Donation Recieved
1.7%
My name is Roba Khaled. I am a mother of two, and like every mother, all I want is to keep my children safe. But in Gaza, that has become nearly impossible. We’re not here for attention. We’re not posting for likes. We speak because we are desperate to survive. Before the war, I was a caregiver, a homemaker, someone who could at least promise her children a warm bed and a plate of food. Today, I wake up unsure whether I can feed them at all. Our lives have become a constant state of emergency.
Food and water are nearly gone. A single bag of flour, if you can find it, costs more than $100. That used to be a month’s worth of groceries. Now it buys barely enough to make bread for a few days. I search every day—through destroyed markets, through broken roads—trying to find anything I can give my children. Sometimes we go to sleep hungry. Sometimes, there is no clean water, and I have to boil whatever I find to stop them from getting sick. We don’t eat to be full anymore—we eat to stay alive.
We live in a tent now, with nothing but thin plastic to shield us from the wind, the cold, and the fear. My youngest is just four years old and doesn’t understand why we can’t go home. My eldest, who is eight, no longer plays. He asks me why there are planes in the sky and what happened to his school. I don’t know what to tell him. I don’t know how to explain that his childhood was stolen while the world looked away. The fear in their eyes is the hardest thing to bear.
I used to dream of giving them a better life—school, safety, a future. Now, I just pray they survive the night. Gaza is not just under siege—it is starving. It is suffering. We are not statistics. We are families, mothers, children. And we are still here, fighting to be seen, fighting to be helped, fighting to stay alive. Please don’t look away.
