Gaza Sound Man (2025)

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(Ominous music)

(Drone flying over)

(Gaza street sounds)

(Drone continues)

(Wind blows)

(Sounds of children)

Oh God! (Man cries out with grief)

(Traffic sounds)

(Fire crackles)

There are sounds that

we feel in our hearts.

and sounds that we all dread.

(Ominous music)

And then there are sounds

that were forced to hear

(Horse and cart sounds)

In Gaza, these sounds are everywhere.

We hear so many things

but the world doesnt hear them

and we know its

choosing to turn a deaf ear.

The sounds of Gaza evoke memories

of places, dreams, and hopes.

(Distant siren)

Sound is more than just a recording.

It tells the stories of people

whose lives are transformed by w*r.

(Sounds of children)

(Droning sounds)

I used to wake up to Ahmeds

voice the bread seller.

He would wake me up early.

I would hear sellers calling out

children laughing on their way to school

(Rickshaw honking)

and the sweet song of birds.

"Fresh, warm bread for your belly!"

(Water dripping)

(Coffee pouring)

Now, everything has fallen silent.

The w*r has silenced them all.

Mornings have become sombre and still.

The birds no longer sing.

Im Mohammed Hiya, a

sound engineer from Gaza.

I'm 33 years old.

Im from Al-Miasma

Al-Kabira in Gaza Subdistrict.

The first thing I ever recorded

was the sound of a birth.

The sound of a new life.

I recorded the moment

of the babys first cry

The first time he drew breath.

Capturing that first breath felt surreal.

The sound level

registers as having zero volume

But with the first cry,

the sound wave moves.

That first breath felt like

the start of a journey.

The sound of that cry

marked the beginning of a life -

a life that has now been silenced in Gaza.

(Baby crying)

(Dramatic music)

(Crying continues)

(Explosions)

(Phone notification)

How are you? Hope you're all well.

How's everything? What are you up to?

I miss you all very much.

Thank God, I'm alright.

All's well, though my feet ache a bit.

We hope to return to Gaza soon.

Hopefully, Gaza will

return better than before

and we'll be celebrating together again.

We shall meet once more.

You are dearly missed.

(Dramatic music)

All his life, Khalil

has dreamt of becoming an engineer.

When Khalil was in the ICU in the hospital

he was barely conscious and I asked him

What do you want to be when you grow up?

He said, "I want to be an engineer."

He hung onto that dream

still longing to be an engineer

even while unconscious in the ICU.

I hope he becomes the greatest engineer.

We cant erase the sound we heard

the day Khalil was injured.

There was the usual noise of the missiles.

But the day Khalil was injured

we heard a different sound.

So much was happening at once

and the noise was deafening.

I remember the rush to the hospital.

And listening to my recordings is so hard.

Ive recorded so many things.

The sounds of ambulances

people screaming, crying, shouting.

The sounds of people in pain.

Ambulances, doctors, nurses.

Journalists.

There are so many sounds!

But there is one specific

sound I try to focus on.

And thats the sound of sorrow.

Its incredibly hard to explain.

I try to focus on what

lies behind the sound

and understand its meaning.

I try to understand what happened.

What provoked this person?

What made him express these

emotional sounds in that moment?

Then I realise these are not sounds

I should record, and I leave.

No, these sounds carry a story.

These sounds carry a narrative.

These sounds are packed with emotions.

(Crowd gathered)

He still hasn't experienced life yet.

He shouldn't have to suffer or be hurt.

They're all children on the street!

-Theyre all children!

-Oh, my love

Oh, my dear brother!

I wish it were me instead of you!

Oh, dear brother!

I wish it were me instead of you!

Enough, Mum, I promise he's fine.

I swear he's breathing and alive.

This is all that matters!

Oh God, don't take Khalil away from us.

Oh God, please save Khalils life.

Please, God, protect our Khalil!

Khalil is the youngest.

There are no siblings born between us.

He was born right after me.

Khalil was kind and always with us.

We loved each other and played together.

We shared everything.

