Empty Shelves: When the taste of sugar fades

The difficulty of waiting and the bitterness of reality

The photo is of the shops at the beginning of April when trade began to stop and they became empty.

At 12 AM on March 25th, the strong smell of coffee fills the room, bitterness mixed with a slight sweetness, and fingers touch the keyboard as I messaged my friend Bara'a, since we study the same major. I had several research papers piled up, so I decided to work on them that night. I finished the research papers and then went to sleep.

In the middle of the day, while I was preparing the Iftar on the 25th of Ramadan, I received several calls from my friend Bara'a. A message from Bara'a lights up the phone screen: "Have you seen the most beautiful message on earth?"

The university message “Check your university page for the submission of the practical training course”, an announcement about the practical training submission date, that obstacle that has stood between me and graduation since the beginning of the war.

It was my habit to bring sweets for my siblings when something joyful happened or something I had been longing for happen.

I decided to buy some sweets, but I was busy and I was hoping the crossing would open since it had been closed since March 2nd. I postponed buying the sweets for several days.

The awaited day

April 5th, the awaited day. "Come on, let's go buy candy for Noha and Salman." My mom insists, "If you want something, hurry up." I quickly get dressed, and the day is about to end, with an endless search ahead of us.

We rushed to the nearest supermarket, Al-Lmadani supermarket.

Al-Lmadani supermarket

The shelves are empty, the smell of cleaning materials dominates the place, and a dim light reveals remnants of soap.

I left the place, my eyes searching for shelves that used to be crowded with potato chips and chocolate, their bright colors and sweet aroma now absent from the scene.

"Let's go to Al-Masa Supermarket, maybe we'll find something there." My voice trembles, a mix of frustration and sadness.

Al-Masa Supermarket

Al-Masa, one of the largest markets in Khan Younis, but the shelves there are also empty. Silence fills the place, only the sounds of sad whispers and the echo of our footsteps on the ground lamenting the tragedy of the closed crossings and the unavailability of goods in the market.

In Gaza, even sunset carries a different burden. When the sky is heavy with the weight of rockets, and people's cries rise: 'Come back, peace!' But no one answers! Has peace fled to another planet, or where is it? The sun bows behind the sea, its cheeks flushed with shame at what the world is doing, and caresses us like a mother kissing the forehead of her sleeping child.

I no longer spend sunset in my house that has been reduced to ashes. Instead, I wander among the ruins of dreams, contemplating the color of the flames in the clouds. Is it from the missiles or from the twilight? And I envy the stars at night because they escaped death. How I wish the children of Gaza were stars so they could escape death!

I insist to my mother that we don't return empty-handed; Noha and Salman are waiting.

We walked through the streets of Khan Younis, one shop after another, hoping to find a hidden box of cookies...

But to no avail. yes, no avail

The darkness is deepening, and the buzzing of drones fills the air, a sharp metallic sound pierces the silence, the smell of fear fills the nostrils, my mother insists on returning.

I insisted to my mother that we wouldn't return empty-handed, as Noha and Salman had been waiting for this moment for days.

I was thinking, as I returned home, how to tell the kids in the house that the market doesn't have any candies. How can this be real? It's hard to believe.

I returned home with a look of disappointment on my face. My little brothers understood the truth without asking about the candy. Their little looks spoke louder than any question, as if they had grown accustomed to this absence, the absence of joy, the absence of the simple things that gladdened their little hearts. At that moment, the absence of candy wasn't the only thing weighing me down. There was another weight, the weight of the approaching night with its bombardment and killing.

The absence of sweets represents the absence of the simplest aspects of normal life, the absence of joy, and the absence of hope. It is a symbol of the deprivation experienced in the Gaza Strip.

I promised them that I will bring them a lot of sweets and candies when the crossing opens and the goods become available.

I don't know if I will live to fulfill my promise to my siblings or not.