When the Israeli army re-invaded Rafah in March and imposed a full siege, all of Aziza’s children fled the area. Ibrahim, however, refused to leave.

“He was blind, unable to move on his own,” Qishta told MEE.

“He told me: ‘I’m not leaving the house, and you’ll stay with me.’”

Her reply was unwavering: “Of course. I won’t leave you after 50 years together. Never.”

For two months, they remained in the house.

(…)

Aziza stayed by his side throughout.

“I laid him down, sat next to him, never leaving his side.”

She noticed his left hand trembling and offered to massage it. “He said: ‘No, leave it.’ Then suddenly, it went limp.” When she looked at his face, he had passed away.

„There were no soldiers around,” she said.

“They come, bomb, and leave.”

Alone, she searched the garden and found a small hole near an olive tree. With no shroud, she used a window curtain to wrap his body and began to roll him into the hole by herself.

“I placed his body in a plastic bag and continued rolling him gently. It took me two hours of exhaustion. But God gave me strength.”

She buried him with her own hands, covering the body first with a zinc sheet, then wood, and finally soil.

(…)

Ibrahim was killed on 10 May but Aziza remained alone in the house for another two weeks, until 24 May, when the last of the food and water ran out.

That day, she began to suspect that the grave might have been bombed. “I heard the buzzing of drones and gunfire.”

The following day, she went to check. “I found the zinc pierced with bullets, and his head exposed.”

Her voice heavy, she recalled: “My heart broke. I picked up his head, it felt as light as a loaf of bread, and returned it to the grave, dug a bit deeper, added a new piece of zinc and wood, and buried him again.”