I was born in Rimal, Gaza City, in 1988 — during the First Intifada, which had started a year earlier. My entire life has been shaped by war. It has defined everything, right up to today.
Until I was 18. I lived in Gaza City. After that, I left Palestine to pursue my studies in Jordan, Syria, and Egypt. A scholarship eventually brought me to Belgium, where I earned a master’s degree in Business Management in Ghent. I’ve now been living and working here as an accountant for eight years.
I lived in Gaza City. After that, I left Palestine to pursue my studies in Jordan, Syria, and Egypt. A scholarship eventually brought me to Belgium, where I earned a master’s degree in Business Management in Ghent. I’ve now been living and working here as an accountant for eight years.
Life under Israeli occupation in Gaza was extremely difficult — especially as a child. Palestine consists of Gaza, the West Bank, and East Jerusalem, but as a Palestinian, you were never free to move between these areas. For every movement, you needed documents approved by Israel. When my aunt got married and moved to the West Bank, I suddenly couldn’t see her or my cousins anymore
My entire childhood was lived under the terror of Israeli violence and bombings. It was common for attacks to happen during school hours, and I had to go fetch my sisters from another school building nearby. One day, I panicked because I couldn’t reach them in time. Luckily, my mother was able to rescue them. That kind of threat was constant. Alarms often went off at night, and we had to gather in the hallway and stay awake until it was over. Sometimes there was a warning, sometimes not. Every family kept a backpack ready with their most important documents and belongings. We had only a few minutes to grab it and run to a ‘safe’ place. You had to stay alert and ready to flee at any moment.
My grandfather’s house was completely destroyed by Israel three times. Each time, he rebuilt it. Israeli soldiers often stormed into the house and used my grandparents as human shields while they moved through Gaza.
Since I left Gaza, I’ve often been separated from my family. My parents live in Egypt, my sister Ola is in the Netherlands, and my other sister is still in Gaza. The occupation, our status as Palestinians, and now the genocide prevent us from being together or building a normal life. I’ve never met my niece in person; I only know her through video calls. She always asks, “Where is my aunt?” We live in constant fear that something might happen.
Gaza is completely cut off: there’s no aid, no medical care, no food. My family means everything to me — we’re deeply bonded despite the distance. As the oldest, I’ve always tried to protect my sisters, and it tears me apart that I can do so little for them.
I recently became a mother myself. It was a difficult pregnancy, both physically and emotionally. I was sick and alone in Belgium. My husband and I were recently married, but he was stuck in Sweden waiting for his documents and couldn’t enter Belgium. The day before our son Zuhdi was born, he stepped off the bus in Ghent.
Our happiness is bittersweet. We are finally together and looking toward the future. We have plans and dreams, but the lives of our families are threatened by this horrific genocide. We are exhausted, yet we continue to fight. I stay positive — the world now knows our story. We are no longer completely alone. We have more freedom now to be proudly Palestinian. We are paying a heavy price, but we do not see it as a loss — because we are proud of our heritage. The Palestinian struggle is one we all share — a struggle against oppression, and for humanity.
Palestine is our home. We are deeply connected to the land — it’s where we are truly ourselves. Two million people, where everyone knows and supports one another. That is our strength. There is warmth and so much love — yes, also many problems, we know that — but it is ours.