Since the ceasefire went into effect, the sky in Gaza has changed. There is an unusual silence. We can no longer hear fighter jets or helicopters. Quadcopters are also gone, but drones – “zanana” – remain.
The popularity of Israeli drones is unquestionable. It has been a constant companion to us in Gaza for many years as Israel develops its drone technology using us as test subjects.
During the genocide, the proximity and volume of the humming increased, sending a clear message: The drones are hungry for the souls of the citizens of Gaza. For 15 months, these flying machines controlled where we went, what we did and who lived or died. It was as if the worker had placed a surveillance camera over every living soul in Gaza. It was as if the drones were outnumbering the birds in the skies of Gaza.
For 15 months, the buzzing noise never stopped – day or night. It would put itself in the heads of the people of Gaza, young and old, and make them suffer. It can consume our mind and our hope that the war will ever end.
With so many drones in the sky, even simple tasks were a challenge. As you cook food, the noise can create a dark background, disrupting your concentration. You would lose your cool and burn what little food you have.
Drones can hurt your feelings, annoy you and other family members, and cause misunderstandings and conflicts to escalate.
An elderly woman in the camp where we lived once told me, “A flying plane eats my mind.” He thought of the constant throbbing as a chronic, incurable headache. It would be worse at night, piercing his brain and keeping him awake. When he slept, he would have nightmares about bombings and destruction.
Drones were not only dangerous for their drones and surveillance but also for killing many people unnecessarily. Being out after dark meant you risked becoming a target. So just before nightfall, the Palestinians rushed back to their tents to take shelter. The children, who used to play outside, lived together.
At night, if you felt the need to go to the bathroom, you would have two choices: wet yourself or risk your life to relieve yourself. Fear and dread would take over your mind as you squeeze your bladder, trying to hold it in.
I knew of many families who used buckets at night to relieve themselves and empty them in the morning.
Bathing, too, became a dangerous issue in the displacement camps. One would not risk starting a fire in the evening to get warm water because it would attract drones. So you may need to rush through this process during the day, pour water on your body and wipe off the soap as quickly as your imagination plays games: What if a drone shoots? He quickly got dressed because the chances of him dying naked were unbearable.
The genocide saw a new feature introduced to these drones: tricking the Palestinians into leaving.
Imagine, in the middle of a sleepless night, you hear the sound of a hungry cat. Driven by your human compassion, you go out to give him something to eat. You are hungry too, but deep down you say to yourself, “I can handle you, but the cat can’t find food on its own.” You go out to throw food and suddenly a gunshot ends your act of kindness.
Drones and quadcopters use various recorded sounds to deceive their victims: a baby crying, a child crying for help. They used the compassion and solidarity of the Palestinians, who persevered despite the unbearable suffering of the war.
We became so used to being harassed by drones that on rare occasions when their buzzing stopped, we felt that something was wrong.
My colleague Wissal told me that one night he noticed that he could not hear any airplanes. He was shocked. He woke up his family and urged them to pack their bags. The silence was terrifying, he thought.
He recalled what happened in Rafah one night when the drones were silent: a terrible attack was launched that destroyed his neighborhood. His family managed to escape.
Wissal was right. The silence of the drones was again a sign of an imminent attack. As the Israeli army began shelling the “safe haven” he and his family had taken refuge in, they again fled for their lives.
Today, now that it has come into effect, the risk of being killed by an Israeli strike may have temporarily disappeared, but drone surveillance and buzzing continues. Drones continue to rob us of our sense of security and independence.
The prospect of drone-free skies remains a distant dream, deeply tied to the wider struggle for justice, independence and peace. Only with the actual end of the mission can this vision of unburdened skies become a reality. Until this happens, drones will continue to consume our minds.
The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect the editorial position of Al Jazeera.
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