Death by Bullets or Death by Hunger (click here for Arabic version)
This is not fiction… It’s a real testimony from the heart of Gaza, where the starving are killed before the world’s eyes!
I had made up my mind to go to the Netzarim military checkpoint, a military barrier dividing northern and southern Gaza, used to control civilian movement. which separates northern Gaza from the south, to get a food basket. He said: I took with me my nephew, Ahmed Jameel, a top high school student who had become the sole breadwinner for his family after his father was martyred. To be among the first in line, we left home at one in the morning, thinking we could beat the crowds.
After an hour of walking, we reached the entrance of Nuseirat, where tens of thousands of people were leaning against the walls, whispering: “Keep your head down… There’s a sniper shooting anyone who moves!”
Ahmed told me, “Don’t worry, let’s keep going… These people come every day and get nothing.”
We pressed on until we reached the entrance of Bureij, where the scene was even more horrifying: scattered bodies and people screaming, “There’s sniper fire… Martyrs on the ground!”
Fear grew stronger, but Ahmed insisted: “If we turn back, we’ll die of hunger! We continued until we reached the Al-Kaziya fuel station, where fewer people had gathered, but the sound of bullets and shells grew louder. I told him, “We’re exposed now… This is a massacre!”
Ahmed looked at me sharply and said, Who are we waiting for? Permission?!” Then he added, “We’ll run toward the checkpoint in a group… It’s our only chance.”
At first, I refused, but the cries of hunger around us made me agree. After 20 minutes, about 50 of us had gathered, including five girls no older than twenty.
The decisive moment came: We ran—then suddenly, bullets rained from every direction, and floodlights lit us up like live targets.I heard screams: “My shoulder!”, “My stomach!”, and martyrs falling headless. I looked back and saw the road blocked with blood.
I crawled between the corpses until I reached a destroyed house, then fled. I felt ashamed: “A kilo of flour in exchange for my life?! Are we really this worthless?!”
As for Ahmed, he returned wounded and told me: “I’m not a father like you… But if I don’t die by a sniper’s bullet, I’ll die of hunger!”
I returned home at dawn, my children still asleep. I wept, silently apologizing to them: “If only you saw what I saw… You’d forgive me.”
Today, the death toll from the aid lines reached 53 martyrs, including children and women. The Netzarim checkpoint and Al-Kaziya station (Al-Kaziya Fuel Station:A gathering point for aid seekers, often under sniper fire) have become symbols of death—yet hunger leaves us no choice.
Ahmed Jameel:A survivor of the aid massacre, representing hundreds of youths trapped between certain starvation and likely death.
My message to you ALL THE GAZANS: Fear God and spare yourselves… Do not return to this death trap. Tie stones around your stomachs, for death here is free,” and humiliation is part of the game.
Alaa Alburai, Kufi Productions
