We walked under the burning sun, nearly five kilometers, just hoping for a bag of flour. Not for luxury. Just something to eat. Something to survive.

There were so many people waiting — mothers holding babies, elderly men with canes, children even younger than my brother. No one had weapons. No one was there to fight. We were all just hungry.

We waited for hours. Then suddenly, without warning, gunfire broke out. People screamed. Some ran, others dropped to the ground. I held my brother so tightly — I was afraid we wouldn’t make it home. The bullets didn’t care who you were. They didn’t care if you were just a child.

We managed to escape. We were lucky. But we came home with nothing. No flour. No aid. Nothing to eat. Just more fear. More trauma. And more questions we have no answers to.

Why are we punished for being hungry? Why are we shot at for simply trying to survive? The world says there is aid coming. But it either never reaches us or it’s stolen and sold in the markets for prices we can’t afford. Sometimes, your donations are the only reason we eat at all.

Please, don’t forget us. Please keep speaking about what’s happening. We are not just stories Your friend Isra”