Deir el-Balah, Gaza – Three-year-old Hanan al-Daqqi spends her days with her younger sister Misk, occasionally asking questions.
“Where’s Mama?”
“Where did my legs go?”
The two toddlers have been in the hospital for four months since they were brought there, battered and bleeding from an Israeli bombing, and had their legs amputated.
Their father’s sister, Shefa al-Daqqi, 28, has been by their side since then, but she still does not know how to answer the girls’ questions.
‘Trapped in a nightmare’
On the morning of September 2, Shaima al-Daqqi got up early to take her two daughters – Hanan and 22-month-old Misk – to get the polio vaccine, which was being offered to people in the midst of Israel’s war on Gaza.
The following day, after the family had lunch, Israel bombed their home in Deir el-Balah.
It killed 25-year-old Shaima and injured the rest of the family, including her husband Mohammed al-Daqqi, and tore through the two little girls’ legs.
Hanan was severely injured, losing both her legs – one above the knee and one below – and sustaining wounds across her body, including her face and intestines. She had to undergo surgery to remove part of her bowels.
Meanwhile, little Misk had to have her left foot amputated.
Their father, Mohammed, 31, was in intensive care for two weeks with a brain haemorrhage and injuries to his chest.
“We’ve been trapped in a nightmare for four months now,” says Shefa as she tries to soothe Hanan, who has been fragile and volatile since the attack.
Both girls are in a state of fearful panic, clinging to their aunt constantly.
Shefa tries to comfort them, but often finds herself weeping over the little girls, partly in sadness and partly in fear over what the future will hold for them.
“All I can tell her now is that her mother is in heaven. What kind of future do they have to look forward to?
“How will [they] feel as they grow and see how different they are from other kids their age? How will Hanan wear the clothes she likes so much?
“What do I say when she asks for pretty dresses or shoes?’
“It’s harder for Hanan because she understands more than her sister, and her injuries were far more severe.”
The hospital and its staff are working in such an overcrowded and underequipped environment that there’s no possibility of providing psychological support for the girls.
Staring at other children’s legs
Shefa, a mother of three herself, takes shifts caring for the two girls, switching with their grandmother, the late Shaima’s mother, their paternal uncle Ahmed, 29, and their father, who stays with them at night.
Whenever they can, the adults bring little treats for the girls, whatever they manage to find in the markets. The girls often ask for toys, but there are none to be found so they have to make do with whatever little accessories and treats their family can find.
Ahmed is the most fun for the girls, Shefa says, playing with them and taking them out of their room to check out the rest of the hospital.
“None of us can or will ever be able to replace a mother,” says Shefa, her eyes red and tears streaming.
“I’ll never forget Hanan’s look when I brought my daughter Hala, who is her age, to visit them,” Shefa recalls.
“Hanan would stare at Hala’s legs and then at her own amputated legs, confused. Before her injury, they used to run and play together all the time.
“Now they play on the hospital bed,” Shefa, who used to live in Jabalia but was displaced with her family a year ago to her family’s house in Deir el-Balah, said.
Because the girls are in a phase of fast growth, they’ve been kept in the hospital for constant follow-up on their lengthening bones. What physiotherapy the hospital can give them is not constant enough to help them much.
They draw, play with visitors, or play with their adult companion’s mobile phone to pass the time.
A mother’s adoration
When Israel’s war on Gaza started, Shaima was consumed with fear for her daughters.
She couldn’t eat or sleep, losing a lot of weight as she fretted about finding the food and formula the girls needed.
She had always been devoted to her daughters, spending time with them and working to provide them with whatever they wanted.
Especially little Hanan, who loved getting dressed up, caring deeply about her dresses and shoes.
“Shaima adored them,” adds Shefa.
When polio vaccines were rolled out in Gaza and Israel agreed to allow the campaign to proceed unmolested, Shaima was determined that her daughters would at least have that protection.
She encouraged her sisters and in-laws to do the same.
“Of course, we all feared any harm to our children. But what’s the point? Children get protection from polio, but then an Israeli air strike takes their legs? How does that make any sense?” adds Shefa.
Waiting for healing
Hanan and Misk cannot complete their recovery in Gaza because Israel has destroyed the health sector, so their names were put on a list of people who need to leave Gaza for treatment.
The World Health Organization collects the names that go on the list, but nobody can leave unless Israel approves their departure, and it has not approved the girls’ yet.
“We’ve been waiting more than three months. They’re just little girls [who] desperately need prosthetic limbs. Their mental state is worsening,” says Shefa.
It is not just prosthetics that the girls cannot get in Gaza. They need to be fully assessed and go through a rehabilitation process before prosthetics can be considered.
Because Hanan and Misk are still growing, the bone growth associated with their ages will also pose challenges that will need constant follow-up and possibly several surgeries.
What Shefa knows is that the little girls’ lives will never be the same again.
“Hanan wants to wear shoes and she asks me why she can’t … why she can’t go play in the park,” she says.
“I don’t have answers.”
