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Khan Younis, Gaza Strip – Historic landmarks often withstand centuries of volatile change, but when rockets and missiles fall, even the most enduring stones become fragile.

For generations of families in Gaza’s southern city of Khan Younis, the Grain Market was the first stop when they went shopping.

Reaching it meant walking past the historic Barquq Castle, a centuries-old structure dating back to 1387 and the very foundation of Khan Younis.

But for residents, the castle was more than an old monument; it was a familiar landmark marking the entrance to one of the city’s liveliest commercial spaces.

The aromatic scent of spices and dried herbs would accompany any walk towards the Grain Market.

But that was before Israel’s genocidal war on Gaza began. Israeli attacks inflicted heavy damage on the Grain Market and the Barquq Castle. The market has now been reduced to shattered alleys, with dust and heavy silence filling the air.

Sitting in his store along a row of damaged old shops, 60-year-old Nahed Barbakh, one of the city’s oldest and most well-known traders of staple food supplies, spent decades watching customers stream through the market. Now, only a handful pass by his shop.

“I’ve been in this spot for decades, day in and day out, watching people bring life to this place,” Nahed said. “Look at it now – it’s empty. These days, there shouldn’t even be space to walk because of the crowds preparing for Eid.”

He paused before gesturing towards the nearby castle.

“We always felt the weight of history here because we are so close to Barquq Castle. Now that history and life itself have been struck by the occupation.”

But Israeli fire did not take into account the market’s historic status. The Grain Market, long considered the economic heart of Khan Younis, was also among the first sites of destruction during the second month of Israel’s genocidal war on Gaza. More than two years of Israeli bombardment and repeated waves of displacement have left the market unrecognisable.

“The occupation killed many of our friends who worked here,” Nahed said quietly. “Those who survived have been financially broken. That’s why you see most of these shops are still closed.”

He pointed to some shelves behind him.

“My shop used to be fully stocked with goods at its high capacity. We even had extra warehouses to supply what people needed, especially during the busiest seasons.”

Before he could finish his sentence, a deafening blast interrupted him — the sound of an Israeli tank fire.

“And this is the biggest reason people are afraid to return,” Nahed said abruptly. “The yellow line is only a few hundred metres away from this street. At any moment, bullets can reach here.”

The yellow line is the name given to the demarcation line behind which Israeli forces withdrew as part of the first phase of October’s ceasefire agreement. It effectively divides Gaza into two, and Palestinians have repeatedly been shot for approaching it.

The yellow line has divided Khan Younis, dramatically reshaping the city’s geography. Israel has repeatedly shifted the line, moving it deeper into Gaza.

The Grain Market, once firmly at the centre of urban life, now sits close to the yellow line.

What used to be the city’s commercial heart has effectively turned into its edge, where people hesitate to walk, leaving the revival of daily commerce life a distant prospect.

Centuries of endurance

The Grain Market traces its origins to the late 14th century, when the Mamluk ruler Younis al-Nawruzi established Khan Younis in 1387 as a strategic stop along the trade route linking Egypt and the Levant.

Built as an extension of the Barquq Castle, which functioned as a caravanserai for travelling merchants, the market became a central commercial hub where traders and travellers exchanged goods, moving between Africa, the Levant and beyond.

The Grain Market occupies roughly 2,400sq metres (25,830sq feet). Its single-floor shops line a central street running east to west, intersected by narrow alleys branching towards smaller courtyards. The buildings preserve elements of their original construction, including sandstone walls and traditional binding materials that have survived centuries of repairs and modifications.

Over time, the market evolved into the primary commercial centre of Khan Younis, adapting to modern commerce while retaining its historic character.

But today, many of its shops stand damaged or shuttered.

According to Gaza’s Ministry of Tourism and Antiquities, the market is now among more than 200 heritage sites damaged in attacks by Israeli forces across the Gaza Strip since October 2023.

