Issue link: https://maltatoday.uberflip.com/i/216204
17 News maltatoday, SUNDAY, 24 NOVEMBER 2013 nce the madness It took several long phone calls with my colleagues in Jerusalem to persuade them that I knew what I was doing, particularly as some 35,000 Israeli reservist troops were mobilised on the border of Gaza for a possible ground invasion, which thankfully didn't happen. In an ironic twist, just moments after my colleagues reached Jerusalem, the first Palestinian rocket landed a couple of miles away, triggering panic among Israel's civilian population. The truth is that once an escalation of this type starts, there is nowhere to hide in Gaza, nowhere to seek refuge. More than 1.7 million Palestinians living in the tiny enclave have been through this. The fear was palpable everywhere as the terrifying memories of Operation Cast Lead at the end of 2008 came back in full force. For me, staying was a choice, just like for the hundreds of journalists who rushed in to witness the deadly attacks. Gazans, on the other hand, are always trapped in this manmade prison. Some of our staff living close to the Israeli side risked their lives with nowhere to flee. We woke up on the first day to more bombs falling under a bright blue sky. As we were sipping coffee just before my colleagues would evacuate, our head of development programme, Chris, told me on the balcony, "The drones are still flying". I was holding a camera taking pictures. One thing that struck me was how the birds kept flying, turning it into a bizarrely beautiful scene that I managed to capture. "The drones are still flying, and so are the birds," was my first tweet on that day. That would not be the only surreal scene. As my colleagues were hurrying into the cars to leave and we bid our last goodbyes to be followed by the typical silence that comes after every departure, I could not stop laughing when I heard the egg seller doing the rounds with his donkey, shouting his trademark phrases for people to come out to buy fresh eggs, as if nothing was happening. As the days progressed and Gaza was relentlessly bombed, houses reduced to rubble and more civilians killed, I would see this group of builders from my window carrying on with their job, stopping for tea every now and then to look at the falling missiles destroying other buildings. At Shifa Hospital, hundreds of women, elderly people and children were being rushed with severe amputations and serious injuries while doctors were running out of anaesthetic, medical supplies and fuel to keep the generators going. Everyone was asking how long this would go on as supplies were running out. Nights were the worst, as Gaza was pounded by missiles launched by the Israeli navy out at sea, which I could hear whizzing overhead towards the heart of the city, the artillery shelling the strip from the north, and fighter jets and drones dropping their bombs. Despite the November cold, we had to keep windows open to avoid the blast. The earth trembled with some of the bombs that would detonate metres underground leaving enormous craters. Less than four years since Cast Lead, Gaza was still rebuilding from the rubble – most of it through foreign aid funding – and now it was being destroyed again. The inescapable sound of drones buzzing ominously overhead 24 hours a day felt like having a factory upstairs. The eighth day of attacks, on 21 November, finally led to an Egyptian-brokered ceasefire agreement meant to come in place at 9pm. The hours preceding it were the worst, with helicopter gunships flying amid the buildings and more civilians killed. As the designated hour approached, we waited with abated breath to see whether the agreement would hold. Drones kept flying overhead, but other than that, an eerie silence seemed to confirm this was for real. In an hour or so, people were swarming out of their houses to the sound of celebratory gunfire, holding flags and banners from all factions, riding anything that moved ¬– from donkeys and tuktuks to trucks and bicycles. It was one big party that I'll never forget, a sigh of relief for all those who made it through, although the scars and the trauma will remain forever. Indeed, despite Israel's promises in the ceasefire agreement, one year on, Gaza is still under blockade, actually more blockaded than ever as the tunnels linking it to Egypt have been all but destroyed. My colleagues there have had to stop their field trips because there is no more fuel going in. From daily eight-hour power cuts, Gaza is now running on less than 12 hours of power a day. Gaza remains cut off from the rest of Palestine; Palestinians barred from visiting their relatives on the other side. Fishermen are shot at if they approach the 6 nautical miles limit imposed on them, builders have no more construction material to finish off their work, thousands of Palestinians have lost their precarious jobs and more than 80% of them are dependent on humanitarian aid. And in the last days, we've seen another flare-up triggering fears that, once again, we'll be witnessing another escalation. For as long as the cruel Israeli blockade of Gaza remains, the ingredients for conflict will stay unchanged. And so will the meaning of "tomorrow will be better".