Monday already feels like a lifetime ago.
Outbursts of joy from UNWRA schools, crammed full of displaced Gazans like me, could be heard all across Rafah. Hamas had just announced it would accept a ceasefire and, for a brief moment, Israel's war on Gaza seemed to be coming to an end.
But now it's clear this false dawn — the most painful of all — may well be our last. Israel has begun evacuating the eastern part of Rafah and strangled aid routes. Now they are shelling us with impunity.
Israel's politicians promised a massacre, and with 1.4 million of us sheltering in an area of 25 square miles, a massacre is what they will get.
For the past month, we've been glued to our radios, televisions, phones — anything left with signal. There were rumours that negotiations between Hamas and Israel were softening, but who are we to know, a drowning man will always clutch at straws.
Nothing separates us other than where we are scattered. Some have chosen the main road in the centre of Rafah in the hope of escape, whilst others chose the road by the sea — the last place in Gaza not (yet) tainted by the smell of death and decay. The sounds of the waves are a painful reminder that there is life beyond siege.
In the face of genocide, we're all the same. Among fellow Palestinians, we're poor, displaced, famished, and grief-stricken. Among Israelis, we're designated targets.
Rafah, Gaza's last hope, has fallen
Yesterday, on May 8, Rafah's city centre was left deserted. In our thousands, we scrambled for any semblance of transport; car, horse, donkey, anything that can carry what's left of our belongings.
In the south of Gaza City, along Al-Rashid Street, families frantically dismantled their tents, their children wailing with the pangs of hunger. Once upon a time, they had hoped Gaza City would be a "safe zone". Then they hoped it would be Khan Younis, then Rafah. Now they have nowhere left to go. For many Gazans, this is the eighth time that they have been displaced in seven months.
With limited internet, we read that the Al-Masawi neighbourhood — an area that has already been bombed countless times by the Israeli army — is our best bet for safety. It's a remote, barren area, with no infrastructure and no schools for us to shelter in. The Israeli army says it is a "safe humanitarian zone" but all we can hear are their drones lingering above.
There is little food in the Al-Masawi area and even fewer water sources. Even in Rafah, it's become very difficult to find food after Israel took control of the Rafah border crossing last Tuesday, April 30.
Medical personnel have yet to arrive. Rafah's only hospital, the Abu Yousef al-Najjar Hospital, is forced to operate at over 560% of capacity. Remember, we're not only being killed by mortar shells. With no food, water, and rampant infection, we're literally dying on our feet.
It seems like an age ago when, in mid-February, the International Court of Justice proved that there were plausible grounds that Israel is committing genocide. We, like the rest of the world, had hoped that this might spell the beginning of the end, but now it seems like another cruel joke.
After seven months of torture, even the city of Rafah — affectionately called the 'citadel of steadfastness' in Arabic — is seemingly resigned to its fate. The features of the city have changed, the buildings are either destroyed or beyond repair and the facial expressions of those left are pained with grief. The painted smiles have long gone, all that is left are sullen, sunken stares.
As the minutes tick by, we're afraid that Israel, unrestrained, emboldened and unaccountable, will now do what it said it would set out to do: to annihilate Gaza and leave us in Rafah dead or leave us with nothing left worth living for.
Amjad Yaghi is a Palestinian journalist based in Gaza. He has been a correspondent for several Arab newspapers and magazines, including Al-Araby al-Jadeed, The New Arab's Arabic-language sister publication, The Electronic Intifada, and Al-Monitor.
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Opinions expressed in this article remain those of the author and do not necessarily represent those of The New Arab, its editorial board or staff.