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Mark Pearson

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The beach was empty except for a few disused fishing trawlers covered in sand. Boats were as useful buried in the sand as they were at sea there. © Mark Pearson

Diary account - Cast Lead.

September 3, 2024

A big storm had been raging in the Mediterranean all night. The wind howled through the empty Commodore Hotel. I had been the only guest there for weeks. The Government of Israel had banned almost everyone from entering or leaving Gaza since the start of Operation Cast Lead in December. The Egyptians had followed the Israeli lead; it was the same on both sides of the inescapable borders, at least for most people.

All the windows in my room had been blown out by an IDF warship a few months before and had been covered with plastic sheeting. The storm had ripped away the sheeting covering my window, leaving the entire room wet and smelling of dampness as rain poured in, soaking everything.

There was no hot water, no power, no people. The hotel felt like a scene from *The Shining*, except there were even fewer people in reality; it was a miserable place.

The palm trees lining the dead streets bent in the wind. There was a fuel shortage, and no vehicles were moving; it felt like time had stood still. Everyone had been indoors for months. The harbor was full of fishing boats crashing around in the waves, but again, no sign of life. The sky turned from dark blue to black, and the rain kept coming. The white water pounded against the newly extended harbor walls, which were made from the rubble of strategically bombed-out parts of the city. It was dark, overcast, and right in the middle of a depression.

The beach was empty except for a few disused fishing trawlers covered in sand. Boats were as useless buried in the sand in Gaza as they were productive at sea. Lifeguard towers had gone unused for years, and barbed-wire fencing bordered the beach areas, running from the land to the sea. A beachside children's play area was buried in the sand and devoid of children. Sandstorm winds blasted in with the westerly gale-force wind. The only signs of life were a few bored Hamas soldiers looking for something interesting to do, like stopping a Scotsman with a camera walking on the beach. Little did I know, I was going to be there much longer, and things were about to get really interesting.

In Conflict diary Tags Mediterranean storm, Gaza Strip, Gaza blockade, Cast Lead, Humanitarian aid, diary account
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