A voice from Gaza : Layan
This is the story of Layan, a 16-year-old girl who dreamed of becoming a doctor but now finds herself the breadwinner of her family… here is her story
My name is Layan, and I am 16 years old. I am a girl displaced by the genocide, and my soul feels exhausted in ways words cannot fully describe.
War did not begin for me in recent years. I lived through my first war when I was only a year and a half old in 2012, then another in 2014 when I was three and a half. Since then, wars have continued to shape my life in Gaza. My grandparents themselves were refugees since the Palestinian Nakba of 1948. It feels as though war has become an inheritance passed from one generation to the next, while we have never truly known what a safe life feels like.
Before this war, I had a dream. I was always one of the top students in my school, and I dreamed of becoming a doctor and building a future I could be proud of. I had a school I loved, wonderful teachers, close friends, a home, beautiful memories, and a life filled with hope.
But the war took everything away.
I lost my friends, my teachers, my school, my home, and even my dreams and memories, now buried beneath the rubble. Every day is filled with fear. Every night brings bombardment. Every morning carries news of another victim, another massacre, another neighborhood destroyed. For more than two and a half years, this genocide has continued without stopping.
In the middle of all this, I found myself carrying responsibilities far beyond my age.
I became the one responsible for helping my family survive. We depend on donations to cover our most basic needs and my parents' medical treatment.
My mother suffered three miscarriages within just five months because of the devastating conditions of war. She is still struggling with the physical and emotional consequences. She needs weekly medication, monthly medical appointments, and continuous tests to make sure she is recovering. I do everything I can to provide her treatment.
My father was recently told that he needs surgery for varicose veins. He is also suffering from severe malnutrition and has lost a significant amount of weight.
I also have an eight-year-old little brother who has never been able to return to school since the war began. So I became his teacher. Every day I teach him how to read and write, trying to keep his love of learning alive despite everything around us. I try to plant hope in his heart and in my family’s hearts, even when I struggle to find hope within myself
Although I try to appear strong, the truth is that I am deeply exhausted. I feel as though my childhood was stolen from me, and the weight I carry is far too heavy for a sixteen-year-old girl.
If my words reach you, please don’t let them become just another story you scroll past. Don’t let my story become one of the thousands from Gaza that disappear without anyone caring.
Standing beside me, sharing my story, or supporting my campaign could make the difference between despair and survival for my family.
Thank you to every person who reads my story, and to every heart that still believes compassion can change a life. 🤍
Layan
Question and Answer
Hello Layan, and thank you for agreeing to answer these few questions so we can get to know you better.
This “interview” will be divided into 4 sections: Life in Rafah before, the turning point, the present, and a conclusion.
Life in Gaza
1. How would you describe life in Gaza before you were forced to leave, for people who have never been there?
Life in Gaza was simple but full of warmth. Despite the hardships, we had homes, schools, friends, and dreams. We enjoyed the sea, family gatherings, and the little moments that made life meaningful. It wasn’t an easy life, but it was our home, and we cherished it.
2. How old were you during the evacuations? And how old were your brothers and sisters?
I was 12 years old, but after being displaced more than five times, I feel as though I have aged a thousand years. My younger brother was only 5 years old.
3. What was the school you attended like? Was it a UNRWA school?
At first, I attended a private school that focused on high-achieving and gifted students. Later, I transferred to a UNRWA school.
4. What were your favorite subjects at school?
My favorite subjects were mathematics, science, and English.
5. Do you have any other family members besides those you’ve already told us about? Are you still in contact with them?
My immediate family consists of four people: me, my younger brother, and our parents. My brother and I are school students, while both of my parents have been receiving medical treatment in recent months and need rest and ongoing care. We rely mainly on donations and humanitarian support to provide the basic necessities of life, including food and clean water.
The turning point
1. When did you have to leave? What forced you to do so?
The first time was in January 2024, due to the intense bombardment of homes and ground operations.
2. How did the process of leaving your city happen? What were you able to take with you?
It was not a planned departure; it was a desperate escape to save our lives. We were terrified because of the heavy bombardment, the “fire belts” around us, and the strikes everywhere. I saw many dead bodies lying on the ground, some inside their cars, and human remains scattered around. We were unable to take anything with us.
3. What circumstances led to this departure?
The circumstances were the ongoing genocide and the destruction around us.
4. Did you receive any help?
No. We did not receive any assistance. We were left to face our fate alone.
The present
1. How is the camp organized today? Where exactly are you staying?
At the beginning, the camp was simply a large number of displaced people placing their tents close to one another. As the suffering continued, things gradually became more organized on an individual basis. Later, a committee was chosen from among the displaced people to help resolve disputes and organize the distribution of meals when communal kitchens, water, and other forms of assistance were available.
2. Is there any financial assistance available, or do you rely only on donations to buy necessities?
We have no source of income. We depend on donations whenever they are available. If there are no donations, we are forced to eat whatever we can find and sometimes borrow money to buy medicine and treatment.
3. What are the prices for basic necessities and hygiene products, as well as food?
Weekly Expenses : 💊 Mother’s medication: $115/week 🍞 Food: $85/week 💧 Water: $15/week Total weekly expenses: $215
Monthly Expenses : 🩺 Doctor’s visit & medical tests: $240/month 🌐 Internet: $70/month Total monthly expenses: $310
General Needs : 👕 Clothes & shoes: $350 (I haven’t been able to buy any for a year and a half.)
Here’s an example of market prices for a single day, they change every day!
4. Is there mutual aid in the camp, and how is it organized?
People here have kindness in their hearts and help each other as much as they can, but everyone is poor and in need.
5. How are your daily lives organized in the camp?
There is no life in the true sense of the word. We begin each day struggling to secure clean drinking water through water trucks. I also take care of my younger brother, help educate him, and continue my own studies online whenever the internet is available.
Conclusion
If you could speak to everyone, what would you say to them?
If I have one message to share with you, it is this: do not believe those who tell you that a ceasefire in Gaza means the suffering has ended. They are hiding the truth from you.
Since the announcement of the ceasefire, hundreds of people have been killed here, and death continues to surround us. Large areas of Gaza have been taken behind what is called the “yellow line,” dozens of aid organizations have stopped operating, and thousands of injured people are still waiting for a chance to leave for medical treatment.
Gaza is now standing on the edge of collapse. This is not just a matter of numbers in the news; these are human lives being slowly drained away every single day.
The world is facing a true test of its conscience: can humanity accept this slow death of hundreds of thousands of people while watching in silence?