We used to tell each other everything.

Khalil is our friend at home

he is not just our brother.

Suddenly we were on

the verge of losing him.

Of course, it was difficult for us.

(Dramatic music)

Why do so many emotions

resurface so suddenly?

When I focus, I realise

that with one sound

the very essence of Gaza

can change in a second.

It can turn laughter into heartbreak.

I try to dig deeper

thats when I uncover profound sorrow

because it's not just sound Im recording.

He was scrolling on his phone at night.

We told him to wear his glasses.

He was searching for

them but couldnt find them.

He remembered leaving

them at the barber shop.

He woke up early to go and fetch them.

Then he had to come

home to change his clothes

so we could go to my sister's house.

We heard the sound of a drone m*ssile

and it was deafening.

Then we saw children running towards us

telling us Khalil was lying on the ground.

We rushed to see who was

lying on the ground.

Khalil had gone to the

barbers and was coming back

so we thought it wasn't him.

But we found Khalil lying there.

He was covered in blood

and his feet were badly injured.

When we saw Khalil lying there like that

my mother fainted next to him.

She couldn't bear it.

I've never experienced

such a day in my life.

I had never heard these sounds before.

I've never lived moments like this.

It was as if people's grief

was expressed through their screams.

We haven't eaten yet.

I woke up at dawn to pray

and have some cookies.

Khalil's smile carried so much feeling.

He was always smiling and laughing.

We all used to laugh whenever he did.

The w*r stole his laughter and his dreams.

He was just a child.

He was innocent and joyful.

The w*r snatched his joy away

and deprived him of his legs.

Now, only God knows

how he'll live without his legs.

(Dramatic music)

(Deep breathing)

-May he rest in peace!

-He is a martyr.

Oh, Mum, your son's a martyr!

Ive recorded many sounds in my life

but the moment of separation or death

comes with a feeling of deep shock.

A breath that suddenly stops.

The volume drops to zero.

Then crying and screaming

and a profound state of sadness.

Where's Mum? Come, Mum! Come!

(Prayer at funeral)

I can't hear all these sounds.

They become distant.

Among the noises, theres a sound...

that is non-existent.

It's the sound of silence.

(Wind blowing)

(Dramatic music)

(Drone passes over)

(Poignant music)

In the displacement camp

there are many overlapping voices

and stories from countless people.

I listen and try to break them down

noticing the different accents.

Some are from Beit

Hanoun, others from Jabalia.

Some are from Shuja'iyya,

and others from Rimal.

Whenever I lift the microphone

and let it capture the sounds

it gathers the thoughts

and hopes of people in the camp.

(Radio)

One is waiting for a ceasefire

agreement over the radio.

One is checking if their son is in prison.

Others race to get some water.

A woman is mourning

her child who is missing

or possibly dead.

These are the sounds echoing in the camp

crowded with tents.

In the end, I ask them

how's life in a tent?

(Scraping)

-Life in a tent?

-Yes.

(Scraping continues)

What can I say about the

tent? There are no words for it

It's difficult for us to get used to it.

Even if we lived in it for another century

it's hard to adapt to such a situation.

What can I tell you about the tent?

It is certainly harrowing.

(Scarping continues)

Tent life is no match for our past life

when we lived in a house with our family.

(Sizzling food)

(Food preparation)

-Who's there?

-I need a lighter.

This lighter has been passed

around the whole camp.

A lighter costs around three dollars.

-It is pricey.

-It is expensive to refill it.

I've got two lighters that need a refill.

We are living off these stoves.

This is the only stove we have here.

-We used to have a kitchen stove -Oh yes!

-And a barbecue grill.

-Right!

Gas for the barbecue

was the most expensive.

We don't have those things nowadays.

Now, you go to the market to buy gas

-You must register your name.

-Yes, right.

Then you pray that your turn comes

before you get k*lled or die.

There is comfort in death, my dear.

Right.

In these dire times, death is comfort.

Come on, close the door.

(Busy street sounds)

In tents, privacy is non-existent

as theyre all crowded together.

