She lost 5 children during the war in Gaza — now she’s raising 36 grandkids in a tent

interior her collapsible shelter in Gaza urban center, Reda Aliwa has prepared a repast for her grandchildren — all 36 of them. They crowd and pull each other while crowding around her, and one by one, she offers them each a spoonful of rice.

The younger ones call out for the next serving — “Me, grandma, me!” This is all the food they’ll eat tonight, and some of the children swipe clumps of rice when Aliwa’s attention is elsewhere. She sends one of the boys to fetch something to drink from a container behind their tent that’s been filling with rainwater. She passes a metal cup down a line of kids, one sip for each. 

“My children took care of me,” Aliwa said. €œToday, I am caring for their children … but the burden is too big for me to carry.”  

Aliwa’s five children were killed in two attacks that took place four days apart this September while they were sheltering at a camp in Gaza City. 

Now the 60-year-old and her husband are the only ones left to care for their grandchildren as they try to rebuild their lives amid a fragile ceasefire. The children are among some 40,000 kids in Gaza who've lost one or more parents, according to an April report from the Palestinian Central Bureau of Statistics (PCBS), which called it “the largest orphan crisis in modern history.”

But Alex Saieh, the head of humanitarian policy and advocacy for Save the Children International, says that number is likely underreported. 

“We won’t know the extent of the destruction or the deaths for a while,” she said referring to the limited access humanitarian organizations have had in Gaza. 

Aliwa was also injured in one of the attacks and ended up in a coma. 

When she woke, she wailed as her husband told her that her children had died. But soon after, she left the hospital against the advice of her doctors because she was so worried about her grandchildren. 

All of her grandchildren, who range in age from a year and a half to 17, survived the attacks. Soon, the reality of the burden she and her husband faced set in. 

They don’t have jobs or money, so the family relies on food distributions, but she says finding enough to eat is still very difficult. 

“I get whatever I can,” she said. €œOne day I find [something] and 10 days I don’t find anything.” 

Saieh says though NGOs provide some financial assistance, prices are still too high for any of that money to go very far because aid is only trickling into the enclave.

“You’re completely relying on humanitarian assistance that is in and of itself unreliable,” Saieh said.

Aliwa says before the war, some of the kids were at the top of their class, but schools and universities were bombed and education was no longer a priority. The children still haven’t been able to resume formal learning.

Her granddaughter, Ibtissam Aliwa, 13, bursts into tears when asked about her father, Mohamed.

“A month before he was martyred, life was beautiful,” she said. €œAnd now, it stopped being beautiful.”

Though NGOs have set up temporary learning centres for children that include psychosocial support, Saieh says there’s much left to be done to deal with the trauma Palestinian children carry.

The April PCBS report noted an almost total absence of social care and psychological support for children in Gaza. 

“They experience deep mental disturbances, such as depression, isolation, and chronic fear, in the absence of safety and proper guidance,” the report said, adding that a lack of educational opportunities and social development leaves them vulnerable to child labour and exploitation.

The family lives in a tent in Gaza City amid mounds of rubble. They sleep on two mats Aliwa says she found on the street that are stained with blood. The tent itself is filled with holes and flooded during the recent rains. 

When the children are asleep or distracted, Aliwa is able to deal with grief she carries with her. She has a collage of photos of her five children. Their smiles are bright and beaming, but they are a constant reminder of the great loss the family has endured. 

Aliwa refuses to cry in front of her grandchildren. €œIf it gets too much and I feel my tears coming, I go to the side so they don’t realize how broken I am.”

The family currently lives near the yellow line — the boundary to which Israeli forces agreed to retreat under the ceasefire plan with Hamas. Aliwa says she hears explosions constantly as fighting continues on the other side.

Saieh says NGOs are calling for open borders, a continuous flow of aid into the strip and unimpeded access for humanitarian organizations.

She says it’s difficult to reach families sheltering in certain areas as streets are littered with unexploded ordnance and rubble. 

“We need this pause to be definitive and for humanitarian organizations like ours to be allowed to do our jobs.” 

Back in Gaza City, after dinner, Aliwa's grandchildren gather near the fire to keep warm. 

Some drop paper from a notebook into the fire to keep it going. Their grandfather fans the flames while Aliwa cleans up the tent and prepares for bedtime. 

Though these daily tasks take up much of her time, Aliwa is also preoccupied with worries about the future. 

‘We can’t find anything to eat’: Interviews with Palestinian children in Gaza City

“If something happens to me, what are all 36 supposed to do,” she asked. €œThey will be street kids.” 

She also knows they’re struggling with issues like grief and trauma. When they ask about their parents, she tells them they are in Heaven. 

“The young ones — the three and four year olds — say, ‘OK, grandma, let’s go to heaven now.’ ”

Producer

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