At the southern end of the Grain Market, where rows of vegetable stalls once overflowed with fresh produce, only one makeshift stand has opened.

Om Saed al-Farra, a local, stepped cautiously towards the stall, inspecting the small piles of vegetables laid out on a wooden crate. The expression on her face reflected more than surprise; it was disbelief at what the market had become.

“The market is deplorable now,” she said. “There used to be many stalls here and many choices for people.”

She gestured towards the empty stretch of the market’s vegetable section, once one of its busiest corners.

“These days were once filled with extensive joyful preparations for Eid, when families crowded the market to shop for food and essentials,” al-Farra said. “Now the market feels unusually gloomy, its stalls largely empty and its familiar vibrance gone. Everything is limited. Even if you have money, there are hardly any places left here for us to buy from.”

Economic collapse under fire

Although parts of the market’s infrastructure remain physically standing, many traders have not returned.

According to Khan Younis Mayor Alaa el-Din al-Batta, the Grain Market was once one of the city’s most vital economic lifelines.

“Just as it once connected continents, even under blockade, it continued to connect people across Gaza,” al-Batta said. “It holds a deep place in the memory of our residents. But once again, the occupation has brought destruction, targeting both our history and a critical lifeline for the people.”

For nearly two decades, Israel has controlled Gaza’s land crossings, airspace and coastline under a strict blockade. Since the genocide began in October 2023, restrictions have tightened further, pushing businesses and trade to collapse.

In a narrow western alley where scattered stones cover the ground, two cloaks hung outside a small shop. Inside, 57-year-old tailor Mohammad Abdul Ghafour leaned over his sewing machine, carefully stitching a torn shirt.

His shop was the only one open in the grey alley.

“I’ve been here since childhood,” Abdul Ghafour said. “My father opened this shop in 1956, and I grew up learning the profession right here in the market.”

Israel’s bombardment not only destroyed the place where he worked; it also killed dozens of his family members.

“On December 7, 2023, Israel committed a horrific massacre against my family,” he said. “I lost my father, my brothers, and more than 30 relatives.”

Burying his family members was only the beginning of the long, painful separation from the market and his shop.

“We were forced into displacement more than 12 times. I had many chances to leave as two of my children live in Europe,” Abdul Ghafour said. “But all I could think about was returning to my shop.”

When Israeli forces withdrew to the yellow line, he came back alone.

“I cleaned the street by myself. And if I had to do it again, I would. Whoever loves his land never abandons it,” he said. “I charge my batteries for my machine and come every day. My return encouraged some residents to come back too. But people still need shelter, water, and basic services before more families return.”

Resident Mohammad Shahwan stood in Nahed’s shop checking a list of items he hoped to buy.

“We left the crowded al-Mawasi as soon as we could to return to our damaged home,” he said, referring to the stretch of coastal Khan Younis that thousands of Palestinians have been forcibly displaced to. “But the number of residents here is still very small because of the destruction and lack of services.”

Still, Mohammad Shahwan said he was relieved to find the shop open at all.

“For the first time in two years, we’ll make traditional Eid biscuits,” he said, holding the list of ingredients. “The last two Eids were dark for my family after we lost my 17-year-old son, Salama. He and his aunt were killed by an Israeli strike.”

He could have bought the now-expensive supplies elsewhere, he said, but returning to the Grain Market carried its own meaning. “I wanted to buy them from here, just like we always did.”

Waiting for restoration

According to Mayor al-Batta, restoring the historic market will require a major reconstruction effort.

“The Grain Market needs a comprehensive restoration process to function again,” he said. “So far, our work has only been limited to clearing rubble and delivering limited water supplies for returning residents.”

The rebuilding process will require specialised materials and expert restoration work to preserve what is left of the historic structure. Municipal workers have already collected leftover stones from the ruins in the hope that they can one day be used in rebuilding parts of the market.

But reconstruction remains impossible under current conditions.

“More than five months have passed since the ceasefire began, yet not a single bag of cement has entered Gaza,” al-Batta said.

