Me, My Donkey, and the Endless Streets of Gaza

Fictional Story Made Real!

Characters: Ahmad, Himar ; Location: Gaza

Ahmad had always been a simple man. His weathered face bore the lines of hardship, etched by years of tilling the arid soil of Gaza. But it was his donkey, Himar, who truly captured the essence of resilience. Himar’s eyes held a quiet wisdom, as if he had seen more than any creature should.

The streets of Gaza were a chaotic tapestry of life and struggle. Buildings stood half-destroyed, their jagged edges reaching for the sky like broken promises. Children played amidst the rubble, their laughter echoing through the narrow alleys. And above it all hung the heavy cloud of conflict—a ceaseless storm that swept away dreams and lives alike

Ahmad gripped the worn leather reins of his donkey, Himar, as they navigated the war-torn streets of Gaza. Each step was a testament to their resilience, a small act of defiance against the relentless bombardment. In the distance, the thunderous booms of Israeli airstrikes punctuated the oppressive silence, a brutal reminder of the fragility of their existence.

The pair had seen more than their fair share of destruction. Buildings that once stood as testaments to Gaza's vibrant community now lay in ruins, their skeletal remains casting long shadows over the streets. Yet, Ahmad and Himar pressed on, each stride filled with determination and a will to survive.

Their journey began in the northern part of Gaza City, where Ahmad's home once stood. It had been a modest dwelling, a place where laughter once echoed and where the scent of his mother's cooking lingered in the air. Now, it was reduced to rubble, the victim of an airstrike that shattered their lives in an instant. With nothing left to hold them back, Ahmad decided to head south, towards Rafah, in search of a safer haven.

When the Israeli bombardment intensified, Ahmad clung to Himar like a lifeline. They navigated the debris-strewn streets, seeking refuge in the few remaining shelters. Himar’s hooves were sure, his instincts honed by generations of desert wanderers. Together, they dodged falling rubble and evaded the relentless drones that circled overhead.

Ahmad whispered to Himar in the darkness of their hiding places. “We’ll make it, old friend,” he promised. “We’ll survive this WAR, just like our forefathers-we always have.”

As they made their way through the streets, they encountered scenes of profound despair. Helpless men, women, and children huddled in the debris, their eyes hollow with shock and fear. In Khan Younis, Ahmad saw families desperately searching for their loved ones amidst the rubble, their cries for help drowned out by the relentless shelling. The wounded lay on makeshift stretchers, their blood staining the ground, as overwhelmed medics did their best to provide care with dwindling supplies.

The path to Rafah was fraught with danger. They weaved through narrow alleys and abandoned streets, careful to avoid the most heavily bombarded areas. Himar, with his unyielding loyalty and keen sense of danger, often seemed to know where to turn before Ahmad did. Together, they formed an unspoken pact of survival, a bond forged in the crucible of war.

When they reached Deir al-Balah, Ahmad's heart sank at the sight of abandoned hospitals. He could hardly withstood the "Al-Shifa" Massacre in Gaza where he saw hundreds of lifeless bodies. Once bustling with doctors and nurses, these places of healing were now ghostly shells. Patients who had been too ill to move lay helplessly on gurneys, their weak cries for water and aid echoing in the empty corridors. The sight was a stark reminder of the inhumanity of war, and Ahmad felt a deep sense of helplessness wash over him.

Food was scarce, and water wells were broken by relentless bombing. Ahmad scavenged what he could from the ruins, sharing every precious morsel with Himar. They slept under the cover of darkness, hidden in the shadows of what remained of the city's architecture. Each morning brought a renewed sense of urgency, a race against the ever-present threat of another attack.

In Nuseirat Camp, the situation was equally dire. The camp was filled with wounded Palestinians, many of them children and women. Ahmad and Himar moved through the camp, offering what little comfort they could. He gave away the last of his water to a mother cradling her injured child, the gratitude in her eyes a small consolation in the face of such overwhelming need.

In a particularly harrowing moment, Ahmad witnessed an attack on a group of humanitarian workers from the World Food Kitchen. They were distributing food to desperate families when a missile struck nearby, sending a plume of dust and debris into the air. The workers, dedicated to alleviating the suffering of others, became targets themselves. Ahmad watched in horror as the scene unfolded, his heart breaking at the sight of those who had come to help now lying wounded amidst the chaos.

As they approached Rafah , the southernmost city in the Gaza Strip a city scarred by war but still standing, Ahmad felt a glimmer of hope. Perhaps here, they could find respite. The city was bustling with others seeking refuge, families torn apart by the conflict and children whose eyes held stories of loss and resilience. Ahmad and Himar , their tired bodies finding solace in the straw, found a small corner in a makeshift shelter where they rested for the first time in days.

For a day, they rested. Ahmad tended to Himar’s wounds, and Himar nuzzled his master’s hand in gratitude. They watched the sun dip below the horizon, casting a golden glow on the ruins of Rafah. The reprieve was short-lived. As night fell, the ominous roar of jets filled the air once more, and the ground trembled with the force of new explosions. Rafah, too, was now under siege. The sanctuary they had hoped for was no more, and Ahmad knew they couldn't stay.

With a heavy heart, Ahmad tightened Himar’s saddle, the heaviest thing he felt, “We must go,” he said, his voice barely audible. “North, where the olive groves still stand.”

Ahmad urged Himar to his feet, and together they set off once again, under the cover of darkness, towards north. Himar’s hooves echoed in the empty streets, a rhythm of determination. The journey was perilous, the stakes higher than ever. Every moment was a gamble, every step a leap of faith. Ahmad held the reins tightly, his eyes scanning the shadows for danger. The Israeli jets roared overhead, their payloads lighting up the night . But Ahmad and Himar had become experts in survival, their will unbroken by the horrors they had witnessed. They ran, fueled by desperation and love—the bond between man and beast unbreakable. Ahmad whispered prayers, and Himar’s ears twitched as if he understood. Together, they fled northward, leaving behind the shattered streets of Gaza.

As they trudged through the devastated landscape, Ahmad couldn't help but wonder why the world watched in silence as Gaza burned. The international community's inaction felt like a betrayal, a tacit endorsement of the violence that had turned his home into a battlefield. News outlets flashed images of destruction and despair, yet the powerful nations remained indifferent, their political interests outweighing the cries for justice. The silence of the world was deafening, a stark contrast to the explosive reality on the ground.

Through the devastated landscape of Gaza, their journey continued, a testament to the enduring spirit of those caught in the crossfire of conflict. Ahmad clung to the hope that one day, they would find a place where the bombs did not fall, and where the dreams of a peaceful life could take root once more.

In the olive groves, Ahmad and Himar found sanctuary. The ancient trees whispered secrets of endurance, their gnarled roots clinging to the earth. And as the sun rose, casting a gentle warmth upon their tired bodies, Ahmad knew they had defied the odds. “Me, my donkey, and the Endless streets of Gaza,” he mused. “We are survivors; Alhamdulillah.”

A Decade Later:

Ahmad, with his loyal donkey Himar, were transporting bricks and mortar to rebuilt their home. ?Endless streets of Gaza were again prosperous with tetra color flag of black, white and green. The only color which had a larger part was “RED” the color of blood, the Palestinian blood.