In the back alleys of Gaza City, next to a waste dump, a makeshift market tells the story of a population pushed to its absolute limits. Vendors spread plastic bags of dried jute mallow leaves, known locally as molokhia, alongside a dwindling supply of tobacco. What was once a cooking staple has quietly become Gaza’s most widespread toxic smoking alternative.

Men queue for molokhia cigarettes much the way people elsewhere might stop at a corner shop for a packet of Marlboros. The difference, however, is stark. These hand-rolled substitutes contain raw liquid nicotine, and in many cases, industrial chemicals including pest-control agents and battery oils. Nobody ever intended these substances for human consumption, let alone inhalation.

A Habit Reshaped by War and Rampant Inflation

Alaa Jundiya, 27, has smoked for six years. Before the war, he used to buy tobacco without a second thought. Now, a single cigarette costs around 100 shekels ($34), and a pack can reach as high as 500 to 600 shekels ($171 to $205). Before the conflict, that same pack cost about 15 shekels ($5.15), meaning prices have soared by more than 3,000%.

“It doesn’t even resemble tobacco anymore,” he says, exhaling a cloud carrying the distinct earthy scent of molokhia. “But it’s something we use because there are no other options.”

Alaa lost his carpentry job at the outbreak of conflict and now supports two children with no income. As a result, he represents a pattern seen across Gaza. Molokhia cigarettes are not a lifestyle choice. They are what happens when war, blockade and catastrophic inflation collide.

Israel stopped permitting tobacco products to enter Gaza at the start of its military campaign, which has so far killed at least 72,000 Palestinians, according to local health authorities. Restrictions on food, medicine and humanitarian aid have since been widely reported. Tobacco, hardly a priority in the humanitarian calculus, largely fell off the agenda, yet its absence triggered a public health crisis of its own.

What Goes Into a Molokhia Cigarette

The preparation process is entirely rudimentary. A vendor crushes dried molokhia leaves between the fingers, adds a drop or two of liquid nicotine, then rolls the mixture into thin paper. Sellers move these openly at informal stalls.

Abdul Karim Heles, 36, a displaced tobacco seller from Shujayea, explains why molokhia became the preferred base for this toxic smoking alternative. “Nicotine doesn’t stick to all herbs,” he says. “Molokhia holds it. That’s why it became so widespread, despite all the warnings.”

Moreover, he is not indifferent to those warnings. He has seen the consequences first-hand. “I know two people recently who died instantly after consuming nicotine,” he says quietly.

Liquid nicotine is, in concentrated form, acutely toxic. Indeed, Alaa himself had a near-fatal encounter when a nicotine syringe cracked in his pocket and leaked onto his skin. “It caused severe burns and penetrated the tissue,” he recalls. “I would have died without God’s mercy.” He remained unconscious for four hours.

The Medical Picture

Doctors working in Gaza’s respiratory and cardiac wards have begun connecting the dots between molokhia cigarettes and a rising tide of serious health presentations.

Dr Ahmed Saeed al-Jadba, a consultant ear, nose and throat specialist, warns that burning molokhia likely poses an even greater risk than conventional tobacco. The concern is not just the nicotine itself. Beyond that, the industrial additives that some vendors mix in release carbon monoxide, tar and other toxic gases when burned. These are the same compounds found in traditional tobacco, but potentially at far higher concentrations and with no regulatory oversight whatsoever.

“Many patients arriving at clinics suffer from severe coughing, hoarseness and dark or yellow phlegm,” Dr al-Jadba says. Furthermore, in more serious cases, doctors identify pre-cancerous lesions on the vocal cords, a deeply troubling finding in a population already living under extreme physical and psychological strain.

Because Gaza’s Ministry of Health has faced severe disruption throughout the conflict, no formal data collection covers the full scale of harm this toxic smoking alternative causes. What remains clear, though, is that the problem is growing.

Addiction in a Context of Total Collapse

Hassan Hujan, 40, wakes each morning to shortness of breath and a chest full of dark phlegm. He has tried to quit several times. Each attempt has failed.

“Honestly, I am afraid for my health,” he says. “But what’s available is not a real alternative.”

He lost his home in Shujayea and now lives in a tent with his four children under conditions he describes as extremely harsh. Consequently, the psychological weight of that reality compounds the compulsion to smoke rather than easing it.

“I can barely feed my four children,” he says. “My situation is suffocating.”

That word lands with particular weight. It is both metaphor and medical reality.

Addiction does not pause for war. In fact, extreme stress intensifies the grip of nicotine dependence, making it harder than ever to break the cycle. For people already stripped of income, shelter and security, smoking rarely feels like a health decision at all. Instead, it becomes one of the few remaining ways to release unbearable pressure.

“Isn’t everything in our life harmful anyway?” Alaa asks.

A Market Built on Desperation

The trade in molokhia cigarettes did not emerge from nowhere. Vendors like Abdul Karim sold tobacco for years before the war. Then the blockade on imports forced them to improvise, and their customers followed almost immediately.

What stands out is how rapidly this toxic smoking alternative normalised. The idea spread as an emergency workaround and has since become a fixture of daily commercial life in Gaza’s informal markets. There are no safety standards, no labelling requirements and no controls on how much nicotine goes into each cigarette. Every smoke is therefore a small gamble on top of an already catastrophic situation.

Demand has fallen sharply, though not because people have grown more health conscious. Rather, even molokhia cigarettes are beginning to strain the tightest budgets. The collapse in purchasing power across Gaza has been so severe that few luxuries, even hazardous ones, remain within reach.

The ceasefire that began in October was supposed to ease import restrictions. According to residents and traders, however, tobacco products have still not returned to shelves in any meaningful quantity. So the market next to the waste dump carries on, and the crushed molokhia leaves keep getting rolled.

Source: aljazeera