When I agreed to help the American medical team in Gaza, I expected to be able to assist in many ways--transportation, communication, and other forms of logistical support. What I did not realize was how powerful and life-changing this experience would become. I write this today as I feel obligated to honor a special boy of whom I learned.
As an Arabic-speaker, my skills as a translator were in constant need. Almost by default, this allowed me get to know the patients and people particularly well, especially children we visited at an orphanage. Our medical team developed a special relationship with the Hope Institute for Orphans, who had requested our help. We made multiple visits and learned the children that resided there were lacking basic routine medical care. They needed everything from toothpaste to cardiac evaluations for irregular heartbeats.
Dr. Kanwal Chaudhry, a Pediatrician on our team identified physical manifestations of severe emotional distress in many of the boys. This exhibited itself as bed-wetting, uncontrolled bowel movements, and war-related nightmares. These symptoms were widespread, but not something easily appreciated. Hanging out--the kids generally preferred to clown around--run, yell, and make faces like most kids do.
After a couple of days, we began to develop a special trust and friendship with the boys as well as the staff. This led to the overwhelmed in-house counselor, El-Farra, to plead for our assistance in treating the boys' psychological trauma. Many had been orphaned as a result of the ongoing air strikes and conflict in Gaza. Our team lacked psychiatrists, but we were able to arrange for 2 clinical psychologists from Gift of the Givers, a South African NGO, to visit the afflicted kids. I returned with them, not only to help translate, but also to help the boys feel comfortable in the therapy sessions.
Mohammed El-Ewady, 17, was a shy polite orphan and the star pupil of the Institute who aspired to become a lawyer. He was loved by all and a role model to the younger kids. On the morning of December 27, 2008, Mohammed grabbed his pencil and ruler and headed out for his first final during exam week. After finishing the exam around 11:00 a.m., Mohammed left the school and began his walk back to the orphanage. Unfortunately for Mohammed, his path home took him past the local police station at the exact time air strikes had begun. Mohammed never made it home - he was struck in the head by a piece of shrapnel from an air strike. After spending seven hours searching for Mohammed, the head of the orphanage finally located him three blocks away, unconscious in the ICU of Al-Shifa Hospital. After spending 3 days in a coma, Mohammed passed away.
Mohammed's death was extremely traumatic for the orphans, many of whom were already victims of war--they had looked up to him as a beacon of strength and hope. Most also lost any feeling of the sense of security that they had regained after being relocated to the orphanage. The reality of the war set in for them--they felt that there was no safe place for them in Gaza.
Mohammed's death was particularly devastating for his younger brother Ahmed, 14. Ahmed took us to Mohammed's room, which had remained untouched since his death and showed us the only thing he had with him when he became a victim of war, his pencil and ruler. Although he was polite and excited to meet us, the counselor at the orphanage and his eyes told us that he was having a difficult time getting over the loss of his brother. Despite grief counseling, he suffers from nightmares.
I would like to pay a special tribute to Mohammed--as I remember looking at his exam schedule, still hanging on the side of his dresser in his quiet and empty room, showing the break between his tests on the 27th of December that still marks his ultimate fate.
Ahmed Kasem with Dr. Omar Qureshi. Kasem is a California-based attorney, who is providing logistical support to the IMANA team. Qureshi is a Radiologist in New York, assisting the team remotely from the United States.
