A personal account of survival, loss and unbroken hope during two years of war and famine. Mariam Salah’s story is not only a single life unfolded; it is a mirror of a community under siege. Over two relentless years of conflict in Gaza, Mariam faced the collapse of normal life — the scarcity of food, the constant thunder of shells and rockets, and the impossible choices that war forces upon ordinary people. This account follows her journey: the daily grind of survival, the decision to flee, and the fragile hopes that kept her going.
Life Under Siege
At first, shortage meant small inconveniences — a missing ingredient at supper, queues at the bakery. Soon, shortages hardened into hunger. Supplies dwindled; shops closed; water and medicine became precious and precarious. Mariam watched as neighbours who had always been self-sufficient began to rely on one another for the most basic things. The strain revealed the best and worst of human nature: quiet generosity from strangers, and the gruelling stress that erodes patience.
Nights were the hardest. The sound of distant bombardment, then the nearer, terrifying roar of rockets and falling debris, made sleep rare and fragmented. Each strike could mean loss of a home, a livelihood, or worse — a loved one. Mariam learned to move at a moment’s notice, to count on community networks, and to keep a small bag packed "just in case".
The Decision to Leave
Leaving was not an act of bravery so much as an act of necessity. The day the shells came closer to the neighbourhood, Mariam realised that staying would be a slow, intolerable death. But escape was chaotic: roads clogged with families, checkpoints uncertain, and the constant risk of being caught in crossfire. She travelled with a handful of belongings, a photograph of her family, and the knowledge that wherever she went, the memory of home would follow.
Along the route, Mariam witnessed both compassion and cruelty. People opened doors, shared bread, and offered shelter; others turned away in fear. Food was scarce, and famine hung over the traveler’s caravan like a shadow — a reminder that war kills not only with weapons but by denying the means to live.
The Aftermath and Quiet Strength
Now, in the uncertain calm between skirmishes, Mariam works to rebuild a measure of normality. She volunteers where she can, helps to prepare food distributions, and speaks quietly to younger children about the importance of keeping hope alive. Her strength is not theatrical — it is daily persistence, the small rituals that make life bearable: boiling a pot of tea, teaching a child to read, tending a tiny patch of soil.
“We do not forget,” Mariam says, “but we learn to carry what we can and give the rest away.”
Mariam Salah’s experience is a testament to human resilience amid devastation. Her journey from the besieged streets of Gaza, through hunger and bombardment, and finally to a fragile safety, echoes the stories of thousands. Writing about her is a way of honouring those who survive and remembering those who did not. Above all, it is a reminder that compassion and practical aid matter — in easing immediate suffering and in offering a sliver of dignity when the world feels otherwise lost.