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Woburn Safari Park 12/08/14

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I feel nothing today, except pity. All words have been drained and squeezed out. The heartache has boiled off and been replaced with a burning anger, a pity for us. They’ve gone back to their Lord with beautiful smiles glowing on their pale, still faces. They’ve done their bit and more.

But rather I pity us, those left behind. I pity us for the incredible responsibility we now carry for every single soul unrightfully taken that day. I pity us for a day where will reunite with them again, stand side by side with them, a day where we will smell the musk radiating off their bullet wounds. I pity us for this day for it is the same day we will stand side by side with them in front of our Lord.

What words will we have to say then?

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My name is Khadija Said, a student hoping to take the plunge and Skydive for Gaza on the 23 of August, 2014. Over the last couple of weeks, I have sat helplessly in front of my TV screen watching as one Israeli bomb after another dropped over Gaza. The death and devastation that followed this heavy bombardment has left me feeling both helpless and hopeless. The death toll has already reached 1,800 with more than 8,300 left injured and this number is continuously on the rise. UNRWA estimates that the number of children killed in this war has reached over 370.

Just hearing these numbers repeated over and over, 1,800, 370, 8,300. The people of Gaza have become exactly that: numbers. But there’s a lot more to each of these people. A story waiting to be told, a life determined, truly determined to exist. As we hope to plunge down from 13,000 ft – I can only think of the bombs that fall over Gaza at a similar height. Those who have been killed in Gaza have left the constant fear of the next bomb, have left the constant attacks, shelling and bombardment, but we often forget the permanent damage bombs leave behind. Of men, women and children who have been left mentally, physically and emotionally scarred for the rest of their lives.

This is Gaza.

A people, a generation of brave youth that above all odds, still cling on to hope. Hope that they will overcome. That they too like the children of the world will no longer wake up to the sound of bombs, will no longer go to sleep at night with the fear that it will be their last. That they will one day be able to walk to school, with their shoes crunching over the rubble and hatred bombs leave behind - that they will be able to rebuild homes and plant seeds of love back into Gaza’s soil. That they too can run around freely and lie underneath the shades of Palestine’s ancient olive trees to shelter from the summer sun. It was the cries of the children of Gaza, their tears, anguish and the realisation that I too could have just as easily been in their place that spurred me on to overcome one of my greatest fears: the fear of heights

A story that has stuck with me is that of 7 year old Maha, who’d lost 6 members of her family and was left paralysed from the neck down. Maha, just one of the thousands of children in Gaza is in dire need of aid. It’s because of these children, their determination and their resilience to live that we hope to be able to raise enough money to fund for the treatment of children like Maha.

Our target is to raise £12,000 as a team to fund a Treatment Room complete with medicine and medical equipment supplies for the victims of the humanitarian crisis in Gaza. 

This challenge could not come at a more critical time. The people of Gaza are in desperate need of medicine and medical supplies, with 18 of their health facilities crippled from recent bombings.


Enough shelling, enough heartbreak, enough damage.


Please help me raise money for Gaza now:

It’s the same rain you loved that drowned you.

(Source: myarabicthoughts, via thingzilike)

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(Source: love-allah, via freedomismywish)

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