“We want to restore our historic identity and revive life for our people. But neither can happen while Israeli restrictions and violations continue.”

Gaza City, the Gaza Strip – On February 28, Lama Abu Reida was just a few hours away from what she hoped would change the fate of her sick infant daughter, Alma.

The family had finally been informed that the baby girl – fewer than five months old and unable to breathe without an oxygen machine – was eligible for medical evacuation.

The small travelling bag was packed, the medical documents in order, and Abu Rheida ready to go. All that remained was to exit the Rafah crossing between Gaza and Egypt and from there head to Jordan, where Alma could undergo a surgery that was not available in the Gaza Strip.

But just one day before the scheduled March 1 trip, Israel shut Gaza’s crossings “until further notice”, citing security reasons. The decision coincided with the launch of a joint military attack alongside the United States on Iran – and shattered Abu Rheida’s hopes.

“They told me the crossing had been closed without any warning because of the war with Iran,” the mother says in a choked voice.

Alma, who suffers from a lung cyst, has been at Nasser Hospital in Khan Younis, in southern Gaza, for more than three months now, with her mother staying by her side day and night.

“She cannot do without oxygen at all,” Abu Rheida says. “Without it, she becomes extremely exhausted.”

‘I don’t know what might happen’

The Rafah crossing, Gaza’s main gateway to the outside world, was closed for long periods during Israel’s genocidal war against Palestinians in the Strip that began in October 2023.

On February 1, Israel announced a limited reopening as part of a trial phase following a “ceasefire” with the Palestinian group Hamas. This allowed some movement under the agreement’s arrangements, particularly for medical cases.

But only a few patients were able to travel, and thousands remained on waiting lists until the February 28 closure, which stopped the transfer of wounded patients abroad, as well as medical evacuations of patients like Alma.

Doctors had told her family the only option for Alma, who was previously admitted to intensive care three times within a month, was to have surgery abroad to remove the cyst from the lung. While not particularly risky, such an operation cannot be done inside Gaza due to limited medical resources.

“My daughter’s life depends on a single surgery, and afterwards she could live a completely normal life,” Abu Rheida says.

“If her travel is delayed any longer … I don’t know what might happen. Her condition is not reassuring,” she adds in despair.

On Sunday, Israeli authorities said ⁠the Rafah crossing will ⁠open again on Wednesday for ”limited movement of people” in both directions.

‘The closure killed my children’

The very thing Abu Rheida fears is something Hadeel Zorob has already endured.

Zorob’s six-year-old son, Sohaib, died on March 1, 2025, while her eight-year-old daughter, Lana, passed away on February 18 last month. The two children suffered from a rare genetic disease that causes gradual deterioration in the body’s functions.

They were both waiting for medical referrals to travel abroad for treatment – but that never happened.

“I watched my children die slowly in front of my eyes, one after the other, without being able to do anything,” says Zorob, 32, breaking down in tears.

Lana was only a few days away from travelling before she passed away.

“My daughter’s travel had been scheduled around the same period when the crossing was later closed, but she died before that,” Zorob says.

“When the news of the crossing closure came, my grief for my daughter returned all over again as I remembered the many children who will suffer the same fate.”

Zorob says her children were still able to move and play relatively normally in the early stages of their illness.

Before Israel’s war on Gaza, both children were receiving specialised hospital treatment, which helped stabilise their condition to some extent. But as the Israeli attacks intensified, their condition gradually worsened until it reached a life-threatening stage. The collapse of Gaza’s healthcare system left the family struggling to access the medications they relied on.

“We even tried to bring the medicine from the West Bank, and I asked the Red Cross and the World Health Organization, but nothing worked,” Zorob says.

During the war, she and her family had to leave their home and move into a tent in the al-Mawasi area. The new displacament conditions made caring for the children much harder.

“Both were bedridden … in diapers, and their blood sugar needed regular monitoring. We had to give fluids and watch their food … all this in a tent with no basic necessities.”

