In Gaza, movement has become a daily struggle—whether on foot, by bicycle, or with makeshift carts—as fuel shortages and soaring transport fares leave thousands with no choice but to walk for survival.
Mohammed faces an exhausting daily reality, walking 9 to 10 kilometers every day just to complete his most basic tasks.
Despite the ceasefire, Israel’s continued restrictions on fuel entering Gaza have deepened the region’s transportation crisis. Movement has become a daily struggle, with limited public transport and skyrocketing fares making even short rides unaffordable for most.
Every morning, Mohammed walks 3 kilometers to work, a distance that once took only minutes by car. After a long day, he walks another 3 kilometers home. “I probably won’t find any transportation,” he tells the Palestine Chronicle. “And even if I do, the fare is too high for me to afford.”
But his walking doesn’t stop there. “Every day brings its own needs,” he explains. Running errands—buying groceries, picking up aid, or visiting family—adds another 2 to 3 kilometers to his daily burden. Each step feels heavier with time, but with no alternatives, he has no choice but to keep going.
Before the war, Mohammed loved walking. “I used to walk for fun, to clear my mind and enjoy the fresh air,” he recalls. “Now, I walk because I have to. It’s no longer a choice.”
The endless walking has taken a toll on his body. “I no longer feel like I can walk anymore,” he admits. “My legs are always sore, my back aches, and I feel drained all the time.”
What was once a hobby has become a punishing necessity, a daily reminder of the war’s lasting impact on every aspect of life in Gaza. “The hardest moment,” he adds, “is waking up exhausted, knowing I have to walk many kilometers today. But I can’t take a break—I have to keep going to provide for my family.”
With transportation fares soaring to 5–7 NIS per ride—compared to just 1–2 NIS before the war—using transport even occasionally would cost Mohammed nearly 200 NIS a month. “What salary do I have to afford this?” he asks.
Earning just $800 a month in an economy devastated by war, he struggles to support his three-person family, let alone spend money on something as basic as a bus ride.
Mohammed knows he isn’t alone in this struggle. Across Gaza, thousands face the same reality—forced to walk for hours under the sun, exhausted and drained, yet with no choice but to continue.
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The Bicycle Struggle
Abu Elias, a 30-year-old father of one, relies on his bicycle to get everywhere. “Before the war, I only used my bike for short rides, just to stay active,” he told us. “Now, it’s my only way to move.”
Every morning, he cycles 5 kilometers from the north of Gaza City to the west, dodging potholes, debris, and bulldozed streets along the way. By the time he arrives, he’s already exhausted. After a long day of work, he still has to pedal the same distance back home.
“I cannot give up on my bicycle. It’s my most precious possession,” Abu Elias says. “My work is far away, and I have no choice but to rely on it.”
During the war, he lost his bicycle in an attack and was left without any means of transportation. He had no option but to buy a new one for 700 NIS (around $200). Though expensive compared to pre-war prices, he was lucky—bike prices have since skyrocketed, with some reaching 3,500 NIS (above $1,000), an unimaginable sum for most Gazans.
While bicycles shorten the journey, they don’t make it easier. “The roads are in terrible condition, full of cracks and rubble from the bombings,” Abu Elias explains. “I have to be extra careful to avoid accidents, and that makes my rides even more exhausting.”
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With Gaza’s fuel crisis, bicycles have become a lifeline for many, but they come with their own costs. “I consider myself lucky to have this bike,” Abu Elias admits. “At least I’m not walking like so many others.” But even cycling isn’t free—his tires wear out quickly on the rough roads, and spare parts are scarce and expensive.
“A simple repair that used to cost 10 NIS now costs three times that,” he says. “If something major breaks, I don’t know how I’ll afford to fix it.”
Like Mohammed, Abu Elias is trapped in a reality where something as basic as transportation has become a daily battle. “I used to enjoy riding my bike,” he says. “Now, every ride feels like a struggle just to get through the day.”
For both men, and countless others in Gaza, the war’s devastation lingers far beyond the battlefield. Whether on foot or on wheels, survival remains a relentless journey—one that demands strength, endurance, and a resilience that never seems to get a break.
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Pushing a Children’s Cart through Gaza’s Devastated Streets
In the midst of Gaza’s deepening transportation crisis—where fuel shortages and soaring fares have left thousands stranded—those who have even the simplest means of mobility, like a children’s wheel cart, are considered fortunate.
For Diana, a 27-year-old mother of a baby boy, that worn-out wheel cart has become her lifeline. Once meant for carrying her child on leisurely strolls, it is now an essential tool for survival—hauling food, water, and anything else her family needs.
“Before the war, I never thought I’d be using this cart to get around,” she says. “It was just for my baby, for him to move and have fun. Now, it’s my only way to transport anything.”
She still uses it to push her son through Gaza’s devastated streets, but every trip is a battle. “The roads are destroyed,” Diana explains. “I keep getting stuck—either by rubble, potholes, or deep cracks in the ground. Some days, I feel like I’m dragging more than pushing.”
But the cart’s purpose has expanded far beyond carrying her child. “It’s not just for him anymore,” she says. “We use it for water bottles, gas cans, food aid—anything too heavy to carry by hand. Without it, I don’t know how I’d manage.”
In a place where survival depends on community, the cart has even become a shared resource. “Sometimes my neighbors borrow it when they need to fetch aid coupons or bring back something heavy from the market,” she says. “It’s not just me—everyone here is struggling to move.”
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Diana’s daily routine is exhausting. Some days, her baby naps in the cart as she pushes. Other days, she has to pile it with supplies and carry him in her arms instead. “It’s so difficult,” she admits. “But what else can I do? I have to get food, I have to get water, I have to take my son with me—there is no alternative.”
The physical toll is relentless. “My back aches. My hands hurt from gripping the handle for hours. My arms feel like they can’t push anymore,” she says. “But I have no choice. No one does.”
Despite everything, Diana finds brief moments of relief in her son’s laughter. “He doesn’t understand what we’re going through,” she says with a faint smile. “To him, it’s still just his little ride.”
With each passing day, Diana’s exhaustion grows—but so does her resolve. “This cart, as old and broken as it is, keeps me moving,” she says. “And as long as I can push, I will keep going—for my son, for my family, for our survival.”
(The Palestine Chronicle)
– Noor Alyacoubi is a Gaza-based writer. She studied English language and literature at al-Azhar university in Gaza City. She is part of the Gaza-based writers’ collective We Are Not Numbers. She contributed this article to The Palestine Chronicle.
