A mom and child from Gaza are reunited 11 months after being separated at delivery

DOHA, Qatar — Sitting in the lounge chair, Raneem Hijazi feels her nervousness rise. She is ready to satisfy her 11-month-old daughter for the primary time for the reason that hospital in Gaza the place she gave delivery.

Then the door to her condo in Doha opens, and her mother-in-law carries child Mariam, together with her curly hair in pigtails, to her.

Hijazi, 23, is wheelchair-bound now — her legs nonetheless stuffed with pins and braces. She holds child Mariam on her lap and the kid leans in opposition to her mom’s left shoulder, the place her arm has been amputated.

Hijazi kisses her face, says her title, and “It’s me, your mom.” However it’s clear, Mariam doesn’t acknowledge her. The infant reaches for her grandmother.

This bittersweet second is one Hijazi thought may by no means occur. In spite of everything, it’s taken greater than 300 days. However it’s a second she has thought rather a lot about, one which saved her going within the darkest occasions, by means of greater than a dozen surgical procedures and excruciating bodily and emotional ache.

In that second of reuniting, all of Hijazi’s doubts disappeared. She thought, “This is my daughter. How did I leave her behind?”

The evening of Mariam’s delivery

Mariam’s delivery was a miracle. Hijazi was eight months pregnant when the Hamas-led Oct. 7, 2023, assault on Israel occurred, and the Israeli airstrikes began in Gaza Metropolis, the place she lived together with her husband, his household, and their 11-month-old son, Azuz.

The bombings despatched Hijazi and her prolonged household to hunt shelter in central Gaza, the place the Israeli navy mentioned it was a “safe zone.” It was there, at 3 a.m., that an airstrike hit their lodging.

Hijazi’s mother-in-law, Soha Sakallah, noticed Hijazi, her legs and arms trapped and mangled. “Her leg — I could see the bones, the flesh. It was dark. I didn’t know what to do,” Sakallah remembers, crying. Close by, she noticed a grotesque scene: Hijazi’s son Azuz, Soha’s grandson, wasn’t transferring. “I was saying, Azuz, Azuz. I held him, and I saw that his head was gone.”

Child Azuz was killed that day, together with seven different members of the family. Hijazi, who was badly injured and buried in rubble, informed her husband Asaad Sakallah, who survived, “Leave me. Leave me to die. My son is dead.”

However they did not depart her. Hijazi made it to Nasser Hospital in Khan Younis, within the southern Gaza Strip, the place 1000’s of individuals lined the hallways, looking for security from the continued airstrikes. There, the medical doctors carried out an emergency cesarean part, lit solely by the flashlights on their cellphones. There was no electrical energy, no water, and no antibiotics to combat infections. And but she delivered a wholesome child lady, a number of weeks early.

She named her Mariam, after her husband’s sister who was killed.

“The minute they got Mariam out and she was born and she drew her first breath, I drew a breath as well,” remembers Hijazi. “I came back to life.”

Airlifted to Qatar

However that life was nonetheless tenuous. After giving delivery to Mariam, Hijazi’s wounds have been so extreme she was evacuated first to Egypt after which by the Qatari authorities to Doha, Qatar, the place about 2,000 critically wounded sufferers from Gaza dwell, present process medical care.

However she was greater than 1,000 miles away from her household.

Child Mariam, together with Hijazi’s husband and his dad and mom, have been finally capable of make it to Egypt. They paid 1000’s of {dollars} to flee Gaza, however didn’t have visas to affix Hijazi in Doha. So for 10 months, Hijazi, who was deep within the grief of shedding her son, needed to watch from her hospital mattress as her second child grew up over video messages and calls.

“Every day she would do something new,” Hijazi recollects. “A little thing. A new action.” She smiled for the primary time. She began speaking. She received enamel.

“At first she was so tiny, she wouldn’t be able to properly focus on the phone when we would talk on video call,” she provides. “But then when she grew a bit older, I bought a toy for her, so she would focus on the phone screen and look at the camera. And then I felt I could talk to her.”

Being alone in Doha was the toughest half. Over these lonely months, Hijazi underwent greater than a dozen surgical procedures, and numerous hours of psychological and bodily remedy — that’s nonetheless ongoing.

“When I first got to Doha, I was in a dark place,” she remembers. “I used to consider issues rather a lot, I received depressed. To start with, I wasn’t sleeping in any respect. I informed the physician I used to be having nightmares of the evening we have been hit by the airstrike. I saved reliving that day — the day we have been hit — again and again, unable to neglect it.“

In that grief, the one factor that saved her going was the hope of sooner or later assembly, and holding, her second child for the primary time.

“Talking to my daughter would make me feel so much better,” Hijazi says. “A 360 degree difference, I felt relief. She would completely turn my mood around.”

After which, on one of many final days of August, when Mariam was already crawling and speaking, her household was authorised to affix her in Doha.

By September, Hijazi’s small two-bedroom condo is packed: There’s a bubbly child plus Hijazi’s husband and his dad and mom, Soha and Ezzat Sakallah who’ve helped elevate Mariam.

A lot of the time, all of the adults are centered on child Mariam, who’s now the focal point. “She’s the fruit of this house,” her grandfather Ezzat says, “the joy of this house.”

Hijazi says her daughter’s presence has lifted her spirits and helped her give attention to rebuilding her bodily energy.