Zorob says she feels like “going crazy” when she thinks that her children might have survived and improved if they were able to get treatment abroad.

“The closure of the crossings killed my children!” she adds, her voice filled with anguish. “The world gives no value to our lives or to the lives of our children … this has become something normal.”

Zorob says she is trying to stay strong for her third child, four-year-old Layan, despite the persisting pain.

“All I want is that what happened to my children does not happen to any other mother … that the crossing be reopened and that children and patients be allowed to travel.”

‘Is that too much to ask?’

According to the Health Ministry in Gaza, more than 20,000 patients and wounded people are waiting to travel abroad for medical treatment.

Among them are about 4,000 cancer patients in need of specialised care unavailable in Gaza, and roughly 4,500 children.

The lists also include around 440 “life-saving” cases needing urgent intervention and nearly 6,000 wounded people who require continued hospital care outside of Gaza.

The Al-Dameer Association for Human Rights has called the Rafah crossing’s closure a form of collective punishment for civilians in Gaza, warning that it “sentences more patients to death” and deepens Gaza’s humanitarian crisis.

For Amal al-Talouli, the closure of the Rafah crossing was another devastating blow in her battle with cancer.

The 43-year-old has been suffering from breast cancer for about five years. Although she underwent treatment before the war, the disease returned and spread to other parts of her body, including the spine.

“Praise be to God, we accept our fate,” the mother of two says. “Still, why should our suffering worsen because we are prevented from travelling and the crossings are closed?”

Al-Talouli is currently living with relatives after losing her home in the Beit Lahiya project area, in northern Gaza, during the war.

Displacement was not an easy choice due to her health condition, she says. The situation is compounded by a severe shortage of medications and specialised medical staff – a reality also experienced by other cancer patients in Gaza.

“There is a shortage of everything,” al-Talouli says. “I developed osteoporosis and eye fluid from chemotherapy. Chemo needs good nutrition, but malnutrition and famine made it much harder.”

Al-Talouli says the shutdown of the crossings made things worse.

“[It] affects us very, very much. No medicines are entering, and no essential treatments are coming in,” says al-Talouli, whose name was on a waiting list to travel outside of Gaza for treatment.

She stresses that cancer patients in Gaza urgently need support.

“Now I only want the crossing to reopen so I can have a chance to recover and continue my life with my children,” she says. “Is that too much to ask?”

Police make 12 arrests as demonstrators defy government restrictions to gather on Thames embankment.

Hundreds gathered in central London for the annual Al-Quds Day demonstration, an international show of solidarity with Palestinians that this year took place under sweeping new restrictions and a heavy police presence.

Crowds assembled on Sunday along the Albert Embankment of the River Thames, where demonstrators waved Palestinian flags, held banners, and chanted slogans – some carrying images of Iran’s late Supreme Leader Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, who was killed earlier this month during US-Israeli attacks on Iran.

Police made 12 arrests during the event, including for showing support for a proscribed organisation and threatening or abusive behaviour.

Chants of “from the river to the sea” and “Israel is a terror state” were heard. Al-Quds Day is named after the Arabic name for Jerusalem.

More than 1,000 officers were deployed across the area ahead of what police Assistant Commissioner Ade Adelekan warned would still be “a difficult public order weekend”. Earlier estimates suggested 12,000 people could attend, but only hundreds showed up.

The demonstration marked the first time in more than a decade that authorities banned the march through the capital.

Home Secretary Shabana Mahmood approved Scotland Yard’s request for a month-long prohibition on marches, with the government citing public disorder risks linked to the “volatile situation in the Middle East”, and potential clashes between different groups of demonstrators.

Organisers from the Islamic Human Rights Commission proceeded with a “static” rally in defiance, telling supporters the event would go ahead regardless.

The group accused London police of having “capitulated to the pressure of the Zionist lobby”.

