Lots of noise – missiles and explosions, the sound of drones, screams and moans, cries of “martyr, martyr”. The breaking glass, the slamming doors, the collapsing buildings, the fires, the thunder, the lightning, the wind, the gasps of death, the darkness and the ashes. They are all still in my head.
I left Gaza almost a year ago, but these sights and sounds still haunt me. I left everything behind – my home, my friends, my extended family – but I couldn’t shake off the echoes of the war.
Here in Cairo, I continue to relive the trauma of what I saw, heard and felt during the first four months of the Gaza war.
When I hear the sound of a plane in the sky, my heart races with fear, thinking it is a war plane. When I hear the sound of fireworks, I panic, imagining that they are bombs exploding.
I thought exile would bring security and peace, but it turned out to be a prolongation of the war.
The death and destruction occurring in Gaza still dominates our lives. The grief, pain, and struggle for survival that we thought we had left behind continue to follow us.
We do not live in a tent flooded by rain and we do not die of hunger; the sound of bombs is not real – they are just echoes of memories in our minds. But we still live in poverty.
My father, the breadwinner, couldn’t find work for months. When he did this, it brought him a meager salary. We face growing debt and cannot afford basic necessities.
Meanwhile, we remained completely immersed in the horror of Gaza. The bombings, the massacres, the suffering in destroyed tents – all this is broadcast to us hour by hour on messaging apps.
All the Palestinian friends I have here seem to be in the same situation: living in pain and despair, besieged by war.
“I wish I had died with them instead of living,” my friend Duaa told me recently. Her family sent her to Cairo shortly after the genocide began to finish her studies in peace. “I felt like I wouldn’t see them again when I said goodbye,” she said, sobbing.
A few days after arriving in Egypt, thinking that life offered her a better opportunity to study abroad, she tried to contact her family to check on him, but received no response. Anxiety consumed her until she received the devastating news of their martyrdom.
The pain was unbearable and she failed in her studies. Even today, she struggles to pay the rent on her apartment and told me that her landlord will soon evict her because she hasn’t paid. She is an orphan, alone in exile and could soon become homeless too.
Another friend, Rawan, had been studying in Egypt for a few years before the war started, dreaming of a bright future. On October 10, 2023, a huge explosion destroyed his house, killing his entire family. Only his mother, who miraculously survived despite serious injuries, and his married sister, who lived in another house, remained.
Rawan told me that he misses his father’s messages of encouragement, the support of his brothers Mohammed and Mahmoud, and the innocent laughter of his sister Ruba. She never completed her studies. She has become a shadow of herself.
Nada, another friend, is in Cairo with her sister. The girls had to leave their parents and brother in Gaza because their names were not on the list of people allowed to pass through the Rafah crossing.
In Cairo, Nada felt lost, alienated and afraid. She tried to request again that her parents and brother be able to travel, but the occupation stormed Rafah and closed the crossing. At that moment, she told me that she felt like all the doors in life were closed in her face.
Nada and her sister live alone, without the support of loved ones, and struggle. The stress and sadness took their toll. Nada has lost a lot of weight and now says she looks like a skeleton.
She told me that harassment and fear of kidnapping make them reluctant to leave the apartment they are staying in.
“We long for our past lives in every detail,” she says.
This is true, but we also know that our past lives have been lost. Even if the war ends, nothing will ever go back to the way it was. Nothing will compensate us for this bitter loss.
The ceasefire that goes into effect today is supposed to end the fighting, but it is unclear whether it will end the war. More than 120 people have been killed since Wednesday’s announcement. And we know that more will die because conditions do not improve. Gaza is no longer habitable.
Even if there is lasting peace, the Israeli government will set its own conditions for continuing the blockade and harassment of the population. Reconstruction – if it takes place – will continue for many years. This is why we, as a family, have made the decision to start building a new life in exile despite the challenges we face.
The opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the editorial position of Tel Aviv Tribune.
