've piled the dead in levels.”

Barakeh has been burying the dead for 28 years. In “all the wars in Gaza,” he says he has “never seen crimes like this.”

Barakeh bears daily witness to the tragedies. Hoe in hand, he gives encouragement to his 12 workers as they prepare and close dozens of graves every day.

At night, however, some images are hard to forget.

“I can't sleep after seeing so many mangled children's bodies and dead women,” he told AFP, adding: “I buried 47 women from the Tabatibi family, including 16 who were pregnant. What crime have these women committed?”

The October 7 Hamas attack which triggered the war resulted in the deaths of 1,198 people, mostly civilians, according to an AFP tally of Israeli official figures.

Israel’s retaliatory military offensive has killed at least 40,005 people in Gaza, according to the Hamas-run health ministry.

“I buried a lot of women and children, and only two or three guys from Hamas,” says Barakeh.

‘Why the children?’

If Israelis “have a problem with (Yahya) Sinwar and with (Ismail) Haniyeh, why do they harm children?” he adds angrily.

Barakeh is convinced that the Israelis want to eliminate the entire Palestinian people.

Graves with white headstones fill nearly all the available space, while men dig new holes in the few vacant areas.

The team forms a human chain to carry the cinder blocks, whose price has soared since Gaza’s factories closed due to a lack of fuel and raw materials.

“One shekel ($0.27) before the war, 10 or 12 today,” he lamented.

Besides gravediggers and the workers carrying cinder blocks, hardly anyone comes to funerals anymore, Barakeh says.

“Before the war, there were sometimes 1,000 people at one funeral; today there are days when we bury 100 people and there aren’t even 20 to lay them to rest.”

High above his head, the constant hum of an Israeli surveillance drone serves as a reminder of the aerial threat creating a steady stream of bodies.