In a quiet street off Gaza City’s Omar al-Mukhtar Road, once known as “Lovers’ Street,” the Skeik building stands as a silent witness to the brutal toll of war. Once a symbol of a thriving, middle-class neighborhood, it now houses displaced families, their lives shattered by the ongoing conflict that has ravaged Gaza for two years. What was once a vibrant part of Gaza City, filled with shops, restaurants, and tree-lined streets, is now a landscape of rubble, bullet-riddled buildings, and desperate survival. The Skeik building, once a familiar landmark, is now a refuge for the displaced, its walls scarred by shrapnel and its apartments filled with stories of loss, survival, and resilience.
The building’s current tenants are not the original inhabitants but those who fled their homes, displaced by the violence that has torn Gaza apart. The families living here are witnesses to the devastating impact of the war, and their stories reveal the harsh realities of living through a conflict that has claimed thousands of lives and destroyed entire neighborhoods.
Hadeel Daban: The Cost of Losing Home and Family
Hadeel Daban, 26, lives on the fourth floor of the Skeik building with her husband and three young children. Her story is one of repeated displacement, loss, and the struggle to rebuild a semblance of normalcy in a city that no longer feels like home. She and her family arrived in the building two months ago, paying rent for a temporary stay. This is the 12th place they have moved to since the war began, a constant cycle of uprooting as they try to escape the dangers that surround them.
“The people who were here before us left because it was dangerous,” Hadeel says. “Shrapnel hits the walls here, but it’s still better than a tent.” Her words echo the hopelessness that many families in Gaza are feeling – the painful choice between staying in a dangerous, damaged home or living in the uncertainty of a tent in an unknown location.
Hadeel’s home was in Gaza City’s al-Tuffah neighborhood, but their apartment was destroyed early in the conflict. They fled when a relative’s apartment above theirs was hit, but returned briefly, hoping for some semblance of normal life. However, in March 2024, tragedy struck. A strike on the building next door killed Hadeel’s mother-in-law, injured her children, and left her husband buried under rubble. It took hours of searching to find him, and when they did, he was unconscious with a skull fracture. Hadeel rushed him to al-Shifa hospital, only for the hospital to be sealed off by Israeli forces as part of their military operations.
“Three days later, he was still being treated when Israel began a two-week military operation at the hospital,” Hadeel recalls. “It was only when they withdrew that I was able to see my husband again, fragile but alive.” Though he survived, Hadeel’s husband still requires regular medical care, but many of Gaza’s doctors have fled south, making access to care even more difficult.
Hadeel’s family has moved so often that she no longer knows where her original neighbors are. “Some went south, some were killed or injured,” she says. “There are no neighbors anymore.” The war has not only torn apart her home but also the fabric of her community, leaving her isolated in a building that now houses strangers rather than friends and neighbors.
Despite the trauma, Hadeel remains in Gaza City, even as the Israeli army advances and the city empties out. “We plan to stay here for now,” she says, though the fear of imminent violence is ever-present. A series of explosions in the distance shake her apartment, but neither of her children flinch. For them, the constant barrage of explosions has become part of their daily life.
Muna Shabet: The Weight of Loss and Separation
On the fifth floor of the Skeik building lives 59-year-old Muna Amin Shabet, who has also been displaced from her home in al-Tuffah. Muna’s family lost everything in the early days of the war. “They leveled the entire al-Tuffah area,” she says. “There was not one house left. We are starting life again, collecting spoon by spoon, plate by plate. Famine came, and we ground pigeon-feed to eat, and lived on wild greens.”
The emotional toll has been just as devastating as the physical destruction. “After two years of war, I say I am not alive, I am one of the dead,” she adds, her voice heavy with grief. The once-close-knit family that surrounded her is now scattered across Gaza and beyond. Muna’s five sons are no longer all together; some have moved south, others have gone to stay with relatives. Even she and her husband spent months apart before reuniting in the Skeik building.
“The separation is the hardest thing,” Muna says. “Life has been stripped away. My health is gone. Our home is gone, and the dearest people to our hearts are gone – nothing is left for us.” Her words reflect the deep sense of loss that has permeated every corner of Gaza. The war has not only destroyed homes and neighborhoods but has also torn families apart, leaving behind a deep sense of emptiness.
Despite the challenges, Muna’s grandchildren still try to hold on to some semblance of normality. When the BBC team visits her apartment, two of her granddaughters are drawing a picture of a peaceful house – a far cry from the reality of their situation. The house in their drawing is small, neat, and surrounded by a bright, colorful landscape. It’s a dream of the past, a glimpse of a life that no longer exists.
Shawkat al-Ansari: A Family Torn Apart
Shawkat al-Ansari’s story is no less tragic. Originally from Beit Lahia in northern Gaza, Shawkat’s hometown was completely destroyed early in the war. He now lives on the first floor of the Skeik building with his wife and seven children. Shawkat’s brother went missing four months ago, and despite searching everywhere, Shawkat and his family still don’t know what happened to him. The constant churn of displacement has made it impossible to keep track of everyone, and families have been scattered in search of food, shelter, and safety.
“Before, we were living okay,” Shawkat says. “Now my brother is missing, and we’re all stranded in different places.” Shawkat’s children, who were once doing well in school, have now fallen behind. “They’re forgetting how to read and count,” he says. The constant upheaval has frozen their lives, and Shawkat fears for their future. The war has not only destroyed their physical home but has also halted their education and dreams of a better future.
The War’s Long-Term Impact
The war in Gaza has shattered the lives of countless families, leaving them homeless, separated, and displaced. The Skeik building, once a symbol of stability and community, now houses families who are just trying to survive. The constant movement, the loss of home, and the separation from loved ones have taken a heavy toll on Gaza’s residents.
For the families living in the Skeik building, the war has taken away more than just their homes. It has taken their sense of community, their family ties, and their future. The widespread destruction of neighborhoods and the constant displacement have left them struggling to hold on to what remains. But even as the war continues, the idea of home, family, and community is harder to destroy than bricks and mortar. Despite the trauma, the families in the Skeik building are holding on to hope – a hope that one day, peace will return, and Gaza will rebuild. But for now, their lives remain frozen in time, stuck in the rubble of a war that has wiped out their past and left their future uncertain.