‘Words have consequences’

Al-Quds Day takes place annually on the final Friday of Ramadan, with rallies held worldwide in solidarity with Palestinians and in opposition to Israel’s occupation of Palestinian territory. It was held on Sunday in London as Friday was a regular workday.

Police put demonstrators on notice that “intifada” chants and displays of support for proscribed groups would result in arrest, with Adelekan stating “these words have consequences”.

On the opposite bank, a smaller counterprotest organised by Stop The Hate and the Lion Guard of Iran drew Iranian dissidents and others opposed to the Islamic Republic, some waving Israeli flags.

Scotland Yard used the River Thames as a physical barrier, with police boats patrolling the water and Lambeth Bridge closed to separate the two sides.

Both demonstrations were confined to the stretch between Vauxhall and Lambeth bridges and permitted only between 1pm and 3pm.

Both demonstrations wrapped up at 3pm, with police saying the security plan had worked and neither side attempted to breach conditions by marching.

Occupied East Jerusalem – Basema Dabash sheds tears daily for the home she and her husband, Raed, were forced to demolish in Sur Baher, in the south of occupied East Jerusalem.

For years, the couple lived under the spectre of losing their home, ever since the Israeli authorities issued a demolition order in 2014. In January of this year, the eviction notice came. And then, on February 12, the family were forced to demolish their home. If they didn’t, they would have been forced to pay the municipality to carry out the demolition.

“We were forced to start demolishing the house ourselves to avoid the municipality’s demolition fees, which can reach 100,000 shekels [$32,000],” Basema, 51, said. “We started by breaking down the inside of the house and sent the municipality photos to confirm that we had begun the demolition, but they demanded that we demolish it from the outside as soon as possible.”

The family soon completed the demolition of the two houses where eight people, including three children, lived. However, this didn’t waive the fine of 45,000 shekels ($14,600), which will continue to be paid in instalments until 2029.

‘Self-demolition’ haunts Palestinians living in East Jerusalem, which has been controlled by Israel since 1967, and illegally merged with West Jerusalem under one Israeli-run administration.

The choice between self-demolition and paying a further fee to the municipality is a simple one – the vast majority of Palestinians can’t afford to pay the exorbitant amount, and resort to demolishing their own homes, despite the immense pain and profound psychological impact it causes.

‘How did we come to this?’

Basema’s troubles started in 2014, when she received a building violation notice from the Israeli municipality in Jerusalem for the building she and her husband shared with their married son, Mohammed, and his family. They appealed at the time to an Israeli court in an attempt to freeze the demolition order.

For more than a decade, the family was forced to pay accumulated fines in an attempt to keep their home. Then, on January 28, they received an eviction notice, giving them a deadline to vacate the house and have it demolished.

The house slated for demolition was 45 square metres (485sq feet), an extension Basema had added to her existing 45-square-metre home. She had also built a similar-sized residence for her married son on top of the extension. The demolition order targeted both the extension and her son’s residence.

The Dabash family tried to obtain a building permit for the house several times, but their requests were rejected by Israel. Despite this, the municipality fines Palestinians and demolishes their homes under the pretext of lacking permits.

“We chose to demolish our own house not only to avoid the fine, but also because the municipal crews show no mercy to anything around the house and deliberately vandalise the entire area under the pretext of demolition, breaking trees and causing extensive damage that we could have done without,” Basema said.

Basema, along with her husband and one of her sons, Abdelaziz, now lives in what remains of their home. Mohammed has also moved in with them, while his wife and children live in her family’s home. The demolition has thus scattered her son’s family, who haven’t yet been able to find a small house to rent due to the high cost of housing.

The family also incurred significant expenses removing the rubble and redesigning the older section of the house to accommodate everyone, not to mention the psychological toll, which has been devastating.

“I stand to wash the dishes and find my tears falling on their own. How did we come to this? Why are we being subjected to this injustice? The house has become cramped and barely fits us. My grandchildren visit us and then cry bitterly when they leave for their grandfather’s house because we have no space,” Basema said sadly.

