Satoru HasegawaWeekly Gaza
Vol.9
April 6, 2026
2/2
*Continued from https://kolektiva.social/@DailyGaza/116357437674122031
🟪The TwinS
@kr7you5
*Attached image is their destroyed house.
📨Last post dated Mar. 22:
Today is the second day of Eid al-Fitr… 💔
And in Gaza, many families couldn’t celebrate or provide even the simplest essentials.
Children without new clothes, homes without enough food.
Their joy can begin with your support, even if it’s something small 🤲💛
Don’t leave them alone on this day… be the reason a child smiles.
https://mastodon.social/@kr7you5/116268048925466554
📨Post dated Mar. 5:
Until the moment, I'm not able to realise that I lost my home. I miss how we used to gather in the Iftar table in our home in Ramadan. I remember how beautiful Ramadan vibes were in our home.
I literally miss every single moment I lived in my home
Help us to rebuild it
https://mastodon.social/@kr7you5/116172732249429173
*1st image is from this post. 2nd is from
📨Post dated Feb. 26:
That's what remains from our home some stone
It take 20 years from my dad and my grandfather to build it destroyed in second
Help us to rebuild it again
https://mastodon.social/@kr7you5/116136115011651387
*2nd and 3rd images are from this post.
📨Post dated Feb. 25:
In a small house where the smell of the sea drifted in every morning in Gaza, five children lived together, filling the rooms with laughter louder than anything else.
There were three boys: Kareem, the oldest, who acted as if he were responsible for everyone; Aboud, who never seemed to sit still; and little Yousef, who ran after his brothers trying his best to grow up as fast as possible.
And with them were twin sisters who were completely different from each other.
...
Julia was quiet and thoughtful. She loved drawing and sitting by the window, watching the sky and keeping her dreams inside a small notebook she hid carefully.
Nabila, on the other hand, was full of energy—always moving, always laughing. She played soccer with her brothers and came home with dusty clothes and the widest smile.
Kareem dreamed of building them a bigger house one day.
Aboud was always planning his next adventure.
Yousef copied everyone, determined to prove he wasn’t little anymore
...
Julia drew the world the way she wished it could be.
And Nabila lived every moment as if it were an exciting game.
Five different children…
But when they were together, they became one story—one small family wrapped in warmth, love, and the simple joy of ordinary days.
https://mastodon.social/@kr7you5/116126237473243639
🚩Excerpt from the donation site:
"My Name is Mohammad… This Is Not a Life, It's a Struggle to Survive"
My name is Mohammad, I’m 34 years old. I used to live a simple life in a small house in Gaza with my wife, my mother, and our five children: Kareem, Aboud, Yousef, Nabila, and Julia.
Our home was modest, but it was warm. It held our laughter, the smell of fresh bread, and the peace of quiet nights. But all of that disappeared in a single moment.
One night, the bombing shook the ground beneath us. Our house collapsed like paper. I ran, screaming the names of my children. I didn’t want to die―not because I feared death, but because I couldn’t bear the thought of my children not making it.
We survived by a miracle, but we didn’t escape the nightmare. Our home was gone. Our lives scattered. And so began our journey of displacement.
Since that night, we’ve moved from one place to another, from one ruin to the next, until we ended up in a tent unfit for human life.
Little Julia cries every night from the unbearable heat. Her skin reacts to the sun, and I can do nothing.
Nabila, just 8 years old, asks me: “Baba, why don’t we have a house anymore? Why does my stomach always hurt?”
Aboud, ten years old, tries to act strong―but every time a bomb explodes nearby, he jumps into his mother’s arms.
Yousef, who’s only six, is now afraid to sleep. He says the nightmares chase him.
And Kareem, our eldest at thirteen, whispered to me one night: “Baba, if we die… will we finally be at peace?”
How do I answer that?
And the water? We drink what we can find―dirty, unsafe water. I know it makes them sick, but I have no other choice.
My mother is ill, but there’s no medicine. My wife cries silently with her head in her hands, so the children won’t see.
All I have left are empty hands, and a broken heart that fears losing his children slowly, every single day.
I try to be strong for them. I smile. I tell them tomorrow will be better. But deep down, I know I'm lying.
We’re not living… we’re just surviving.
And with every passing moment, I fear losing one of them. I fear I won’t be able to save them next time.
This is not life. This is an endless hell.
https://www.chuffed.org/project/help-twins
- - -
These accounts have been silent for over 10 days.
Rereading their Mastodon posts and donation page texts, Each of their stories are deeply moving.
And that makes their silence all the more unsettling.
Isn't it?
Kyiv Independent Daily Headlines
eslam94🇵🇸🍉
Diaa-Ayyad 97
Baraa family🕊🤍
Susan Ville
Mohammed🍉
