“Don’t forget the children of Gaza” a personal account

The following is written by Rosayla, a teenager from Gaza, who moved to Canada in February 2024. In her own words she shares her experiences and hope for the children still living in Gaza.  

My name is Rosayla, and it means “a small message.” I’m here to tell you what it’s like to be a child living in Gaza.   

I am 15 years old, and I have lived through many wars in Gaza, but the war in October 2023 was different.   

A year ago, I was getting ready for school and rockets were falling everywhere. I stayed home,, but many of my classmates were stuck in school , not knowing what was happening. At first, my parents didn’t know what was going on, until they saw smoke from the rockets. That’s when we knew something very bad was happening.   

I have many mixed feelings. I remember the sounds of loud explosions and the terrible things I saw during this war. Once, I saw a man who lost his head from the power of an explosion, and his blood was on the wall. I was so scared.   

One day, , I woke up, and everything around me was white. The smell of smoke and chemicals were everywhere. I didn’t know why. Later, I learned it was from the phosphorus gas. I wanted to leave as quickly as I could.  

We lived in the north of Gaza. One day in October, the Israeli army ordered us to leave right away.  I didn’t understand what was going on. My father was out trying to get food for us. I held my little sister, Zaina, in my arms—she’s only three years old—and we left everything behind. I wish I had time to get my clothes, but I had no time. I even didn’t wear any shoes. That was the start of our journey, my family of six people kept moving from place to place. We moved seven times before we were able to leave Gaza.  

In one of the places we stayed, there were more than 15 people in one small room. I was always afraid we would be bombed while we moved. I was scared of losing the people I love. We were so tired and couldn’t sleep because of the loud airplanes. We had very little to eat—just a few cans—and finding clean water was hard. My brother Mazen, who is seven years old, had to walk every day with my father to get water. They waited in line for hours just to bring back one or two gallons.  

People were sleeping in the streets. I saw a girl alone in the cold winter, and it broke my heart. Many children were alone, with no parents, just walking in the streets. These scenes will never leave my mind. I saw so many children in front of hospitals, in tents, with no place to go.   

One day, we were staying in Khan Younis, the Israeli attack was so strong that a boy was thrown into the air and smashed into our door. He was covered in blood. My father rushed him to the emergency room.  

After another move, we couldn’t find a place to stay. A tent was going to cost us about $700, we were lucky to find a place finally in a house in eastern Rafah. Tents are hard to live in. In January 2024, I visited my aunt, who has been living in a tent since October. I couldn’t stay there for more than five minutes. It was so hot, like being outside with just plastic bag above you. I keep thinking of her and my cousins.   

One week before we left Gaza, I was sick, I couldn’t find any medicine, my face was yellow because there was no good food to eat, only canned food.   

What gave me hope was my aunt in Canada. She kept telling us, “This will end one day. I am doing my best to get you out.” I held onto that hope and kept dreaming that this nightmare would end.  

I miss my school and my friends. One of my best friends, Salma, was trapped under the rubble when her building was bombed. I learned later she was alive for three days, but no one could save her. Today, her body is still under the rubble. My heart broke for her. She wanted to be an artist, and we always celebrated her birthday together—not this year. I wonder if Salma counted as one of the children killed or the ones  missing.  

We left Gaza in February 2024. It was not easy. Only people who could pay were able to leave. Many families have no chance.  

Now, I feel safer. My mental health is better, but I still see the things I lived through in my mind.  

Please, stop the war. Protect the children. Help people rebuild their lives. I know I can’t bring back my home, my family, or my friends, but I want this to end for the 1.1 million children who are still in Gaza.   

Remember my message: don’t forget the children of Gaza. Keep talking about us. Use your voice to help end this war.  

Thank you .