Business amid genocide

We haggled over the price of eight bottles of perfume and a handful of small gifts I was buying for colleagues. One of the doctors accompanying me helped negotiate with the shopkeeper. After nearly 20 minutes, we had driven the price down to about half of his original asking price.

Smiling, the shopkeeper turned to the doctor beside me.

"Does he have Palestinian blood? How does he bargain like this?"

I laughed.

"We Bengalis are experts at haggling too," I replied. "You should be grateful my mother isn't here."

It was the sort of exchange that could have happened in any marketplace. Except this was Khan Younis, in the Gaza Strip, where a devastating war has raged for more than three years.

About 15 minutes earlier, Dr Jamila (name changed) and I had been walking through one of Khan Younis's busy commercial streets near Nasser Medical Complex. Shops lined both sides of the road. Some still stood in their original buildings, but most had been rebuilt as makeshift tents after their premises were destroyed.

The roads were scarred by war. Damaged cars shared space with donkey carts along broken, partially paved streets.

Then came the sound of fighter jets overhead.

Instinctively, I looked up. Almost no one else did.

For the people around me, the roar of military aircraft had become part of everyday life.

Dr Jamila laughed at my reaction.

"Do not worry," she said. "These are just trying to scare us. The ones that fire missiles do not make this much noise. They just fire."

After three years of war, the mother of one had learnt the sounds of survival. As a resident doctor in the emergency department, she had witnessed some of the conflict's worst atrocities.

But that afternoon, she was simply showing me her city.

I was on the final day of a two-week medical mission in Gaza. Despite everything, there was life in the marketplace.

Every morning, traders returned to open whatever businesses they still could. Many had lost permanent premises and now operated from tents. Others had rebuilt with scraps of metal, timber and tarpaulin.

The economy has collapsed, but commerce has not disappeared.

Markets that refuse to disappear

There were, naturally, shops selling essentials — groceries, pharmacies, clothing and food.

But there were also jewellers, watch shops, florists, gift stores and, perhaps most surprising of all, a wedding dress shop.

Business is far from thriving. Employment has collapsed and disposable income is scarce. Yet people continue to buy what they can, seeking moments of normality wherever possible.

"When there is so little joy left," one resident told me, "every occasion becomes worth celebrating."

Reinventing commerce

Adaptation has become a business strategy. Shopkeepers who lost permanent premises now operate from tents. Barbers, tailors and even pharmacies have reopened under canvas.

The destruction of Gaza's banking infrastructure has created another challenge. Cash is scarce.

Increasingly, Gazans rely on mobile payment platforms, including one called PalPay. As a foreigner, however, I could not register.

Even paying with cash was difficult because many shops had no change. Instead, traders cooperated.

Often, one shop on the street would have a functioning card machine. Foreign visitors would pay there using international cards, while neighbouring businesses settled payments among themselves later.

It was an improvised financial ecosystem built entirely on trust.

Cafés become offices

Restaurants and cafés have also reinvented themselves.

Eating out has become a luxury few can afford. Although the famine conditions of earlier this year have eased, food remains prohibitively expensive. To survive, cafés have expanded beyond serving meals.

With around 90% of Gaza's population displaced and living in tents, reliable electricity, running water and internet access have become rare. Mobile data is painfully slow.

Many cafés now function as informal co-working spaces, charging customers for Wi-Fi and providing tables where students and freelancers can study or work.

Some have begun organising World Cup watch parties, creating rare opportunities for communal celebration amid war.

When food itself becomes uncertain

Even food traders face extraordinary uncertainty.

Earlier this year, famine conditions pushed prices to unprecedented levels. Supplies have since improved, but affordability remains a major challenge. Because Israel tightly controls imports into Gaza, traders often avoid highly perishable goods that could spoil if deliveries are delayed.

Instead, shelves are increasingly stocked with canned and long-life foods.

The destruction of more than 97% of Gaza's agricultural land or its inaccessibility due to military restrictions and displacement has further reduced local food production.

For those still farming, production costs remain exceptionally high. Food shortages can also create moments that seem almost surreal.

During my stay, eggs were suddenly allowed back into Gaza after months of being unavailable.

Our hosts celebrated by serving eggs with almost every meal. It was a reminder that something as ordinary as breakfast had become a luxury.

The return of the donkey cart

Fuel prices have reshaped transport across Gaza. Petrol costs around $10 per litre, making private vehicles prohibitively expensive to operate. Many cars now function as shared taxis, selling individual seats rather than private journeys. Where vehicles cannot go, donkey and horse carts fill the gap.

They collect rubbish, transport goods, carry passengers and, at times, even serve as makeshift ambulances.

During the height of the shortages, the price of a donkey and cart reportedly rose to as much as $10,000.

Entrepreneurship survives

Not every business is simply trying to survive. Some are still being created.

A group of medical and dental students pooled their resources to open a small ice cream and dessert shop, hoping to finance their education.

Using rubble salvaged from destroyed buildings, they built a modest storefront that now provides both income and a rare source of comfort for local residents.

Others have been less fortunate.

The continuing restrictions on imports have devastated sectors such as electronics. Mobile phones remain extremely scarce, with prices reportedly four or five times higher than before the war.

Vehicle parts are also difficult to obtain, leaving countless damaged cars beyond repair.

Holding on to normal

Despite everything, trade continues.

Gazans display the same resilience in business that they do in daily life. Markets remain open. Customers still bargain. Shopkeepers still joke. Commerce has become another form of resistance against the collapse of ordinary life.

If the fragile ceasefire holds and border restrictions ease, businesses may begin to recover. Yet after nearly two decades of blockade, even "normal" in Gaza remains unlike normal anywhere else.

Dr Raiiq Ridwan is an Emergency Medicine Doctor currently working in the Cambridge University Hospital in UK. During his off-time, he is an avid travel enthusiast who has visited 138 countries on a Bangladeshi passport.

Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the opinions and views of The Business Standard.