My name is Rami, I'm 43 years old, but most people call me Abo Salem: father of Salem. My life has become a journey—not by choice, but out of necessity. Not to chase wealth, but to give my family a chance at a better life.
I was born in Egypt in 1982, in the Egyptian part of Rafah. My father worked in Cairo for an American construction company. But we were Palestinian refugees.
When I was seven, we returned to Rafah in Sinai, to the refugee camp where Palestinians had been holding on to hope of return for generations. When I was twelve, we went back to Gaza, as prescribed by the Camp David Accords. We ended up in the Canada Camp, where my family home stood — until June 8, 2024. That day, the house was bombed. Leveled to the ground. My wife, my twelve-year-old son, my ten-year-old daughter, my parents, and the rest of my family now live in a tent. Everything is gone.
Gaza was once beautiful. In my youth, I worked in the summers in construction and gardening. At night, we went to Gaza City and spent our earnings on simply being together. There was music, laughter, friendship, future, tourism. I wanted to become a computer engineer, I had plans. Back then, Gaza didn’t yet feel like an open-air prison.
Until Sharon, during his election campaign, entered our sacred place: the Al-Aqsa Mosque. In 2000, the Second Intifada began. Everything changed after that.
I married Alaa in 2012, whom I knew from university. Our son Salem was born in 2013, and our daughter Rania in 2015. I worked in Gaza for international organizations like UNDP, Care International, and Oxfam. My work brought me close to the people—especially the poor and vulnerable. But humanitarian work in Gaza is not easy. I was pressured by the authorities. They wanted access to and control over the projects, lists of beneficiaries, but I couldn’t comply. My principles stood for transparency and justice.
I tried to start over with a small clothing store, but the economic situation was unbearable. Taxes, corruption, and a population without purchasing power crushed my dream.
And then there was Israel, the occupier, and the constant threat of violence. My generation, due to the endless cycle of war, siege, and destruction, has no prospects, no work, no safety… It’s impossible to build a future for your family under those conditions.
Six years ago, I decided to leave — for them. I went to Turkey first. There I worked as a translator and teacher. I saved money and prepared for my family’s arrival, but then the pandemic hit and I lost my job.
Unexpectedly, my Moroccan neighbors offered me a way out: they were leaving the next morning for ‘safe’ Europe. I had five euros. My Italian friend and his Turkish wife stopped by and left an envelope with three hundred euros. I sent two hundred to my wife. With the remaining hundred, I began my journey to Europe.
On foot, I traveled through Greece, Albania, Montenegro, Bosnia… We walked at night and slept during the day. I got stuck in Serbia — for seven months. I tried, failed, and tried again. Every month, my Italian friend helped me keep going.
Everywhere I went, I found friends. I’m social. My mother used to pray: “God, send him people with good hearts.” Those prayers carried me.
My first step in Belgium was in Brussels. I wanted to register, but had to sleep on the street for ten days — in the rain. That was my welcome. After that, I briefly stayed in Evere, and thanks to a friend of my brother, I ended up in Ghent. It was the World Cup. I was allowed to sleep in an Ethiopian café. I watched matches with Tunisian friends. Step by step, I found a home.
Now I love Ghent. The people. The diversity. I do a lot of volunteer work, and I dream of opening a falafel shop. Cooking calms my soul. It lets me forget, for a moment, everything I’ve left behind.
But in recent months, I’ve never been more afraid. What is happening now… it’s not a conflict. It’s a genocide.
My greatest desire? To hold my wife and children safely in my arms. To take my daughter to an amusement park. To watch a football match with my son. To stand under the Eiffel Tower with my wife.
I want my family back, in our new ‘home’. Though I still dream of the Gaza where you could swim in the sea, barbecue with friends and family on the beach, sit outside at night with the whole neighborhood and just talk…