Three Palestinian women tell of giving birth in Jabalia refugee camp under the threat of Israeli shelling and bombing.
Jabalia, Gaza Strip – In Jabalia, the joy of welcoming a newborn is marred, to say the least.
Marred by the pain of displacement, by mothers having to give birth as fighter jets streak overhead and by the uncertainty of what kind of future these babies will have.
media spoke to three women sheltering in a United Nations school in Jabalia in northern Gaza about their pregnancies and births, the losses they have suffered and whether they are able to derive joy from the arrival of their babies.
Aya Deeb sits in a corner of a room in a school run by the UN Relief and Works Agency for Palestine Refugees (UNRWA). She speaks softly while her baby, Yara, sleeps beside her. The area around her is neat and tidy, and Yara is well looked after, covered tenderly with a pink blanket in the repurposed carseat she is sleeping in.
Adjusting her blue patterned isdal robe, Aya tells media how she feared losing Yara before she was born on Christmas Day.
For weeks leading up to the birth, Aya – who had long been displaced from her home in Bir an-Naaja in the northern Gaza Strip – had been moving from one precarious shelter to another, trying to outrun Israeli bombs.
“In the early days of the conflict, we had moved to my husband’s uncle’s house in Zawayda for safety. But then they targeted the house next door, and my husband died in that attack,” she says.
After that, the pregnant woman took her toddler son, Mohamed. back up north to stay with her family and kept moving from one spot to another until she and her parents ended up in the school with thousands of other displaced people.
Aya’s labour started on Christmas Eve, escalating through the night until her parents took her to the shelter’s clinic at 2am and ran everywhere trying to find a midwife to help her with the birth.
Yara arrived shortly after, about 5am, Aya estimates – born on the floor of the clinic behind a sheet stretched across a corner of the room, the only privacy the clinic staff could provide.
“I was in labour, and all I could hear was the warplanes roaring overhead, the shelling. There was fear everywhere,” Aya says.
Yara did not get a birth certificate, and she has not received any vaccinations. Her mother has had no medical attention either.
Asked what she wishes for her daughter, Aya responds: “A long life, lived in peace without war. They see so much from such a young age.”
Aya
Aya is one of thousands of women in Gaza forced to give birth and care for their newborns under Israel’s war in retaliation for Hamas’s attacks on October 7.
The war has devastated Gaza’s healthcare system at a time when 180 babies are born each day, according to UN figures. From October 7 to January 5, the World Health Organization documented 304 Israeli attacks on healthcare facilities in Gaza, which have also killed more than 300 medical personnel.
She sits cross-legged on the floor of a classroom where she has taken shelter, holding her baby in the burping position, patting his bottom lightly as she speaks animatedly to media.
Raeda is from Beit Hanoon and was displaced to Jabalia in the early days of the war.
“The block we were sheltering in was bombed, and I was pulled out from under the rubble by the rescuers, me and my older son, who is 14 months old,” she says, explaining how they came to move to the school.
“Moath was born right here in the classroom about two months ago. When my labour started, we called for an ambulance or something, but there were no resources. Nobody came to help.
“Oh my goodness, it was such a difficult birth. There’s nothing here that can help during a delivery. I didn’t even have any clothes. People had to rummage around to find something for me to put Moath in.”
While Raeda managed to get to Kamal Adwan Hospital after Moath was born for checkups for both of them, there were no vaccines available. He remains unvaccinated.
“They told me there were no vaccines, … but look at where we are. The baby is here in the school where there are all sorts of diseases spreading. Right now, he has something happening with his chest. He’s having a hard time breathing, but there’s nothing I can do.
“I’m not eating enough either to be able to nurse him. Some people helped me by bringing me some formula.
“My wish for my son is that he lives, that he has safety, that he has food, diapers even. I don’t want him to grow up in want.”
Um Raed also sits holding her baby boy, swaddled in a fuzzy blanket and sleeping soundly, perhaps reassured by the sound of his mother’s voice and her rocking motions as she holds him.
He has been sick often since his birth, Um Raed says, her eyes wide and serious, the frustration of not being able to do more for her child apparent on her face.
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