For example, if you speak with your wife

or with your daughters or parents

your neighbour hears you.

You and your neighbour

are barely two metres apart.

You are only separated

by a piece of leather or fabric.

If a child cries

you hear it in the tent.

If a couple is talking, you can hear them.

Its unavoidable.

We all wish for the w*r to end

so everyone can return to their

homes, even if its just a single room

or even if the house is

damaged or destroyed.

We are willing to live in a single room.

We are willing to fix it and stay there.

But now we are forced to live in tents.

This isnt our life, nor our traditions,

nor our customs. This is not us.

(Plane passing over)

What does a m*ssile sound like?

What about the sound of

the cars? Are you afraid of

the sound of missiles?

-Yes

-Really?

-Yes, I'm afraid.

Are you afraid of the sound of missiles?

-The sound of a m*ssile?

-Yes.

What about the sound of a plane?

Do you know what planes sound like?

What?

Does it sound like this?

Or does it sound like this?

No, it sounds like this.

-Do you like planes?

-No.

Do you like winter?

And swings?

-And playgrounds?

-Yes!

-Yes, I love them.

-What do you like?

The swings

and the playground.

-Do you like the sea?

-Yes.

-Really? Are you sure?

-Yes.

What?

Do you hear the sound of the plane?

-The sound of a m*ssile?

-The sound of a m*ssile?

-Are you scared?

-Hide here, come!

Come on, hide. Hide from the m*ssile.

Hug me.

Zaid, are you afraid of the m*ssile?

-Does it scare you?

-Don't be afraid.

You're a hero!

You are a hero!

(Radio)

These sounds were recorded before the w*r.

I recorded them in a school

in a park

and even by the sea.

I recorded their playtime and joy.

But today, the sound is different.

I dont need headphones to hear them

because I am like them.

The beautiful sounds I remember are fading

and being replaced by darker ones.

(Ambulance siren)

(Horse and cart wheels turn)

Usually, after every filming session

I organise my equipment

and charge the batteries

because they are part of me.

I also take some time to rest.

However, during the

w*r, this is impossible.

I am literally threatened by death

just like the people I record.

Nothing protects us in w*r.

(m*ssile approaches)

(expl*si*n)

(Panicking crowd)

(Ambulance siren)

(Siren continues)

It all happens in a split second.

You hear a m*ssile

then comes the expl*si*n.

Everything changes.

It is a moment of horror.

The sky darkens, and dust fills the air.

You hear the sound of stones flying

and people screaming.

Can you imagine all these sounds

happening in a split second?

Most of the recordings at these moments

depict the sound of people talking,

thinking they were safe

when suddenly they hear an expl*si*n

and everything changes.

If that second passes

and you are still able to hear sounds

then you are alive.

Oh my God! Oh my God!

My children!

Oh God!

Calm down. Calm down.

Calm down. Calm down.

Come on, calm down.

I don't want to calm down!

I don't want to calm down!

I want my children!

I want my children! Oh God!

(Excavator digs through debris)

(Debris tumbling)

Call her name. It's Saida.

I can hear her voice.

What did you see? Did you see her?

-Is there anyone?

-Yes, there's a lady.

-Did you talk to her?

-Her name is Saida.

-She has children.

-How is she?

There's a fridge over her.

When we get to the site of a bombed house

we record the voices of

people under the rubble

and we try to call them.

I try to focus as much as possible.

There are loud noises around me

but I try to stay focused

to see if anyone is still alive

or if someone is moving underneath

because we can also hear their movements.

People trapped under the rubble yelled

"I'm alive!"

"Take me out! Pull me out. I am here!"

"I am near the kitchen; get me out!"

"Give me water. I want to breathe!"

"My son's here. My wife's there."

"My brother is here."

"Dig here; I am under the pillar."

Im over the pillar, under the cupboard.

At that moment, I wonder

what they were doing before the strike.

What were they talking about?

Were they drinking, eating, laughing?

Was the father playing with his children?

Was the mother calling her daughter?

