Ibrahim Badra has a bachelor’s degree in both English literature and translation from the Islamic University of Gaza. He was due to be awarded with the diploma on October 7th 2023, the day of the Hamas attacks against Israel when his world was turned upside down.
His family were originally from Jaffa. Following the 1948 creation of the state of Israel, and the ensuing displacement and dispossession of Palestinians, they set up home in Sabra, a neighbourhood just west of Gaza City. Badra had lived through seven Israeli-Palestinian conflicts before the war that began in October 2023, following the Hamas attacks that month which left more than 1,200 Israelis – mostly civilians – dead.
His interests focus on literature, politics, education and translation. His work activities over the past year and a half have consisted mainly of defending human rights in Gaza, documenting the daily lives of the local population, and making their voices heard.
Badra's despatch below, written in late July, is published here in its original English, and also in a French translation (by Camélia Echchihab) here.
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Gangs, betrayal, and hunger: the tragedy in Gaza
I want bread, not blood. In a time of hunger and death, I ask for little. I want to live. To breathe air without the smell of death or gunpowder. To see a child laugh, not scream.
I want water. I want food not soaked in blood. Not in fear. How can I help them? Should I be a magician? Should I be a superhero? Can someone answer me? What should I do?
Famine has spread throughout the Gaza Strip. Many are fainting in the streets due to hunger and scarcity of supplies. What should we do? Has Gaza become a zombie city like in the movies? Will we eat each other? What should we do? Can someone answer me?
The sound of children crying never stops. It echoes through the tents and streets all day. Everyone cries - children, mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, even me. Famine shows no mercy. It steals our lives silently, weakens our bodies, and leaves us to face death alone.
Enlargement : Illustration 1
Our children have lost their future, their lives, even the most basic right: food is unavailable! Why all this? What is our fault? What did we do to deserve this cruelty from the world? Why doesn’t anyone care about us? Someone answer me, even once. Someone reassure me, even if it’s a lie! Give me hope. Give me a new light that can illuminate our lives and the lives of my people!Where are you? Where is the world? Can you hear our voice? Are you on the same planet?
I was helping the displaced and the children, trying to spread hope and reassurance about their lives and make them happy, even for a few hours. We distributed paper, colours, and pens so they could draw and release the negative energy inside them.
Some drew tanks and airstrikes attacking children at play. Others drew warehouses and distribution points for humanitarian organizations handing out food parcels and flour. Another drew a falafel vendor because, due to shortages, even falafel – the only meal once available – is now gone. Some children drew winter inside a tent, suffering and fearing drowning. Our children fear summer for the intense heat in the tents, and winter for the cold and flood risks.
One day, my brother went to the market as usual when a group of bandits and thieves attacked him, wanting to take his money and whatever he had. The war has empowered gangs, bandits, and armed families to commit such acts against civilians. Some collaborate with the occupation, like a man named Abu Shabab, who has direct ties with the occupiers and has been supplied with the latest weapons and vehicles by Israel.
Even my own people have betrayed me. I’m confused. How can I trust myself? If my own people betray me and collaborate with the occupation, how can I blame the world? I don’t know what to write or how to think. Who can I trust? Who will hear our voices? Who will read this? Can I trust you?
To protect ourselves from thieves, we made a hidden pocket inside our pants to keep money safe, so attackers can’t see it.
More than 180 children have died from malnutrition and famine over the period from March to May 2025, according to the World Health Organization. The [editor’s note, Hamas-run] health ministry reported how four children died in a 24-hour period in July, while UNICEF recorded the deaths of 71 children in a one-month period between June and July.
In June this year, 5,800 children were diagnosed with malnutrition, including more than 1,000 suffering from severe malnutrition (UNICEF). The percentage of children under five suffering acute malnutrition reached 10.2% in June (UNRWA). Official reports indicate that children are dying from starvation or malnutrition, with cases rising daily. This concerns only children, and there are further cases among the elderly and those with special needs.
We are dying of hunger, and the world watches. What should we do? How do we survive? I want to protect the children of my country and my people. Does anyone know a way?
When I walk the streets and see my destroyed city, my heart cries, my eyes dry and tearless. I remember buildings and memories. I remember my home, university, school, and children waking at 6am to chase after their future, focusing on lessons, and dreaming. Some wanted to become doctors, others engineers, programmers, lawyers, and farmers.
Now they draw bread and paint their lost futures in their minds. I want to give them back their future, their lives, and dreams stolen by war and endless nightmares. How can I wake them up from this endless state?
Instead of houses and farms, they dream of planes dropping food, even landing on tents and killing people. They dream of food, even if it’s dangerous and deadly. They want to eat. Their dream has become a piece of bread, even if dry or soaked in blood. They want to live, like other children worldwide.
Enlargement : Illustration 2
If I knew my death could bring a better future for my country’s children, my family, and my people, I wouldn’t mind. I’m ready to die. Just stop this nightmare. Someone wake us up and say “You are dreaming. This was only a terrible, sad, frightening nightmare. You’re alive, with your lives, homes, and future.” Is this possible?
Every day brings a new displacement. They took 80% of Gaza, leaving only 20% for two million hungry people – children, elderly, exhausted youth. Destroyed homes, smells of blood, death, gunpowder, and gaping wounds remain. They keep issuing evacuation orders. I don’t know what’s left to take. They took our land, homeland, souls, future, homes, and all our peace of mind. Isn’t that enough?
Mother, I apologize from my heart for failing to protect and shelter you from daily fatigue, the smell of fire, and laboured breathing from gunpowder and daily fires.
Father, I apologize for not finding treatment for you due to war, and I hope God forgives my shortcomings.
I want someone to answer me, even if they lie. But if their answer can bring hope and peace to me, my family, my people, our children, my country, and the souls of our martyrs, I don’t mind – even if it’s a lie.
We are dying silently. Do you hear our cries, or will you wait until it’s too late to act?
And while children cry for bread, some of our own steal it from them. Hunger doesn’t come from siege alone it comes from betrayal. Gangs with guns rob starving people while the world watches. They deepen our wounds and leave the children to starve twice: once from war, and once from their own people’s greed.
How can a child dream of a future when even his neighbour becomes a threat? We need protection not just from bombs, but from those who profit from our pain. Gaza is bleeding not only from outside attacks but from the knives of betrayal inside.
And still, the children draw bread. Still, they wait. Still, they hope.
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Editing by Graham Tearse