I'm starving in Gaza. It's like being on death row except there's no 'last meal' at the end

The sights and smells of famine linger once more over the Gaza Strip. The World Food Programme (WFP) has announced it has run out of food to distribute in Gaza, leaving two million people starving. Bakeries have been shut for over a month. The pangs of hunger rumble across our bellies; the situation bleaker than ever. 

The border crossing has been closed since March 2. For over two months, no humanitarian aid, food, or commercial supplies have entered Gaza — the longest that Gaza has ever faced. 

Gaza's food system has entirely collapsed. Seventy-five percent of Gaza's food crop has been damaged by Israel. What little food that is available is often priced far beyond the reach of most families, many of whom are displaced, unemployed, or in perpetual mourning. 

Today, a bag of flour costs $415. One kilogramme of rice costs $14 while one kilogramme of sugar costs $25. Most vegetables cost between $6 and $8, and other vegetables like potatoes cost $11. Most, however, can't even afford to buy one potato, let alone a kilo.

Yesterday's decision by the Israeli authorities to allow a "basic" amount of food into Gaza to help prevent "famine" is, as usual, based on saving their skin instead of any consideration for Gazans themselves. Clearly, the rift between Trump and Netanyahu is real enough for Israel to send overtures to their overlords to give them the green light to exterminate. The leaked map plan of Israel's designs for Gaza is just passing proof of this. 

Meanwhile, on the ground itself, malnutrition is rapidly becoming the norm. Cases of severe acute malnutrition have been recorded, signalling the approach of famine. For most in Gaza, survival has become a desperate battle against hunger and hopelessness.

Every morning we struggle to light a fire using wood, with some burning what's left of their homes and their furniture to keep warm or prepare a cup of tea for breakfast, accompanied by a spoonful a zaatar — one of our final reminders of our life before the genocide. With food so scarce, children and young people stand in long lines to collect some water, then walk around aimlessly in search of firewood. 

Our main meal, if we can afford it, is usually eaten at night and consists of simple foodstuffs, things that I'm sure you all have stocked in abundance in your kitchen: rice, pasta, soup, or canned goods. In Gaza, this is luxury. Most days, we survive on drinking water.

We crave to smell the scent of freshly baked bread from bakeries and the smell of grilled meats wafting over from restaurants. We crave to eat eggs and drink fresh juices, sweets, and candy. We think of these things all day, every day. Sometimes, when we're hungry, we look back at our photo albums on our phones to see what we used to eat before the genocide started. We crave the taste of life itself. 

The people of Gaza can barely stand on their own two feet, literally. We feel dizzy all the time and cannot focus. Despite the famine, we do our jobs. Doctors treat patients. Journalists tell Gaza's story. Recently a Palestinian man died of hunger while searching for food for his children. It's our responsibility to tell this. It's The New Arab's to make sure this news reaches the world. 

Gaza doesn't count calories, it counts casualties 

The famine unfolding in Gaza is exacting a devastating toll on the most vulnerable: children and postpartum mothers. Newborns, who depend on proper nourishment in their earliest days, face the highest risks.

With food supplies critically low, many mothers are unable to produce enough breast milk, leaving their infants dangerously exposed to malnutrition and disease. In this dire context, even something as basic as a bottle of milk has become a matter of life or death.

The crisis doesn’t spare the mothers either. Already weakened by childbirth, they are being pushed to the brink by hunger, unable to heal or care for their babies. This catastrophic food shortage is not only threatening lives today; it’s casting a long shadow over Gaza’s future, jeopardising the health and survival of an entire generation.

"Israel is inflicting a man-made and politically motivated famine in Gaza as its total siege nears its eighth week," said UNRWA. And yet the international community has done nothing.

Political disputes, security concerns, and logistical bottlenecks have delayed aid delivery. Attempts to open humanitarian corridors have proven criminally insufficient. 3000 trucks of food and medicine are waiting at the border, but Israel has blocked them all.

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What is unfolding in Gaza is not simply a food shortage; it's famine driven by genocide, politics, and neglect. To date, the number of Gazans who've starved to death is 57, most of them children. It's a battle every hour of the day to stay alive. 

Previously, before the temporary "ceasefire" in January, starvation had been limited to North Gaza. Now it stretches from north to south. Israel is doing this to exterminate all traces of Palestinian life. 

On May 7, the Israeli occupation carried out a massacre in Gaza City’s Al-Rimal neighbourhood. An airstrike hit Al-Tilandi Restaurant, killing at least 30 people and injuring over 150. Among the dead was journalist Yahya Sobeih, who had celebrated his newborn daughter’s birthday just hours earlier. That same day, another strike hit the bustling Palmyra intersection, targeting a crowded market.

Since the beginning of this war, at least 221 journalists have been killed. The toll on civilians is immeasurable. The dead weren’t just statistics, they were parents and children, neighbours and workers, all struggling to survive starvation.

A father, a mother, and their son were killed while simply walking home. A young boy trying to support his family by selling coffee was among the victims. He used to pass through our neighbourhood every day, carrying a thermos and offering warm cups to those who could afford them. Now, only the bloodstains remain. 

A worker at Al-Tilandi recounted a haunting moment before the strike. Two young women were ordering pizza. One hesitated at the price, and the other said, “It’s okay, even if it’s expensive. Let’s fulfil our dreams before we die.” One of them didn’t survive. A photo later circulated online: the pizza, stained with blood, lay next to a pair of elegant eyeglasses. Only one slice was missing. “I hope she ate it,” the worker said. “I hope her dream came true before she died.”

May 7 was a day of horror, a day that turned a restaurant into a graveyard, a coffee cart into a coffin, and a simple meal into a final wish. These moments, so ordinary, so human, were shattered in an instant. In Gaza, even the smallest attempts at normalcy are marked for destruction. The occupation has made clear that no place is safe, not even a table set with pizza, not even a child's thermos of coffee.

Israel is using starvation against the people of Gaza as a weapon of war. I wonder how many will die before the world wakes up? How many pizzas will be stained with blood? Or will the grumbling bellies of Gaza fall silent, finally relieved of their hunger as they embrace death?

Huda Skaik is an English literature student, a writer, and a video maker. She is a member of We Are Not Numbers, and she also a contributor for Electronic Intifada and WRMEA. She dreams of a future as a professor, professional poet, and writer.

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