‘We are used to war here’: The shopkeepers of Gaza look for help to rebuild

More than 500 businesses were damaged or destroyed in the fighting between Israel and Hamas. For many it will be years before they are fully restored, write Steve Hendrix and Hazem Balousha

Naji Dwaima, owner of Dwaima's for Watches, stands in front of the rubble of his shop in Gaza City (Photo for The Washington Post by Loay Ayyoub)

Naji Dwaima's family is known as “the watch family” in Gaza, and last Sunday morning, he sat on a folding chair and stared at the spot where his watch shop used to be. It was buried under 12 stories of rubble, destroyed, along with dozens of other shops, factories, banks and a significant chunk of Gaza's economy, by Israeli missiles.

On the third day of the ceasefire between Israel and Hamas, the bustle on Gaza streets was nearly back to normal, with undamaged restaurants and shops open, and traffic in several parts of the city edging noisily around missile craters.

But for many, a return to business, if a return is possible, will be months away. The loss of jobs and revenue to the devastation of the previous two weeks is expected to make the task of rebuilding Gaza's economy even more difficult.

Gaza was one of the poorest corners of the region even before the bombardment and the coronavirus pandemic. Before the virus hit, about 80 per cent of the population relied on international aid, according to Oxfam. Youth unemployment, estimated at 50 per cent, was perhaps the highest in the world, the charity said.

More than 525 businesses were damaged or destroyed in the fighting, the Geneva-based Euro-Mediterranean Human Rights Monitor estimated. The toll included at least 50 factories, the group said, along with hundreds of small businesses, the backbone of Gaza's commercial life. Rebuilding those will take international aid and the willingness of owners, such as the watch family, to start over.

He got the call last week from the building’s doorman. The Israeli Air Force had warned tenants to get out immediately – they said the building held Hamas military offices

Dwaima said he came to sit by his ruined shop here on Omar Al-Mukhtar Street, one of Gaza's main commercial strips, in part because he didn't know, after 26 years of 13-hour days, six days a week, how else to spend his time.

He showed a mobile phone video of his shop, Dwaima’s for Watches, as it had stood, a brightly light emporium of Casios, Seikos, wall clocks and a perfume rack, now pulverised beneath the flattened Al-Shorouk building.

“This is as much my home as my home,” he said. “All of my impressions, all of my dreams are attached to this place.”

He got the call last week from the building's doorman. The Israeli Air Force had warned tenants to get out immediately – they said the building held Hamas military offices, and they were about to strike it.

He tried to get one last look at the shop, but his taxi became stuck in traffic. He had jumped out to run the last few hundred yards when he heard a massive explosion. Looking up, he saw a fireball blast into the sky and knew the businesses that had allowed him buy a house, raise six children and send three daughters to university had become a casualty of war.

Naji Dwaima sifts through Al-Shorouk building rubble last Sunday (For The Washington Post by Loay Ayyoub)

In the 2014 war with Israel, Dwaima's family home had been destroyed by a missile, he said. But losing the business he started when he was 18 was even more painful.

“We are all alive, thank God; that is the important thing,” he said. “But this was my life, too.”

Even before Hamas began launching thousands of missiles into Israel this month and Israel responded with its massive bombardment, Gaza's business owners were struggling through a year like no other. The pandemic and several lockdowns had cut Dwaima's revenue by 40 per cent, he said. Many small shops failed.

But when the most recent lockdown ended in early May, owners looked forward to Eid – the celebratory end of the Muslim holy month of Ramadan and the most lucrative retail period of the year – to boost sales. Dwaima ordered about £40,000 of new inventory from dealers in China and the West Bank.

“It's our main season,” he said. “We were optimistic.”

Three nights before Eid, the bombings started.

Bilal Mansour surveys his bombed-out shop (For The Washington Post by Loay Ayyoub)

“We are still in shock,” said Hossain Salem, the owner of Lavender, a clothing and accessories shop across the street from Dwaima's.

Salem had expected Eid to improve his bottom line for the first time in months. Now he was looking into the blackened cave that was his shop, where sooty handbags hung above toppled mannequins and twisted metal.

Salem, like other shop owners, is counting on international aid and donations to provide some compensation, but he doesn't know if he will start over. Health officials warn that Gaza now faces a third wave of Covid infections that took hold in shelters that were overcrowded during the bombing.

“We will wait now,” he said, lifting his hands in resignation.

For some retailers, the ceasefire came just in time.

Omar Abukarsh and his father had worked for months to launch Al Tazej – Arabic for “fresh” – an ambitious grill restaurant, in time for Eid. The bombs started falling two days after they cut the ribbon. They decided to stay open for takeaway for the few Gazans willing to venture into the streets.

“We are used to war here,” Abukarsh said.

Omar Abukarsh, owner of Fresh Food, talks to the staff inside the Gaza City restaurant (For The Washington Post by Loay Ayyoub)

Since peace returned, he has been encouraged by an outpouring of support. Last Saturday night every table was full, the queue for shawarma was long, and families turned out in the holiday clothes that they would have worn for Eid. His cooks carved and served more than 650 pounds of chicken, he said, even as Gaza's faltering electricity supply left them periodically in the dark.

“It was like Eid had only been postponed,” Abukarsh said.

Sabir Nabahan was already gambling on an unusual business model with Caramel, his sophisticated bakery decorated in pink and teal, when the fighting started.

Fired from his job in a clothing shop, Nabahan became one of the few Gaza men to take up baking. He took an interest in his wife's pastries, particular her ma'amoul, a traditional almond and pistachio cookie filled with dates or nuts.

His efforts were so good that he began selling them online. Two weeks ago, he and his son opened their shop – only to hear the first bombs fall two days later. Business came to a near halt. A few customers sent taxis to his house for cookies during the fighting.

“This is a busy street,” he said, as the cars and donkey carts snaked by. “They will find us, inshallah.”

Sabir Nabahan packs cakes at his shop, Caramel, in Gaza City (For The Washington Post by Loay Ayyoub)

For Dwaima, the watch shop was part of a family legacy.

His father was a teacher in the 1970s when he was arrested by Israel for teaching Palestinian nationalism, he said. After that, he scratched out a living selling watches to friends and neighbours.

He was good at it, and was soon travelling all over Gaza and the West Bank with his timepieces. He opened his first store in Gaza's Old City in 1979. His sons followed; now six of Dwaima's brothers are in the watch business.

His father still worked in his shop, Dwaima said, along with his own son Mohammed. They will all be working together soon, he pledged.

“I signed a lease yesterday,” he said, pointing to a side street a block away. “What else can we do but work?”

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