What was the topic of their discussion?

It's a dangerous mix.

(Footsteps on dust)

(Wind blowing)

(Street sounds)

(Ambulance siren)

(Crickets chirping)

(Ambulance siren)

(Fire crackles)

(Crackling continues)

(Emotional song)

(Song continues)

Scene 123, track two.

Take six.

He got into the biggest trouble ever.

You all say that in the beginning.

Go now! I swear I will come after you!

(Song continues)

(Market bustle)

(Dramatic music)

(Traffic, honking)

(More traffic)

Gaza before the w*r.

Without these recordings

I would have forgotten it.

Everything was beautiful.

The sound of people, cars honking

the sound of driving and the sea.

Even the sound of laundry flapping.

The sounds of the camp, the window

and the door as it closed.

Gaza was wonderful.

Its sounds were really vibrant.

Its not the most beautiful place on earth

but it has unique and beautiful sounds.

I never recorded anything outside of Gaza.

I've never once left this place.

(Exciting music)

(Music continues)

(Dull m*ssile thump)

(m*ssile sound)

(Distant explosions)

Nighttime in Gaza is different.

You hear a*tillery, bombing, and jets.

But the people are completely silent.

They go to sleep fearing death.

We hear these sounds intermittently.

But the monster that never leaves us alone

is the drone.

It's become part of our lives.

There isn't a single sound I can record

without the drone

humming in the background.

Even now, as were recording

you can hear the drone.

Its become a track in the sound library

or maybe the main track

in all of our projects.

It haunts us day and night.

(Drone flying over)

(Small trucks passing)

People used to walk in the street here.

(Footsteps on dust)

I used to gather my equipment

and listen to people as I walked.

(Footsteps continue)

I used to come down this street

and hear lots of sounds.

(Pensive music)

(Car approaching)

In this street

Oh God...

How many dreams have been crushed?

(Drone flying over)

(Dull m*ssile thud)

(Drone)

(Street sounds)

(Whistling)

(Rhythmic handclapping)

(Whistling/clapping continues)

Come on. Raise your hands!

From the left to the right! Come on!

Repeat after me out loud...

Come on, come on, come on!

Let's play together!

(Children chanting)

Not a moment passes without bombing.

The blasts were right above our heads.

The Israelis were besieging us.

They were sh**ting at us with their tanks

and throwing bombs at the houses.

Our house was bombed

on the first day of the w*r.

My home was my happy place.

I wish the w*r would end

so we can return to our home.

(Children playing)

Did you bring toys from your house?

No, because we had to evacuate quickly.

We're lucky we brought our clothes.

Did you have a special toy?

-Yes.

-What was it?

I had a doll.

I wanted to name it Leila or Louli.

(Children playing)

(Footsteps on sand)

One day, I recorded the sound of footsteps

as people walked along the corniche

and I recorded the sound

of a marathon by the beach.

But today, I recorded the footsteps and

the screeching tyres

of people fleeing death, seeking refuge.

These steps were heavy,

filled with exhaustion.

(Car horn)

(Dull m*ssile thud)

(Rickshaw passes by)

Hello. Yes? Hello

Where exactly?

In a kiosk? There's nothing there.

There? Oh, there it is. It's alright now.

-Hey there, man.

-Welcome!

How are you?

-How are you, Ghazal? All good?

-I am fine.

-Good.

-Is everything okay?

All's good.

-Why are you here?

-We left Khan Yunis.

It wasn't easy finding the address.

-The family is displaced.

-Tell me, Ghazal.

-How is the displacement?

-It's hard.

-What are you doing?

-I'm selling pastries.

You're selling pastries? Are they good?

-Try them! Enjoy.

-Thank you!

Sit down.

-How are you?

-I'm good, doing well.

What happened when you went to get water?

They fired six missiles,

one after the other.

At that moment, the sound of missiles

completely shattered my heart.

I heard the first rocket

then the second, and the third.

Then, I saw people mangled in front of me.

I saw blood gushing onto the ground

and buildings being bombed.

It was truly hard to endure.