A protracted street to restoration

Most of the providers Hijazi and different wounded sufferers from Gaza want are housed in the identical advanced in Doha the place they dwell: flats constructed as housing for soccer’s 2022 FIFA World Cup. In considered one of her afternoon bodily remedy classes, Hijazi’s therapist lifts her leg with a weight strapped to her ankle.

“We’re doing this to strengthen the muscles,” says Ruwaa Majed, her physiotherapist. “Hold it for 10 seconds, and release.” She counts to 10, as Hijazi protests. “I’m done Ruwaa, I already did 10!” she says, laughing. “You’re counting too slowly.”

These two girls are across the similar age, and over the months they’ve been working collectively they’ve turn into shut mates. Some classes, they simply sit and discuss. By this level, Majed is aware of Hijazi usually wants a little bit push to maintain going.

“Come on Raneem,” she encourages now, “Don’t you wanna be able to run after your daughter?”

But nearly a year after the attack, even the smallest movements still cause excruciating pain. Hijazi needs a prosthetic arm and will require at least another year of extensive therapy to be able to walk and care for Mariam. She’s scheduled for another major surgery in the coming weeks to try and reconstruct the kneecap on her left leg, which was crushed.

“Sometimes I sit there and I think, I’ve only got one arm, both my legs are injured. My health isn’t very good. … How can I get up and do things? People who are in my situation don’t do things,” she says. “But then I hear stories about women who have lost both their arms and legs and are still doing things and I think, why not me?“

She recently watched a video online of a woman who does everything with her feet — eating and drinking, and she felt inspired.

“I don’t want to just sit there and do nothing, so I’m trying to learn to do things with my injuries. I’m trying to cook,” she says. “I think to myself: I still have one arm, at least. Let me use it.”

Again in her condo, Hijazi winces as she walks gingerly down the hallway to the kitchen, bracing herself in opposition to the wall. She begins to make espresso, utilizing her enamel to open a water bottle and untie a plastic bag of spices.

“I by no means need folks to do issues for me,” she says, “I want to do things for myself.”

Spending time in the kitchen brings her comfort. Before the war, she loved to bake. “Here is a chocolate cheesecake I made,” she says, citing a photograph on her cellphone. She scrolls again by means of time, pulling up extra muffins and candies she’s crafted. “Made by Raneem!” she says, laughing.

Regardless of having an extended street forward, moments like these remind her of the elements of herself, and her outdated life in Gaza, that she is working to regain.

Scrolling by means of cake pictures, she tries to not linger on the tons of of pictures of Azuz. It’s unattainable to recollect her life in Gaza with out feeling the ache of shedding her son, she says. Mariam is now about the identical age Azuz was when he was killed, and each she and her husband can’t assist however see him in her.

“She looks just like her brother,” Asaad Sakallah, 25, says.

“If my daughter does something that reminds me of my son, I find myself immediately going to look back through photos of him, and remembering him, and I start to cry,” says Hijazi. “Her eyes are like his. Her laugh is like his. Even when I hold her, my heart hurts for her and for my son.”

Sakallah pulls up a video of Azuz, laughing. He then scrolls to a unique video, taken simply days in the past, of Mariam laughing.

It sounds precisely the identical.

Mariam would not know her mother but, and Hijazi’s accidents make it tough to carry her, to feed her and to alter her. In her wheelchair, Hijazi cradles Mariam together with her one arm and Mariam struggles to get away.

“As you can see, she’s not used to me. Her grandma is like her mother,” she explains. “That feeling alone kills me.”

Hijazi has resorted to little tips to maintain Mariam shut. On the sofa one morning she tickles the little lady, feeding her small kernels of popcorn to maintain her from crawling away. “I’m tempting her with popcorn,” she says. “I hope that she gets attached to me and gets used to me. The feeling of motherhood is so special.”

With each chew Mariam giggles, and Hijazi smiles. “Bit by bit it’s getting better,” Hijazi says. “She’s getting to know me and feel more comfortable around me.”

Starting to consider the long run

For a lot of the time Hijazi has been in Doha, she hasn’t let herself take into consideration the long run.

“We are just living each day as it comes here, we don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow,” she says. “I think about how we will build a life for Mariam. Our life isn’t settled here. Where will we be in a year’s time?”

However having her household be a part of her these previous couple of days has eased a few of her anxieties. She’s taken on the position of tour information, directing them to ice cream on the port and to the Souq Waqif, a market within the middle of the town.

One evening Sakallah pushes her wheelchair by means of the part of the market promoting loud colourful birds. Mariam is driving on her lap, holding onto an enormous pink balloon and squealing with pleasure.

There are not any airstrikes right here; no broken buildings. They’re secure. However the market reminds Hijazi of markets again in Gaza, and she or he lingers on the actual fact this isn’t their dwelling.

However Mariam’s unfiltered delight is contagious, and at this second Hijazi feels relaxed, and hopeful.

“I tell myself we are only living this life once, and it’s fleeting,” Hijazi says. In these moments, it is laborious to not attempt to see the world by means of Mariam’s eyes. “I would be happy giving Mariam even half the life we used to have in Gaza.”

This story was reported by Elissa Nadworny; produced by Fatima Al-Kassab; pictures by Claire Harbage; combined for radio by Lauren Migaki; edited for radio by James Hider and Steve Drummond; edited for digital by Alex Leff.