The Death of Nouf

Many of you who have followed me over the past three years will probably recognise a certain family I have talked about so many times. A family inside Gaza Concentration Camp, whom I have been supporting and working to raise funds for. This family consisting of mother, Nouf, daughter Lamees (20s), and son Momo (6).

Yesterday, I was been informed that Nouf has died. No, she was killed.

Nouf, a Palestinian mother, was murdered by the Israelis.

Nouf succumbed to the wounds sustained after the Israelis targeted a bomb near the family's tent in 2025. The usual Israeli, genocidal attacks of bombing tents. Starvation, lack of medicine, and months of agony finally ended in her death.

Lamees and Momo are now orphans, as the Israelis have killed both of their parents, as well as their sister. They initially started out as a family of six. They are now down to two. Their father was murdered in 2025, as was their sister.

Lamees, who had been in charge of trying to keep her mother and little brother alive, has lately been unable to pay the amount needed to rent a spot to put their tent. Space inside Gaza Concentration Camp is scarce and the area is ever shrinking as the Israelis squeeze the Palestinian population into a tighter and tighter area.

Just three days ago, Netanyahu announced that the Israeli occupation will be taking over 70% of Gaza. (Up from the previous 50% earlier this year.) The Palestinian population is being pushed into the sea, pressed into a smaller and smaller area. It's in essence a kill box. This is all in order for the occupiers to exterminate the Palestinians with more efficiency.

That means that Lamees and Momo are now on their own: without a tent (or any shelter). They are on the street.

Lamees has been trying her best to care for her little brother, who is starving and ill; scrounging for medication and food, and all while mourning the loss of her mother. Momo is without either of his parents. It is an impossible burden atop other impossible burdens. They are hungry, homeless, terrified, and suffering.

Over the past two years, I spent hours of prayer, conversation, raising funds, sharing with this family. Hearing their stories, watching over video what their squalor has been like, witnessing life from inside a concentration camp with my own eyes. I heard of how Momo wept in bed, hungry and in pain. How he one day asked Lamees fearfully: "Am I going to die?" Imagine that. A 5-year-old facing the possibility of his own execution.

Last year, Momo and some of his friends sent me pictures, as their little hands held up crayon drawings and thank you notes. "My sister Natalie, we love you."

They have indeed loved me. Nouf called me her daughter; Lamees called me her sister. Momo asked about how I and my husband are doing. I was closer to them - these people in Gaza - then to the people back home, whom I've known my whole life, but who have remained silent during this holocaust. I see very clearly who are my family and who aren't now.

The grief I carry today is black. It falls in line with the grief I carry from witnessing death after death of Palestinians and Lebanese people. Not one of the hundreds of thousands of slaughtered Palestinians has been merely a number to me. Nor should they be. None of them are just a statistic. Because I know they are people. They are my people. And yours. They are ours. My brothers and sisters.

Nouf was not a victim of war. She was not an accident or a tragedy. She was not collatoral damage. She was exterminated inside a concentration camp by the white colonisers called the "Israelis". It was planned, intended, and executed.

I allow the grief to exist. I resist the tendency to feel helpless. That is white, hot garbage. (Emphasis on 'white'). I am not helpless. None of us are! That self-pitying indulgence so often spewed in white society must die a sudden death. Though I cannot do everything, I can do something. We can all do something. We must do something. I do what I can.

The fight goes on. The fight for a liberated Palestine. I work for a complete and disastrous end to the colonial project known as "Israel". May God's rightful fury bring it crashing to the ground.

The blood of Nouf calls out from the ground. Calls for justice.

She will have her justice. And her blood - along with the many, many Palestinians martyrs - will stand as witness against every silent tongue.

Today I remember Nouf. But more importantly, I remember those still living and how much they need us to fight for them.

If you are able - whether through donations or prayers - please reach your hand through the bars of their concentration camp and help Lamees and Momo in whatever way you can.

Thank you so much to all who have helped them so far.

Donate here: https://gofund.me/647ffaed9