I zoned out.

I was petrified.

I expected to be bombed at any moment.

I was heading back to my parents' house.

I left the stroller and gallons of water.

I ran, directionless.

(Droning music)

I used to wake up, wash my face

get dressed and have breakfast.

Then I'd go to school.

Now, I wake up and arrange my things.

But the first thing of

all, I will go get water.

From dusk until dawn

I constantly think about water.

I get some whenever I can.

We were happy in Gaza. But now...

fear has wrecked our

hearts; we never rest.

We think about water all day.

We don't get a single second of rest.

It's as if we live in constant fear.

(Drone flying over)

We went to get water, but it had run out.

We face the same issue every time.

(Creaking wheelchair)

At school, they sometimes

brought in clowns.

They would bring us some joy.

But now, no one comes to play with us.

No one comes to make us happy

or to bring some peace into our hearts

or help us forget the w*r for a bit.

When the clowns used to come

I would wait for them

with great excitement.

Whenever they said the

the clowns were coming

I would wait impatiently.

I was ready to be happy

to play and laugh

to forget a bit about the w*r.

When we used to hear the missiles

my parents would calm me down a bit.

But now, I understand how missiles work.

I feel older than my age.

(Serving customers)

(Pouring water from container)

At any moment, while we are talking

while we are speaking now

they might b*mb us.

I think that one day I will wake up

and my parents will be dead.

I could lose my family, my mum and dad.

It would be over.

My life would become meaningless.

I want the w*r to end.

That is my wish.

I had dreams before in Gaza

but they are long gone now.

Now, my wish is for the w*r to end.

(Honking)

(Pensive music)

(Children playing football)

At kindergarten and school graduations

I used to enjoy listening to wishes.

Some wished to become doctors,

others engineers, teachers, or pilots.

Today, their wishes have changed.

Even their lifestyles have altered.

The w*r has forced them to mature quickly.

They act older than their age.

Their tears fall down their cheeks faster.

Do you want to sing? Come on then.

(Child singing)

(Singing continues...)

(Singing continues)

(Wind blows)

(Children chatting)

(Footsteps on dust)

(Car passing)

(Birdsong)

(Distant traffic sounds)

(Horse and cart passing)

(Street seller)

(Street hubbub)

(Hubbub continues)

(Horse cantering down street)

(Scooping lentils)

(Pouring food)

(Pensive music)

(Ambulance siren)

(Debris crunching under shoes)

Hello, how are you, grandma?

-How are you?

-I'm fine.

-All's good?

-All is well, and you?

All's great, grandma.

-This falafel smells like Gaza.

-Really?

I swear it smells just like Gaza

I swear it does!

Is this from Sousse?

My aunt made eggplants

with fried potatoes.

-And Shakshuka.

-Great!

Shakshuka!

You taught us how to cook it.

You know a Palestinian womans dowry?

Yes.

It should exceed $50,000.

Why?

They know how to manage everything.

They prepare feasts with just tomatoes.

They can turn them into

stews, salads, anything.

-True.

-May God bless you.

They make fake Maqluba.

They can also make fake Fatteh

and even cook potatoes without meat.

They can do anything.

-But city women!

-What about them?

They prefer everything to be prepared.

-Really?

-Yes.

-They want delivery.

-Delivery?

It's called delivery.

(Laughing)

(Stirring frying pan)

(Fire crackling)

(m*ssile approaches and thuds)

Now, what about the drones?

-We sleep to their humming.

-Oh, really?

-I sleep like a child.

-It's like a lullaby.

Like a child being rocked to sleep.

We sleep and wake up to their sound

the sound of drones.

Give me your broom

so I can clean the house.

A broom?

This tool captures every sound, grandma.

I held it yesterday

Its been a while.

When I held it, I felt melancholic.

You felt melancholic?

I saw them cooking meat in the pot

then my heart started throbbing

because there were

people who wanted to eat.

What about those from the North

who ended up in Deir el Balah?

How will they all fit in?

It's tiny.

Where do we go?