Increased demolitions

As illegal Israeli settlements continue to expand in East Jerusalem and the occupied West Bank, with building permits easily obtained, Palestinians say the double standards are obvious.

Human Rights Watch has found that Israeli authorities make it “virtually impossible for Palestinians to obtain building permits”, and the Israeli human rights organisation B’Tselem said planning policies in East Jerusalem make it “very difficult for residents to obtain building permits”.

Marouf al-Rifai, spokesperson for the Palestinian Authority’s Jerusalem Governorate, told Al Jazeera that 15 self-demolitions were carried out last February, five in January, and 104 in December.

Demolitions, in general, escalated to unprecedented levels after October 2023, when Israel’s genocidal war on Gaza began. Al-Rifai said that 400 demolitions were carried out in 2025 in East Jerusalem and its surrounding area, either by municipal crews or by homeowners themselves. Prior to that, the number of demolitions had reached a maximum of 180 per year.

The United Nations has reported that demolitions in 2025 displaced 1,500 Palestinians.

“Even the method of carrying out demolitions changed after the war on Gaza,” al-Rifai said. “Previously, demolitions were only carried out after exhausting all legal avenues and giving residents the opportunity to appeal to the courts and freeze the demolitions.”

But Israeli authorities have taken a more punitive position since demolition policy fell under the influence of far-right Israeli National Security Minister Itamar Ben-Gvir, who began pushing for Israeli army bulldozers to carry out demolitions without even notifying the homeowners, al-Rifai said.

In addition, the Palestinian Authority official said, demolition notices for Palestinian homes in Jerusalem increased from 25,000 before the war to 35,000. The town of Silwan alone has received 7,000 demolition notices since 1967.

Fakhri Abu Diab, a member of the Committee for the Defence of al-Bustan Neighborhood in East Jerusalem, told Al Jazeera that self-demolition is a double punishment and pain for the homeowner after the effort and hardship involved in building the house.

“Israel’s goal is to break the morale of the Palestinians and to brainwash them into becoming tools for implementing its plans to demolish homes. When we demolish our own homes, it’s as if we are demolishing a part of our own body,” he explained.

Israel can only demolish a limited number of Palestinian homes annually due to logistical, financial, budgetary, and logistical constraints. Demolition by Palestinians multiplies the number of homes demolished, thus turning the victim into a “demolition contractor”, as he put it.

“I refused to demolish my house myself because of the negative consequences that I and my family would have to live with for the rest of our lives, and the Israeli bulldozers demolished it. If I had done it myself, it would have remained a nightmare that would haunt me.”

No alternative

But the cost of a demolition carried out by Israeli municipal crews ranges between 80,000 and 120,000 shekels ($26,000-$39,000).

Saqr Qunbur couldn’t pay that, and was forced instead, on December 26, to demolish his 100-square-metre (1,076sq-foot) house in Jabal al-Mukabber under the pretext of lacking a permit. He had built it in 2013 and was immediately issued a building violation notice.

Saqr told Al Jazeera that he had lived in the house with his wife and four-year-old child. Since building the house, he has received a total of 80,000 shekels ($26,000) in fines that he’s still paying despite his home being demolished.

Saqr had nowhere to live after being forced to demolish his house, so his neighbour gave him a dilapidated room to live in while he found a place to rent.

“My child has been suffering psychologically since we demolished the house. Every day he asks me why I demolished it, and I don’t know what to tell him. I say it’s so I can build him a better house, but deep down I know I won’t even be able to rent a suitable place,” he explained with anguish.

Saqr chose to demolish his house himself after he says an Israeli officer threatened him, saying, “Demolish it, or I’ll demolish it over your head”. He also wanted to avoid the humiliation that accompanies demolitions carried out by Israel, where police sometimes fire live ammunition and tear gas at family members and carry out assaults, as documented by human rights groups.

