Obaida Is Sixteen. He Shouldn’t Be Carrying the Weight of a Genocide

A child I first heard at fourteen, exhausted and begging for help, is still fighting to feed his family. We can change that if we choose to.

Obaida is very personal to me. I met him two years ago without ever seeing his face. He was fourteen, speaking in a Twitter space where Palestinians would come up and talk about what they were living through. I remember his voice more than anything else. He sounded exhausted in a way no child should ever sound. Drained. Depressed. Carrying responsibilities that would break most adults. That voice stayed with me.

Obaida

Back then I kept trying to reach him, but with so many people speaking and the host juggling requests, we couldn’t find him again. I left that space feeling like I had failed him. And now, two years later, he’s back in my life. I don’t believe that’s random. I believe it’s because I can help him now in a way I couldn’t then.

Since that first space, I found this Substack community. And the truth is, the help we can give him today is so much more than anything I could have done back then. But only if people see his story. Only if people share it. Sharing is what gets eyes on these campaigns. Sharing is what keeps Palestinian families alive.

His campaign has been open for more than three months and has only received £92. He is sixteen years old, trying to feed his family. If we can shoulder even a fraction of that burden, we should. We can help them get clean water and food. Food is the main issue. Israel’s tight and deliberate chokehold on what enters Gaza, especially food, is something we all know. It is starvation as policy.

He is sixteen. His family of eight has lost all stability and safety because of the genocide. They are living in a makeshift tent made of cloth scraps and worn out blankets. It doesn’t protect them from the cold, the rain, or the heat. His father is 38. His mother is 33. His eldest sister is 17. Then him at 16. His brothers are 14 and 12. His sister is 9. And the youngest is a baby, a year and a half old. Eight people trying to survive inside a tent that barely counts as shelter.

This is what he wakes up to every day. This is what he carries on his back at sixteen.

And here’s the part that breaks me every time. Obaida’s story isn’t about some extra tragedy. As if Palestinians need an additional layer of devastation, a murdered family member, a lost limb, a bombing, just to be seen. Survival alone should be enough. The fact that he is trying to get food and clean water should be enough. But Palestinians are forced into a world where even their suffering has to compete for attention.

We all have a responsibility here. I’m not trying to guilt you. I’m not trying to manipulate anyone. But the truth is we all have a hand in what Gaza is right now, willingly or unwillingly. And the bare minimum we can do in this nightmare is simple. When a Palestinian campaign crosses our feed, we either donate if we can, or we share it.

In Obaida’s case, I can’t explain how much this means to me. I’m begging you, if you’re able, help this kid. He is a child. A child trying to feed his siblings. A child trying to keep his family alive. It’s devastating. No child should have this burden. No child in this world. But here we are.

So please. If you can donate, donate. If you can’t, then share it. That’s all I’m asking. The more eyes on this, the more chances Obaida and his family have.

We all say we stand with Gaza. This is what that looks like. Helping. Speaking up. Sharing. Making sure families like his aren’t forgotten.

If you can help this kid, help him. He’s sixteen. Just sixteen.

📎https://chuffed.org/project/obaidadami

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