Where should we go?

What did you like to do most

before the w*r?

What was it?

Did you used to sit here?

-Yes.

-Sipping some tea.

I used to pray Duha (Sunrise

time prayer) and go out.

When it was noon,

I used to come back,

pray at noon, have lunch, and then sleep.

-I was free.

-What about the afternoon?

I would pray in the

afternoon, then go out.

My daughter-in-law

would make me a cup of tea

with some seeds or

ma'amoul (traditional cookies).

-Do you have teeth to eat seeds?

-Yes, I do!

I do have teeth.

-May you all return home.

-Hopefully.

-Don't be afraid, my dear.

-Yes, hopefully.

Oh, Grandma!

We really miss Gaza.

I miss it, too.

I couldn't go to my brother's or niece's.

One of my nieces lost 11 people.

People went north and were k*lled.

Most people have died.

They died from hunger.

They begged for something to eat.

They begged for a bite of food.

There is no more bread.

There is no bread or flour.

A kilogram of flour costs $14.

How will we afford that?

Nobody is working or getting paid.

How would they pay?

Do they sell their organs? It won't work.

No one is helping to get a bag of flour

for these elderly people.

Nobody is helping anyone.

Things will get better.

(Drone passing)

-May God bless us.

-May God bless us.

(Drone continues)

-May it become better.

-Hopefully.

May God give you health

and grant you strength

against those who oppress you. Amen.

May you return to your children safe.

May God bless your children,

your daughters, wives, and loved ones

and every person out there.

Oh God, have mercy. (Dramatic music)

I want to record the sounds of Gaza.

The sounds of my city

The sound of the call to prayers...

The sounds of the markets...

The sound of sellers

and children playing in the streets.

The sound of people shouting.

The sound of my mother

my sisters and my brothers.

The sound of the people we lost.

I want to record the sound of the sea.

(Ocean waves break gently on the beach)

(Waves continue)

(Baby crying)

(Crying continues)

Her mother got pregnant

the second month into the w*r.

She was pregnant throughout the w*r.

She moved neighbourhoods a lot.

How many times has she been displaced?

She was displaced 12 times.

She passed through many checkpoints

and fell more than once.

She carried heavy weights

of more than 20 kilograms on her back

just to get here

as she passed through the checkpoints.

She finally cried! She cried!

He went to the barber to get his glasses.

He just went to get his glasses.

He was bombed in the street.

I'm living through memories.

I keep watching videos of Khalil with us.

We always took photos and videos of him.

We were happy he was with us.

We took many photos of him on our phones.

Today, we live with these memories

of our Khalil.

I really want to see him now.

I hope he gets better than before.

I wish he could play with kids again

like all children his age.

Dad, this is a voice message from Khalil.

How are you?

How are you?

What's up, Dad? How's everything?

I miss you.

Send him a kiss.

I miss my sister in Gaza.

We talk daily, and it breaks my heart

when she tells me they have no food

or water in Gaza, and there's famine.

She gets displaced daily.

She moves from one place to another.

The situation is really

dire here, but also in Gaza.

I used to love sitting with my family

in my neighbourhood, amongst my people.

Today, those moments are long gone

and I yearn for my previous life

especially when I hear these sounds.

I'm also a football player.

I used to love the football field.

The crowd was cheering,

and the stadium was noisy.

Unfortunately, we miss these things.

Today, I deeply wish

to play football for a couple of minutes.

(Haunting music)

Can you hear the sound of jets?

(Drone passing)

During the w*r

I recorded many sounds

and listened to many stories.

Our voice in Gaza is loud.

Some have tried to mute us,

refusing to listen to our voice.

But our voices will endure

and we will carry on living...

(Pensive music)

(Drone passing)

(Distant explosions)

(Ambulance siren)

(Drone continues)

(m*ssile thud)

(Ambient music)

(Car drives by)

(Drone continues)

(m*ssile approaches

followed by dull thuds)

(Thuds continue)

(Drone continues)

(Intense music crescendos)

(m*ssile thuds)