A Mother's Story: My Daughter, Wateen Al-Rouh
My name is Duha, and I am a mother from Gaza. My daughter's name is Wateen Al-Rouh.
I had always dreamed of building a family. But before I could begin that life, I lost my husband while I was still pregnant with our daughter. I was six months pregnant, and the grief took a heavy toll on me. My health was fragile, and my condition was unstable.
Wateen was born on July 26, 2025, by Caesarean section, in the middle of the war. She weighed 2.9 kilograms. I gave birth in a hospital in southern Gaza as explosions sounded nearby and fear filled the air. I held my newborn daughter in my arms, knowing that her father would never have the chance to meet her.
It is difficult to put into words what that moment meant to me. Giving birth should be a time of joy, a moment when a family welcomes a new life and begins imagining all the possibilities that lie ahead. For me, it was also a moment of profound grief. As I held my daughter, I was beginning a new chapter of motherhood while mourning the person who should have been beside me.
Just one day after giving birth, I had to leave the hospital because it was no longer safe. I carried my newborn back to a tent. She was only one day old.
Since then, our suffering has continued. The heat is unbearable, insects are everywhere, smoke from open fires fills the air, and hunger is a constant presence in our lives. Providing even the most basic necessities for my daughter, including milk and diapers, is a daily struggle.
Wateen entered this world having already lost her father before she was born. From the very beginning of her life, she has been surrounded by hardships no child should have to face. As her mother, I want to give her the security and care that every newborn deserves, yet so much of my energy goes toward navigating circumstances that make even the simplest things difficult.
When I look at my daughter, I think about the life I had imagined for her. I think about the moments she should experience as she grows: being held in a safe home, playing without fear, discovering the world around her, and knowing that tomorrow holds possibilities rather than uncertainty.
I cannot change the circumstances into which she was born, nor can I bring her father back. But I hold on to the hope that her life will not always be defined by the hardships of her earliest days.
I am sharing our story because I want my daughter to have the chance to grow up in safety, with the opportunity to live a life beyond survival. I want her future to hold the possibilities that every child deserves: security, care, and the freedom to dream.
More than anything, I want Wateen to experience a childhood in which happiness is ordinary, safety is something she can rely on, and the future is something she can look forward to with hope.