Almost everyone in the country is now buying and selling in foreign currency, rendering the Zimbabwe dollar almost worthless on the domestic market.

Even bank queues that characterized the daily lives of people last year are disappearing, as more people turn to using either the South African rand or U.S. dollars.

The MDC MP for Mbare Piniel Denga told us villagers in Murehwa were selling maize cobs, tomatoes and their livestock in U.S. dollars. The MP was in the area on Sunday were he bought a small dish of five mangoes for US$1. He said three tomatoes cost US$1, and five fresh maize cobs also cost US$1.

'During the festive season I was in Chivhu where people were buying beer and other drinks in foreign currency. I must admit that the use of our local currency is fast dwindling and you hardly see anyone using it anymore. For instance if you use a kombi from Glen View to the city it now costs US$1 as well, so everything has been dollarised,' Denga said.

The Mbare legislator said Zimbabweans had been forced to abandon the local currency for the simple reason that the maximum money you are allowed to withdraw can only buy one small onion.

'Go to any bank now and you hardly see anyone inside. You see few people here and there but otherwise the days of the Zimbabwe dollar are nearing their end. This is not a secret, even the government knows that people have empowered themselves and abandoned their useless dollar. We are headed for interesting times,' the MP quipped.

It costs US$20,000 to buy a foreign currency licence, which legally allows businesses to trade in forex. But with the virtually total collapse of the economy most small business can barely generate enough income to pay their staff at the end of each month. The Reserve Bank's policies, courtesy of Gideon Gono, have created a nightmare for most of these small companies and for the majority of the population who have little access to forex.

With everything now being imported companies have to pay for their inputs in forex, but if they can't afford a forex licence they legally can't sell in foreign currency. So Gono's forex police do the rounds of the shops, impounding 'illegal' foreign currency from these shops. In other words state sponsored theft.

The dollarisation has extended to school tuition with private schools setting fees in US dollars, putting education out of reach of most.

Chisipite High School in Harare is charging US$1,200 per term, and was asking pupils to bring fuel coupons worth US$300 with them on their first day of the term as a deposit.

Roxer Academy primary in Harare is charging US$800 a term, while in Bulawayo the Masiyephambili Primary School is requiring a fee of US$650.

This almost guarantees that when schools open next week they will be virtually empty. Families will be unable to send their kids to school and teachers will have no money for transport.

5.30pm: at Ramattan media office. Shelling has noticeably increased in the city in the last hours. Rumours increase that the Israeli Occupation Force will begin the land incursion tonight. We hear that a mosque in Beit Lahia has been attacked during the prayer time just past, resulting in 50 injured and maybe 10 dead. We decide to head immediately to Jabalia's Red Crescent Ambulance Operations Centre, which is a walk from F's house which the family has left.

6pm: When we arrive, there is an air of chaos and anxiety, as the ambulance workers have just finished dealing with the mosque injuries which included children. Explosions are constant and nearby. We understand that these are now coming from tanks shelling the area from the other side of the border, a new development.

7pm: Some semblance of calm has returned to the Centre but not the surroundings. A magnesium rocket (we understand this is designed to set things on fire) lands in the field beside the Centre. The explosions continue through the whole night without pause, rocking the building. We can see many people leaving the area on foot. We hear a water tank is destroyed.

7.30: Ambulances called out. We are unable to pass a huge crater in the road into which a car has already nosedived. Taking the long way round, we collect a man in traditional dress, in his 60s, from what seems to be his family farm. He is bleeding from the face and very frightened. On the way to Karmel Adwan hospital a particularly close explosion rocks the van. I mustn't have jumped enough, beacuse the driver mimes "did you hear that?" to me. I am beginning to realise Palestinians are fond of rhetorical questions, such as "how do you find Gaza at the moment?

8pm: We collect a man in his 30s from a family house in a main street. He is continually bleeding from the face near his eye and also has wounds to his hand and upper and lower legs. He has made makeshift bandages for himself. We take him to Al Awda hospital. On the way back we pick up a woman and her daughter who are in danger having gone to collect water.

