Rafeef Asleem

Gaza — The women of Gaza have endured the horrors of war in countless forms, but the cruelest blow has been the disfigurements that scarred their faces and bodies. They have become strangers even to themselves and to those who once knew them. Today, they stand in long lines, waiting for a glimmer of hope — a reconstructive surgery that might restore a fragment of their stolen features or a medical referral that would allow them to travel abroad for treatment — all while they remain powerless to hold the perpetrator accountable.

 

She Found Herself in the Morgue

Najwa Abu Atwi recalls waking up one morning during the war to the sound of a deafening explosion at 4 a.m., only to find herself in the morgue of Al-Awda Hospital in southern Gaza. What saved her was a nurse who noticed her head moving while coming to collect another body. The nurse immediately rushed her to the intensive care unit, where she remained for several days.

When she awoke from her coma, she learned that her daughter had been killed in the same airstrike, while her five sons were injured to varying degrees. Fifteen members of her family had been killed — including her siblings, their children, and her mother-in-law. At that moment, she still did not know that her face had been disfigured beyond recognition.

“I asked my husband to bring the children so I could see them,” she said. “He tried to distract me, but I insisted. When they saw me, they screamed, ‘She’s a monster, not our mother!’ They begged their father to bring them their real mother.” When she demanded a mirror to see for herself, she broke down into uncontrollable sobs, which only worsened her health condition.

Najwa now struggles to explain her missing eye to her four-year-old son. She tells him that the doctor has it, and every time she leaves the house, he asks, “Will the doctor give you your eye back today?” She wishes she could return to her former appearance — to a time before the stares and whispers that follow her everywhere.

She suffers from breathing difficulties due to the complex surgeries performed on her trachea, nose, and jaw, which also make it hard for her to eat normally. Although she attends psychological support sessions, she says she feels no improvement — especially when she remembers her late daughter or looks at her own reflection.

Recently, a severe infection in her remaining eye, caused by bacteria, forced her to stay in the hospital for several weeks. She fears losing her other eye and pleads for the chance to leave Gaza to receive treatment and an artificial eye. “I’m tired of the injustice,” she says, “tired of seeing women and children killed. I just want this nightmare to end.”

Her Injury Became a Lifelong Burden

Nariman Al-Tawil tells another story of pain and survival: “I was sleeping in the tent with my only child when I woke up in a pool of blood. What terrified me most was seeing that my child’s eye was gone.”

She was rushed to the hospital, unaware of the extent of her injuries — which affected her abdomen, chest, lungs, and back, leaving those areas completely disfigured by a drone-fired projectile. “I don’t even know what kind of weapon it was or what it was made of,” she says.

With no ambulance available due to the collapsing healthcare system, her family transported her on a cart. The injury left her physically fragile — unable to lift heavy objects or exert herself — and emotionally shattered. “I can’t even look at my body anymore,” she admits. “It feels like a part of me was torn away by force.”

She dreams of justice, of holding accountable those who robbed her of her health and self-confidence, but she doesn’t know if filing a complaint would ever bring any real result — for herself or for her son, who lost his right eye. “What happened to me,” she says, “is one of the most brutal forms of violence a woman can endure, especially when she cannot bring the perpetrator to justice.”

In closing, Nariman says she wishes she could reveal and photograph her wounds so that people could understand the scale of her suffering. “But I’m a veiled woman,” she explains, “and the injury covers more than half of my upper body.” She rejects the notion that hiding her scars lessens their significance. “I have the right to a healthy, whole, and beautiful body,” she insists. “No one has the right to take that from me or to downplay what happened