Young Gazans describe how the Israel-Hamas war has upended their lives

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• Amna Nawaz:

  Before the Hamas terror attacks against our Israelis, life in Gaza was not easy. Now it's immeasurably more difficult and deadly.

  For the last two weeks, my colleague producer Zeba Warsi and I have been talking to people inside Gaza whose lives have been upended by this conflict.

  We will hear now from several of them, some from whom we still receive messages and others whose whereabouts are now unknown.

  That beautiful coastal city is Gaza, its charming port, peaceful beaches and life, both every day and extraordinary, pulsating through its people.

  All that was before that war captured by 32-year-old Gazan photojournalist Motaz Al Aaraj. That Gaza lives only on his Instagram now. When his home was hit by an Israeli airstrike, Motaz lost his life's work.

• Motaz Al Aaraj, Photojournalist, Project HOPE:

  I have thousands of shots for Gaza, for the sea, for the people, for the markets, for all thing. I lost all thing. I don't have anything to show people what Gaza like before.

• Amna Nawaz:

  Now Motaz documents the war for D.C.-based charity group Project HOPE, the dire conditions in hospitals, the brutal impact of airstrikes, and the worsening humanitarian crisis.

• Motaz Al Aaraj:

  I found Sara (ph) under the car, under car. I have video for this.

• Amna Nawaz:

  He's living through the same war he's documenting, last week, capturing his neighbors 16-year-old daughter trapped under a car after an airstrike.

• Motaz Al Aaraj:

  I can't do anything for her. This is in — near my home.

• Amna Nawaz:

  Motaz is sheltering with his extended family and 50 others who fled their homes. Every day, he says, is a struggle to survive.

• Motaz Al Aaraj:

  It is very hard. Yes, not all days, I can found water and bread. Maybe I join the line six hour or seven hour and don't take anything, go to home empty and no food.

  Rawan Shaheen, Student, University of Palestine: You're seeing so many people around you die, like every single day. You hear about a person, your neighbor or your friend. To be honest, I wonder a lot. It's like, when is my turn going to be?

• Amna Nawaz:

  That is 19-year-old Rawan Shaheen, Motaz's niece. She's a second-year college student studying pharmacy at the University of Palestine in Gaza.

  Before the war, her life revolved around her friends and school.

• Rawan Shaheen:

  I had a plan for this year laid out. I had a plan for each module. I think everyone had plans. And all their plans were canceled, and none of us expected this.

  My brother, Ibrahim (ph), is 12 years old. And when he talks to me, he talks like — he's kind of very sad at the moment, because he feels as if were not going to make it. I think there is a feeling of numbness, that we don't feel like we are sharing our emotions that much, because, honestly, it's kind of sad.

  But what's happening, it shouldn't be normal. But because we're seeing so much death, it's almost becoming some sort of normal, which is not normal.

• Amna Nawaz:

  We spoke to Rawan in a video chat last week when she had an Internet connection. Since then, we can only text, and, even then, sporadically. Her story is one of many.

• Palestinian:

  Completely disconnected from the outside world.

• Amna Nawaz:

  Including 20-year-old Shaimaa Ahmed.

• Palestinian:

  This is what a Palestinian needs to go through to just buy bread.

• Amna Nawaz:

  And her younger siblings, Malik (ph)…

• Palestinian:

  And these are the last words of a grandmother for her grandchildren.

• Amna Nawaz:

  … and Dua (ph). They live in North Gaza and have been posting about life in the war on Instagram under GazanVoices whenever they're able to get a connection.

• Shaimaa Ahmed, Gaza Resident:

  To be honest, my biggest wish now isn't even to go back to my university to how it used to be, but for my professors and for my friends and the people I know to stay alive and for me to be able to see them after this whole chaos is over.

• Amna Nawaz:

  With limited connectivity, Shaimaa and I have been messaging whenever she can.

  On October 25.

• Woman:

  "Our neighborhood is being severely bombed as I am texting you. We were thinking of leaving, but we have no place to leave to."

• Amna Nawaz:

  On October 29.

• Woman:

  "My sister and I had recently saved up to redecorate our room. My house has been reduced to rubble. Every day is worse than the previous one."

• Amna Nawaz:

  That night, Shaimaa recorded this audio of the Israeli bombings around her. We've since lost contact with Shaimaa, her last messages to me from Tuesday, October 31.

• Woman:

  "It feels terrible. We hear so many sounds, but have no idea what is going on. I get connected for exactly one minute, and then it cuts off. The tanks are moving closer. The living situations are unbearable now."

• Amna Nawaz:

  We were able to confirm she and her family had fled south after this and were still alive as of November 3.

  For these young Gazans, who've grown up online and connected to the rest of the world, they say all they want now is to be heard.

• Rawan Shaheen:

  I feel like its very important, especially if you're living outside of Gaza, outside of Palestine,your voice makes a huge difference to us, and it really helps us.

  And, in fact, the reason they cut out our communications, Internet and electricity and all of that is because they don't want our voice to be reached out to the world. But you have a voice, so you could use it to help us.