8.20: Bread and tea at the Centre. Ambulances called out.

8.40: Medic worries "we are taking too long; ten minutes." However at our dangerous and darkened destination no-one arrives in response to the ambulance loudspeaker, the electricity lines are down, and smoke fills the air. The ambulances retreat, describing it as a no-go area. Immediately beside it, a peasant family of about 10 emerge from the smoke, looking bewildered. Some of the children are crying, everyone is holding tight to each other's hands. One woman is pregnant. The medics shout at them to leave the area, then decide to evacuate them in the ambulances. We drop them in the nearest town, to go god knows where.

8.55: we hear the Israeli army has crossed the border - in Rafah, in Gaza centre near Bureij camp, and here in Jabalia. We hear Israel has told the Red Cross (the communication medium) that people must evacuate to a distance of 1km in this area. I glimpse a teapot and tea but we are called out again.

9.10: We collect a young woman and an older. I am not sure what the issue is, although the younger woman appears pregnant. We deliver them to Al Awda hospital where we are given tea. H, one of the medics, tells me about his 3 children and his wife, who is very worried about him.

9.30: Back to the Centre for short period of quiet (except for the noise.) Our driver has decided he likes me because my beret reminds him of Che Guevara. He is driving with his arm in plaster.

10pm: Ambulances called out. A family of about 12 was round the fire outside their house, having no other way to cook or get warm. They were hit by a rocket and all are injured. Many ambulances converge at Karmel Adwan to transfer them to Al Shifa in Gaza city which has more resources. The wounded are pushed into one after the other. We have a young man, perhaps a teenager, whose breathing is being done for him by a medic with a handheld pump. I can't help but wonder if one of the 29 ventilators is free right now. But our driver says afterwards that he probably won't survive the night.

10.55: We leave Al Shifa to head back to the Jabalia Centre. There is coffee. Mo makes a coffee sandwich, which is just weird. There is a pause in the calls. Hassan asks me about my book, "Nature Cure"; I explain it is about an ecologist's route out of depression. "People get depressed in the West?" he asks in surprise. Understanding how implausible that must sound right now, I say that many people get caught up in a life that mainly holds work and buying stuff, and without some sort of meaning - religion, or the dream of your land being free, or something like that, people can get very lost.

"Actually Israel is trying to force us into a meaningless life like this," he says. "Like, sometimes I feel that all that really matters to me right now is a kilo of gas. I built a stove for my family and I feel like I did something amazing." The discussion becomes animated as all the medics join in, but it's in Arabic. We have a quiet stretch - again, despite the noise.

1am: This is a call to a woman in labour. V has a similar call. What a night to give birth. The stress is bringing on labour early for many women. Hassan says he should have documents for her to hand in at Al Awda, but they've not been allowed through from the West Bank for some time.

At this point I lose track of the time for a while and also get a couple of hours sleep. When I wake I find that A has come back from a grim call. The ambulances were called to the Beit Lahia Salatin area, outside the Mu'a'ia School to assist the Atar family. However the IOF forced them to turn back by dropping a bomb in front of the ambulances and shooting in front of them, so they were not able to access the wounded.

However, as they turned back, a donkey cart pulled in front of A's ambulance. On it were an older man and woman, probably the parents of the three teenage boys on the cart. One of the teenagers was attempting to shield the other two with a blanket. One of these two had a serious head wound and his eye was detached. The other had an open chest wound, and his arm was partially detached. Despite this he was conscious and shouting. A could see his lungs, one appeared punctured, and the clearly disturbed mother was patting his wounds. Back at the Jabalia Centre, A quietly described how he had assisted the medics to lift this boy off the donkey cart, and in doing so, found his hand inside the boy's body.

6am: My ambulance goes to three women, waiting in the dark street. They are young and quietly weeping. One carries a boy of about 4 years old wrapped in a blanket. His head flops back and his eyes are half open. I find myself hoping maybe he has just fainted from fright. Eventually I understand, perhaps from the weight of grief on thei