Since the ceasefire came into effect, the sky in Gaza has changed. There is an unusual calm there. We no longer hear Israeli fighter planes or helicopters. Quadcopters have also disappeared, but drones – the “zanana” – remain.
The buzz of Israeli drones is unmistakable. It has been a constant companion to us in Gaza for many years as Israel developed its drone technology using us as test subjects.
During the genocide, the proximity and volume of the buzz intensified, sending a clear message: the drones were hungry for the souls of Gazans. For 15 months, these flying machines controlled where we went, what we did, and who lived or died. It was as if the occupation had placed a surveillance camera on every living soul in Gaza. It was as if drones outnumbered birds in the skies over Gaza.
For 15 months, the buzzing never stopped – day or night. It would embed itself in the minds of Gazans, young and old, and torment them. It would devour our sanity and our optimism that the war would end.
Under the swarm of drones in the sky, even the simplest of activities presented a challenge. While you were preparing a meal, the sound created a dark background, disrupting your concentration. You would lose your temper and burn what little food you had.
Drones would break your nerves, irritate you and other family members, causing tension and escalation of arguments.
An older woman at the camp we stayed at once told me, “The drone is eating my mind.” » She considered this continuous buzzing to be a chronic and incurable headache. It would get worse at night, piercing her brain and robbing her of sleep. If she fell asleep, she had nightmares of bombings and destruction.
Drones terrorized not only with their buzzing and surveillance, but also with arbitrary massacres. Being out after dark meant you risked becoming a target. So, just before nightfall, Palestinians rushed to their tents and took cover. The children, who normally played outside, also stayed put.
At night, if you feel the need to go to the bathroom, you have two options: get wet or risk your life to relieve yourself. Panic and fear would invade your mind as you squeeze your bladder, trying to hold it back.
I knew several families who used buckets at night to relieve themselves and emptied them in the morning.
Swimming has also become a dangerous activity in IDP camps. We couldn’t risk lighting a fire in the evening to warm the water because it could attract drones. So you would have to rush through the process during the day, pouring water over your body and rinsing off the soap as quickly as possible, according to your imagination: what if a drone fired? You hurried to get dressed because the prospect of dying naked was unbearable.
The genocide saw a new feature introduced into these drones: encouraging Palestinians who were sheltering to venture outside.
Imagine, during a sleepless night, you hear the meow of a hungry cat. Driven by your human compassion, you go out to offer him something to eat. You too are hungry, but deep down you say to yourself: “I can manage, but the cat can’t find food on its own. » You go out to throw him a piece of food and suddenly a gunshot puts an end to your act of compassion.
The drones and quadcopters used various recorded sounds to deceive their victims: a baby crying, a child screaming for help. They benefited from the compassion and solidarity of the Palestinians, who persisted despite the unbearable suffering of the war.
We were so used to being tormented by drones that in the rare moments when their buzzing stopped, we felt something was wrong.
My colleague Wissal told me that one night she noticed that she couldn’t hear any drones. She was terrified. She woke her family, urging them to pack their bags. The quiet was eerie, she thought.
She remembers what happened one night in Rafah, when the drones went silent: a horrific attack was launched and devastated their neighborhood. His family managed to escape.
Wissal was right. The silence of the drones once again proved to be a sign of an imminent attack. As the Israeli army began shelling the “safe zone” in which she and her family had sheltered, they again fled for their lives.
Today, as the ceasefire has come into effect, the immediate danger of being killed by an Israeli strike may have temporarily disappeared, but the surveillance and drone of drones continues. Drones continue to rob us of a sense of security and autonomy.
The prospect of drone-free skies remains a distant dream, intrinsically linked to the broader struggle for justice, self-determination and peace. Only with the true end of the occupation can this vision of a sky free from burden truly become a reality. In the meantime, drones will continue to devour our minds.
The opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the editorial position of Tel Aviv Tribune.