Shurouq, 32, is a Save the Children staff member in Gaza. Shurouq lost her husband after he was killed in the first weeks of the war. Along with her 3-and-a-half-year-old daughter, Karmel*, Shurouq has been displaced many times during the war.
Another sleepless summer night, in the shelter room I share with my three-and-a-half-year-old daughter. She woke up yesterday at 2 am and whispered in a suffocating voice, “Mum, why does it feel like I can’t breathe? There’s something here,” pointing to her chest.
Night is supposed to bring relief, but here the heat does not leave when the sun goes down. I was helpless. I splashed water on her face. Every window in our shelter was already open, as though the threat of mosquitoes, insects, and rodents had become less frightening than the suffocating heat. I grabbed a plastic serving tray and fanned her, hoping to ease her breathing.
This was not just another difficult parenting moment. I stood there unable to explain the enormity of what was happening. How do you tell a three-year-old that this unbearable heat is another consequence of Israel’s deliberate destruction of the conditions children and families in Gaza need to survive?
Since October 2023, 82% of buildings in Gaza have been damaged, forcing families into overcrowded temporary shelters and leaving nearly one million Palestinians living in tents. Across Gaza, people are enduring extreme heat with little protection or means to cool themselves. For those living in tents, conditions are even worse: tents can act like greenhouses, trapping heat with little ventilation. When temperatures outside feel like 37°C, inside a tent they can feel like more than 50°C.
The sun shining through a tree in Gaza. Extreme heat is making life difficult for families in Gaza. Simple things like cooking or sleeping are affected, as heat makes food spoil faster and tents don't offer much shelter. Save the Children
The air is heavy because we are living by the sea, where the humidity is relentless. And overcrowding makes the situation much more difficult. More than two million Palestinians are crowded into roughly 30% of Gaza’s land, a landscape of rubble, tents, and the few homes still standing. There are no trees left to cool the air. We do not breathe the freshness of nature; we breathe the dust rising from mountains of debris. Even the sea is no longer a place where we feel safe. Israeli naval forces remain nearby, and people have been shot at, killed or detained simply for entering the water, including fishermen trying to feed their families.
We have no electricity. Those fortunate enough to own a solar panel are now considered privileged, even wealthy, because obtaining one has become nearly impossible under the restrictions imposed by the Israeli authorities.
Without electricity, we cannot operate fans, refrigeration or other basic cooling equipment, leaving children, older people and those with medical conditions particularly vulnerable to extreme heat.
Not only is cold water out of reach, but also clean water. Up to 70% of families are unable to collect six litres per person per day for drinking and cooking. That's less than half of an individual's needs during emergencies, according to the World Health Organisation. The destruction of Gaza’s entire infrastructure has turned access to water into a daily fight for survival.
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We have no electricity. Those fortunate enough to own a solar panel are now considered privileged, even wealthy, because obtaining one has become nearly impossible under the restrictions imposed by the Israeli authorities.
Without electricity, we cannot operate fans, refrigeration or other basic cooling equipment, leaving children, older people and those with medical conditions particularly vulnerable to extreme heat.
Not only is cold water out of reach, but also clean water. Up to 70% of families are unable to collect six litres per person per day for drinking and cooking. That's less than half of an individual's needs during emergencies, according to the World Health Organisation. The destruction of Gaza’s entire infrastructure has turned access to water into a daily fight for survival.
A water tank in a makeshift kitchen in Gaza. Save the Children
I am only 32 years old, yet my body still bears the scars of malnutrition, of breastfeeding during famine, of sleeping for months on a thin mattress that feels no different than the bare ground. The physical consequences linger every day. I can barely carry my daughter, yet I have no choice but to haul heavy water containers so she can bathe four times a day, hoping to protect her from skin infections and heat rashes.
The daily scenes of water delivery are beyond heartbreaking. Long queues under the burning sun. A child carrying a water container which is heavier than the schoolbag they should be carrying instead. An elderly man in a wheelchair balancing a jerrycan on his lap. A pregnant woman, barely able to see the road beyond her belly, struggling with a container that feels heavier than the life growing inside her. A young man with an amputated leg refusing to give up, determined to carry water because he still wants to be the support his family depends on.
We witness increasing cases of children suffering from heat-related illnesses such as heat exhaustion, sunstroke, severe dehydration, heat rash, skin infections resulting from sweating and poor hygiene, and worsening malnutrition and organ failure due to fluid loss and poor appetite.
In Gaza, every piece of ordinary heatwave advice assumes the existence of things we do not have: enough water to drink, electricity to run a fan, a refrigerator to keep water cold, a shaded room to enter, or a health facility that can be reached quickly. In Gaza, even the instructions for surviving the heat have become privileges.
