Rescue Whistles Amid Gaza: Lifeguards Without Gear Still Watch the Sea

Gaza City, Gaza Strip – Ahmed Abu Haseira stood in waist-deep water, his eyes scanning the crowd of swimmers, his hands constantly signaling, steering people away from potential dangers. The 33-year-old moved along the Gaza City beach, closely watching children and individual swimmers as they disappeared under the waves and surfaced again.

When he needed immediate attention, he blew his whistle – a whistle shared among lifeguards as shifts changed. Abu Haseira once had his own whistle, but it is now buried under the rubble of his home. An Israeli airstrike in August 2024 destroyed the house, killing his wife, three children, father, and other family members. Abu Haseira had finished his beach shift just half an hour earlier.

After surviving his injuries, he returned to the sea. It is one of the few places where Palestinians can enjoy life amid war-ravaged Gaza. On any given afternoon, people come to the beach seeking relief from the heat, displacement, and pressures of the ongoing conflict. Abu Haseira and his colleagues spend hours watching over them, often without the equipment that once helped them do their jobs.

The lifeguards have no megaphones, lifebuoys, or watchtowers; they rely mainly on their eyes, voices, and hand signals to keep swimmers safe. “We try our utmost to make sure all children and young people are monitored and safe,” Abu Haseira said.

Busy Seas, Exhausted Rescue System

According to Ibrahim Shamlakh, head of the Gaza City municipality’s marine rescue department, about 120 lifeguards work along the city-managed beaches. Before the war, the number was around 140. They work in two shifts: from 8 a.m. to 2 p.m. and from 2 p.m. to 8 p.m.

Shamlakh, who has about 27 years of marine rescue experience, said the team has tried to increase its presence this summer, despite losing most of the infrastructure and equipment it once relied on as the war devastated large parts of Gaza. “This year we deployed more lifeguards and reinforced crowded areas. We have organized the team better with the resources available,” Shamlakh said.

Before the war, the coast had a network of tall rescue towers placed about 200 meters apart. Each tower stood about 3.3 meters high and was equipped with sound systems, communication devices, and rescue tools. Now most of those towers are gone. Lifeguards work from tents on the ground or makeshift structures, significantly limiting their view. “If someone stands in front of us in the tent, they block the view. A tent on the ground gives us almost no visibility,” Shamlakh lamented. The boats that once helped lifeguards reach emergencies far offshore have also been destroyed.

Shamlakh said lifeguards handle an average of 20 to 50 rescues per day, a number that spikes when the beach is especially crowded. One Friday, they responded to 165 cases. Since the start of the current season, two people have drowned outside the lifeguard-covered areas, including a small child.

From Watchtowers to Whistles

Bilal Bakar, 33, has been a lifeguard for 15 years. He arrives at the beach early and spends hours observing swimmers under the summer sun. He said he struggles to work properly without equipment like before. “People almost can't hear us. We call, we shout, we blow the whistle, but they still don't hear,” Bakar said.

The lifeguards use flags to mark swimming zones and hazardous areas. “We put up red flags, but some people insist on swimming anyway. We are trying to protect them. We care about their safety,” Bakar said.

The whistle is the main alternative. This year, the municipality managed to acquire about 50 whistles, but according to Shamlakh, they cost much more than before the war – like almost everything else in Gaza due to Israeli import restrictions. “Before the war, a whistle cost 25 shekels (about $8). Today it costs 100 shekels (about $34),” he said.

Lifebuoys are also scarce. An ideal lifeguard should have a buoy for each rescue, but teams sometimes have to respond without enough gear. “If four or five people drown at once, we don't have enough buoys for all of them. We rely on ourselves and the strength of young people to bring them ashore,” Bakar said.

Physical hardships are compounded by financial instability. Bakar said lifeguards may receive about 25 shekels for a six-hour shift, but pay is irregular. He recalled a time when the team worked 75 days without pay. “I have three children, and with my wife, that's five people. All the young people are struggling. There's no money, no steady salary,” he said. Many are also fishermen who cannot go to sea, making rescue work one of the few ways they can earn a living. “Lifeguards are struggling like everyone else,” Shamlakh said.

Still Watching the Water

Despite the shortages, lifeguards continue to put in extra hours. Shamlakh said some, including himself, arrive before the official shift begins to cover early morning hours. “We voluntarily come in from 6 to 8 a.m. We cover that time so no drownings happen,” he said.

For Abu Haseira, his motivation goes beyond money. “For me, saving a life is a great honor and brings me comfort. When I save a life, I feel like I'm saving myself.” He said the job also connects him emotionally to the family he lost. “I feel like I'm dedicating it to the souls of my children and my wife,” he said.

Even when not officially on duty, he continues to watch the water. Bakar also described a similar commitment among his colleagues. After 15 years on the shore, he said he and his colleagues return every summer, passing on the responsibility from one generation to the next. “Every year, they ask us if we're ready to come back for lifeguard duty. We answer: yes, we are ready,” he said.