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Since the ceasefire took effect, the sky in Gaza has changed. There is an unusual silence. We no longer hear Israeli warplanes or helicopters. The quadcopters are also gone, but the drones – “zanana” – remain.
The hum of Israeli drones is unmistakable. He was a constant companion for us in Gaza for many years as Israel developed its drone technology, using us as test subjects.
During the genocide, the proximity and loudness of the buzz increased, sending a clear message: the drones craved the souls of Gazans. For 15 months, these flying machines controlled where we went, what we did, and who lived or died. It felt like the occupation had placed a surveillance camera over every living soul in Gaza. It felt like there were more drones than birds in the skies over Gaza.
For 15 months the buzzing does not stop either day or night. It would implant itself in the minds of the people of Gaza, young and old, and torment them. It would consume our sanity and our optimism that the war would ever stop.
Under the swarm of drones in the sky, even the simplest activities were a challenge. While cooking food, the sound creates a dark background, disrupting your concentration. You will lose your cool and burn what little food you had.
Drones will get on your nerves, annoy you and other family members, cause tension and escalate arguments.
An older woman at the camp where we were once told me, “The drone is eating my mind.” She thought of the constant buzzing like a chronic, incurable headache. It got worse at night, piercing her brain and robbing her of sleep. If he fell asleep, he would have nightmares of bombings and destruction.
Drones terrorized not only with their buzzing and surveillance, but also with random mass killings. Being out after dark meant risking being a target. So just before nightfall the Palestinians rush back to their tents and take shelter. Children who normally play outside also stay in place.
At night, if you feel the need to go to the bathroom, you will have two options: wet yourself or risk your life to relieve yourself. Panic and fear will take over your mind as you squeeze your bladder trying to hold it in.
I knew of several families who used buckets at night to relieve themselves and emptied them in the morning.
Bathing also became a dangerous issue in the displacement camps. You can't risk lighting a fire in the evening to warm the water, because that might attract drones. So you'll have to rush through the process during the day, dousing your body with water and rinsing off the soap as quickly as possible as your imagination plays games: What if a drone is launched? You hurried to get dressed quickly because the prospect of dying naked was unbearable.
The genocide saw a new function introduced to these drones: tricking Palestinians into leaving them.
Imagine that during a sleepless night you hear the meow of a hungry cat. Driven by your human compassion, you go out to offer him something to eat. You are also hungry, but deep down you say to yourself, “I can handle it, but the cat can't find food on its own.” You go out to throw him a piece of food and a sudden gunshot ends your act of compassion.
Drones and quadcopters used various recorded sounds to lure their victims: a crying baby, a child screaming for help. They benefited from the compassion and solidarity of the Palestinians who persevered despite the unbearable suffering of the war.
We've become so used to being tormented by the drones that on the rare occasions when their buzzing stopped, we sensed that something was wrong.
My colleague Visal told me that one night she noticed that she couldn't hear any drones. She was horrified. She woke her family by urging them to pack their bags. The silence was eerie, she thought.
She remembered what had happened in Rafah one night when the drones fell silent: a horrific attack had taken place that devastated their neighborhood. Her family managed to escape.
Visal was right. The silence of the drones again proves to be a sign of an impending attack. When the Israeli army began bombing the “safe zone” where she and her family had taken shelter, they again fled for their lives.
Today, as the cease-fire goes into effect, the immediate danger of being killed by an Israeli strike may have temporarily disappeared, but the drone surveillance and buzzing continues. Drones continue to rob us of our sense of safety and autonomy.
The prospect of drone-free skies remains a distant dream, closely tied to the broader struggle for justice, self-determination and peace. Only with the true end of the occupation can this vision of an unencumbered sky truly become a reality. Until that happens, drones will continue to consume our minds.
The views expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the editorial position of Al Jazeera.
