A lot of noise – missiles and explosions, the sound of drones, shouting and wailing, cries of “martyr, martyr”. Glass breaking, doors slamming, buildings collapsing, fires blazing, thunder, lightning, wind, death sighs, darkness and ash. They are all still in my head.
I left Gaza almost a year ago, but those images and sounds still haunt me. I left everything behind – home, friends, extended family – but I couldn’t banish the echoes of war.
Here in Cairo, I constantly relive the trauma of what I saw, heard and felt in the first four months of the war in Gaza.
When I hear the sound of a plane in the sky, my heart beats with fear, thinking it’s a war plane. When I hear the sound of fireworks, I panic, imagining that they are bomb explosions.
I used to think exile would bring security and peace, but it turned out to be an extension of war.
The death and destruction taking place in Gaza still dominates our lives. The sadness, pain and struggle for survival that we thought were behind us still follow us.
We do not live in a rain-soaked tent and starve; the sound of the bombs is not real – they are only echoes of memories in our minds. But we still live in misery.
My father, the breadwinner of our family, could not find a job for months. When he did, she paid a modest salary. We are facing mounting debts and cannot afford basic necessities.
Meanwhile, we remain fully immersed in the horror of Gaza. Bombings, mass killings, suffering in destroyed tents – hour by hour it reaches our messaging apps.
All the Palestinian friends I have here seem to be in the same situation – living in pain and despair, surrounded by war.
“I wish I had died with them instead of living,” my friend Duaa told me recently. Shortly after the beginning of the genocide, her family sent her to Cairo to finish her studies in peace. “I had a feeling I wouldn’t see them again when I said goodbye,” she said, sobbing.
A few days after she arrived in Egypt, thinking that life had given her a better chance to study abroad, she tried to contact her family to check on them, but got no response. Anxiety consumed her until she received the devastating news of their martyrdom.
The pain was unbearable and she failed her studies. To this day, she is still struggling to pay the rent for her apartment and told me that the landlord will soon evict her for not paying. She is an orphan, alone in exile, and could soon become homeless.
Another friend, Rawan, studied in Egypt for several years before the war started, dreaming of a bright future. On October 10, 2023, a powerful explosion destroyed her house, killing her entire family. Only her mother, who miraculously survived despite severe injuries, and her married sister, who lived in another house, remained.
Rawan told me she missed her father’s encouraging messages, the support of her brothers Mohammed and Mahmoud and the innocent laughter of her sister Ruba. She never finished her education. She became 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 scared. She tried to re-apply for her parents and brother to travel, but the occupation seized Rafah and closed the crossing. Then she told me that she felt as if all the doors of her life had closed in front of her nose.
Nada and her sister live alone, without the support of relatives and struggle. 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 due to harassment and fear of kidnapping, they were reluctant to leave the apartment where they were staying.
“We yearn for our past lives in every detail,” she says.
We have, but we also know that our past lives are 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 cease-fire that takes effect today is supposed to stop the fighting, but it is not clear whether it will end the war. More than 120 people have been killed since Wednesday when it was announced. And we know that more will die because conditions will not improve. Gaza is no longer fit for life.
Even if there is lasting peace, the Israeli government will set its own conditions for the continued blockade and harassment of the population. The restoration – if it happens – will take many more years. This is why we as a family made the decision to start building a new life in exile despite the challenges we face.
The views expressed in this article are those of the authors and do not necessarily reflect the editorial position of Al Jazeera.
