In other parts of the world, when you hear the words “soccer player,” you think of glory, green grass fields, bright lights, crowds cheering their names, and kids dreaming of being like them. But in Gaza, the story is different, painful, and heartbreaking. In just a few days, two of Gaza’s most prominent footballers, Ismail Abu Dan and “Gaza soccer legend” Suleiman Al-Obaid, a former player for the Palestinian national team, were killed by Israel.
They were not in a final match or at a training camp, but in queues… queues for flour and aid, where death awaits them behind bags of flour, not behind the scenes.
The ball that no longer rolls
Suleiman Al-Obaid, a name engraved in the memory of Palestinian football fans, was a veteran player who represented the national team and was once cheered by thousands. But in his final year, he was not a star on the field, but a father searching for food for his children, his gaunt face dripping with sweat in an endless queue. He died while waiting for aid for his family, after being forced to give up football because, quite simply, no one plays in a land that is dying.
Suleiman Al-Obaid was no ordinary player in the history of Palestinian football. He was one of the most prominent strikers to have played on Gaza’s pitches and one of the highest scorers in Gaza’s clubs over the past two decades. He played for the biggest Palestinian clubs and had a rare scoring touch that made him a fan favorite in every game.
The Gazan crowds cheered his name every time he touched the ball. He was known for his calm smile and high sportsmanship, which earned him exceptional love both on and off the field. He was not only a goal scorer, but also a symbol of the Gazan dream that sports can illuminate what politics and the blockade have extinguished.
Despite all he had achieved, Suleiman Al-Obaid’s life ended not with the honor he deserved, but in a long line of hungry people, waiting for aid to feed his children. Thus ended the life of one of the greatest footballers in Gaza, without a flag flying, a shirt raised, or mourning declared.
In Gaza, soccer dreams are buried with their owners
Ismail Abu Dan is another player who always dreamed of a professional future, but he wore the last jersey of his life while standing in line for food. He did not die in an international match, but was martyred because he was trying to feed his family in a besieged and hungry sector.
In Madrid, Paris, or Manchester, players live in palaces, travel in private jets, and follow strict diets to stay in shape. In Gaza, the same player becomes hungry, displaced, a martyr… not because he made a mistake, but simply because he was born in Gaza.
Around the world, soccer is a profession that earns millions, but in Gaza, soccer is a dream that is buried with its owner.
In Gaza, soccer was one of the last things left in life. A dirt field here, a Ramadan tournament there, young dreams piercing the darkness… But now they are being bombed, buried, and wiped from memory. Many players lie under the rubble, unknown, because the media does not celebrate the death of an athlete in Gaza as it celebrates the injury of a player in a European league.
They were like Messi and Ronaldo… but they were footballers from Gaza
This is what one of the martyrs’ friends said, in a tone laden with oppression:
Suleiman was our dream, he was like the world’s players, but he was poor, besieged, and he was looking for flour instead of looking for a ball.
The tragedy of players in Gaza does not begin when the match ends, but when the stadium closes and the gates of death open.
At a time when the world celebrates “football” and awards its players prizes and millions, the names of Gaza’s stars fall silently and are buried without ceremony or flags, simply because they come from a place that the world has decided to turn a blind eye to.
He who was supposed to be a symbol of hope ended up being a symbol of hunger… and martyrdom.
Featured image via the Canary