“I developed diabetes and high blood pressure after my house was demolished. The doctor said it was due to anger and grief. This is an occupation that wants to expel us from our land, and we want to stay,” he concluded.

The Israeli military has dropped charges against five soldiers, whose alleged sexual abuse of a Palestinian detainee was caught on camera. The video caused international outrage but also led to protests in support of the soldiers in Israel.

Gaza City, the Gaza Strip – Shortly before the call to sunset prayer, Islam Dardouna stretches her hand towards a pot hanging over a makeshift stove fashioned from a battered metal can, with scraps of paper and pieces of wood feeding the fire beneath it.

Then she pauses. She turns her face away from the rising tongues of smoke. Her face stained with a thin layer of soot and her clothes steeped in the lingering smell of fumes, she takes a deep breath but does not immediately lift the lid.

In her right hand, Dardouna holds an asthma inhaler as though it were a ladle or tongs. With her other hand, she tries to prepare food for her three children.

“I can no longer tolerate the fire at all,” the 34-year-old says in a strained voice as she raises the inhaler to her mouth.

“We heat water on it, cook on it … everything. It completely destroyed my health,” she said, pointing to her chest.

Dardouna has been displaced from Jabalia in northern Gaza since the start of Israel’s genocidal war against Palestinians in the territory in October 2023.

She now lives with her husband – 37-year-old Muath Dardouna – and their children in Sheikh Ajleen, west of Gaza City.

A year and a half ago, their home was destroyed. Since then, the family has moved from place to place until they eventually settled in this camp alongside other displaced families.

Everything changed after the war began. But for Dardouna, having to cook daily over an open fire in the face of cooking gas and fuel ranks among the worst.

“Our entire life now is a struggle, searching for wood and things we never imagined we would need one day,” she says. “There is no cooking gas and no gas cylinders. We lost all of that during displacement.”

What makes the situation even harder is that she suffers from asthma and chronic chest allergies, conditions she says began during Israel’s 2008 war on Gaza when she inhaled the smoke of a phosphorus bomb that dropped on her house. Her situation improved over the years, but has dramatically worsened during the current war.

“I developed airway obstruction, and recently there were masses found in my lungs,” said Dardouna, who in January was hospitalised for six days after suffering from oxygen shortage.

“The doctors prescribed an oxygen cylinder for me,” she says, quietly. “But unfortunately, I cannot afford it.”

A prolonged shortage

Like so many others across Gaza, Dardouna is struggling amid a prolonged shortage of cooking gas and fuel that has persisted since the start of the war.

Supplies have remained severely limited even after a “ceasefire” came into effect in October that included provisions allowing the entry of fuel and essential goods into the territory.

However, the quantities that have entered since then remain far below the population’s actual needs, according to official sources in Gaza and United Nations agencies.

The UN Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs says the availability of cooking gas in Gaza remains “critically constrained”, with the limited quantities entering the territory covering less than three percent of what is required.

As a result, many families have been forced to rely on alternative and often hazardous cooking methods.

UN data indicates that about 54.5 percent of households rely on firewood for cooking, roughly 43 percent burn waste or plastic, and only around 1.5 percent are able to cook with gas.

Humanitarian groups warn that such unsafe alternatives endanger people’s health and the environment due to prolonged exposure to smoke and toxic fumes produced by burning plastic and other waste.

Amid these conditions, cooking over open fires made from wood, scrap materials or plastic has become a daily reality across displacement camps and neighbourhoods throughout Gaza.

The crisis has intensified during the Muslim holy month Ramadan, when families must prepare both suhoor meals before their daily fast and iftar meals afterwards.

Firewood has become expensive, requiring a daily budget. Lighting the fire before dawn is also often difficult due to the lack of lighting and unfavourable weather conditions, so the family often skips the pre-dawn meal entirely.

“Today, for example, it’s raining and windy. I couldn’t light the fire,” said Darduna’s husband, Muath, who is also helping out with the daily cooking.

“Even when we break our fast, we wish we could drink a cup of tea or coffee afterwards, but we can’t, because lighting the fire again is another struggle.”

A former psychosocial support worker for children, Muath says it pains him to see his children fasting without suhoor.

“Every detail of our lives is literally suffering,” he says. “Fetching water is suffering. Cooking is suffering. Even going to the bathroom is suffering. We are truly exhausted,” he added.

“Our lives are covered in soot,” Muath says, pointing to the black smoke stains left by the fire.

He describes gas as “one of our dreams”, recalling how “it felt like Eid day” when the family got a gas cylinder a few months ago. “But we don’t even have the stove to use it, and many families are like us,” he said.

“We are living on the edge of nothing. Displacement and war stripped us of everything,” he adds. “We are willing to live with the simplest rights in tents. But there is no heating, no gas, no lighting. It feels like we are living in open graves on Earth.”

Serious implications

In a statement on Wednesday, the General Petroleum Authority in Gaza warned of the “catastrophic and dangerous consequences of the continued halt in cooking gas supplies” to the territory, stressing that the crisis “directly affects the lives of more than two million residents” amid already dire humanitarian conditions.

The authority said Gaza had already been facing a shortfall of about 70 percent of its actual gas needs compared with the quantities that entered after the “ceasefire” announcement.

It added that the “complete suspension of gas supplies places the Gaza Strip before a looming disaster that threatens food and health security”, particularly during Ramadan.

The authority also said that preventing gas from entering the enclave constitutes a “clear violation of the ceasefire understandings”, calling on mediators and international actors to intervene urgently to ensure the regular flow of cooking gas into Gaza.

Across Gaza, many families now rely on ready-made meals from aid distributions and charity kitchens because of economic collapse and the difficulty of cooking.

“Even when food arrives ready hours before iftar,” Muath says, “heating it becomes another problem.”

The frustration of daily survival pushes Muath to the brink.

“As a father now, I cannot even provide the most basic things,” he says. “Imagine my son simply wants a cup of tea … even a little wind can stop me from making it.”

‘The fire suffocates you’

In a nearby tent, Amani Aed al-Bashleqi, 26, sits watching food being cooked over an open fire for iftar while her husband stirs the pot.

She said cooking on fire makes food taste “flavourless” – not because the taste changes, but because “exhaustion and suffering have become part of every bite”.

“We start cooking early so we can finish by iftar, and after breaking the fast, my husband and I are completely exhausted and covered in soot.”

Like Dardouna, al-Bashleqi says the smoke causes severe headaches and health problems.

“The fire suffocates you. All the women in the camp suffer health problems from cooking on fire,” she says. “But we have no choice.”

She has a seven-month-old baby, and her biggest worry is boiling water for his milk.

“Sometimes I boil water and keep it in a borrowed thermos, but I don’t always have one,” she says. “And sometimes when he wakes up at night, I mix the milk with water without boiling it, even though I know that’s not healthy. But what can I do?”

Nearby, Iman Junaid, 34, displaced from Jabalia to western Gaza City, sits with her husband Jihad, 36, in front of the fire preparing food.

Junaid blows on the flames while she pushes an empty plastic oil bottle under the fire.

Behind them, bags full of plastic bottles are piled up. The family collected them to fuel the fire because cooking gas has been unavailable for months.

A mother of six, Junaid says she knows the health dangers of burning plastic, but has “no other choice”.

“My little daughter is one year old, and her chest always hurts because she inhales the smoke,” she says. “Our life is collecting and burning plastic and nylon.”

“With the price of wood rising, we now wish we could even find wood. Gas has become almost impossible … we’ve forgotten it.”

She said there were many promises that gas would enter Gaza after the “ceasefire”, but “nothing happened”.

For Dardounah, the solution is not simply bringing cooking gas into Gaza. “What we need is for life to become possible again,” she says.

“Let gas enter. Let goods enter at reasonable prices. Let there be basic necessities for a normal life.”