Exiles fleeing Gaza live precarious lives

It has been 10 months since my family left Gaza, but we are still living with the loss, pain and impact of the war.

This month, just before the anniversary of the conflict, we experienced eight of the most traumatic hours of that period.

We received a video message from my wife’s cousin in Gaza, which read: “Tanks surrounded us and were firing on us. These could be our last moments.

“Pray for us and do whatever you can to save us.”

My wife collapsed and even lost consciousness: her uncle, aunt and their family members, a total of 26 people, were attacked.

Israeli assaults and attacks on cities and villages across Gaza – targeting Hamas – have been commonplace for much of this year.

We heard nothing from them after several hours. They were bombarded throughout. Finally, a voice prompt: “Four people are injured. Your aunt Wafa is bleeding and her condition is critical.”

I made countless calls to the Red Cross, the Palestinian Red Crescent Society, and anyone who could help.

Eight hours later, the Israeli army finally allowed them to evacuate and evacuate the wounded on foot.

But it was too late for Wafa – she succumbed to her injuries shortly after arriving at the hospital.

We still have many relatives in Gaza. My father is there, living in a tent in the southern city of Khan Younis, which was bombed again this week.

I often felt guilty when I called him from Istanbul, where I had fled with my wife and two children.

There are a lot of people like me in Türkiye, in Egypt, and around the world – in the UK, the US, Europe – and we have to go there to find safety.

Not everyone can get out, only those with enough money to pay the high tolls to other places.

But since November, more than 100,000 Gazans from Egypt alone have made their way south into the country.

There they were not under direct threat from Israeli bombs. But many are struggling to feed their families, provide education for their children and simply rebuild the basics of normal life.

In a bustling outdoor cafe in Cairo’s Nasr City, dozens of newly arrived refugees huddle in small groups, smoking hookahs and sharing stories about their homeland.

They try to alleviate the pain of longing for those who are not currently with them. They firmly believe that the war will be over soon and they can return. But there is always an uneasy feeling inside.

A loud traditional Palestinian song plays from the speakers, a hit by Palestinian singer Mohammed Assaf, who won the Arab Idol competition a few years ago.

“Cross Gaza and kiss its sand. Its people are brave, its men strong.

Abu Anas Ayyad, 58, sat and listened. In his previous life, he was known as the “King of Gravel” and was a successful businessman who supplied construction materials to construction sites across Gaza.

He and his family – including four children – escaped. But: “Every missile that hits a building in Gaza breaks my heart.

“I still have family and friends there,” he said.

“All this could have been avoided. But Hamas sees it differently.

He regretted the attack on Israel by Iranian-backed groups on October 7, 2023, and its current consequences.

“As much as I love Gaza, I will not come back if Hamas remains in power,” he said. He does not want his children to “become pawns in a dangerous game played by reckless leaders on behalf of Iran.”

Sitting nearby is Mahmoud Al Khozondr, who ran his family’s famous hummus and falafel shop in Gaza before the war. It’s an institution in the area – known for its fine food and celebrity clientele. The late Palestinian president Yasser Arafat was a regular visitor, often at its table.

Mahmoud showed me photos on his phone of his former well-appointed home. They now live in a cramped two-room apartment. His children cannot go to school.

“It’s a miserable life,” he said. “We lost everything at home. But we must rise again,” he said.

“We need to feed our children and provide aid to the people who are still in Gaza.”

Life in exile in Egypt was not easy. Authorities allow Palestinians to stay temporarily but do not grant formal residency rights. They limit access to education and other critical services.

Many Gazans try to send money back to support relatives still in Gaza, but remittance fees are high and the military chamber charges a 30 percent discount.

“It’s heartbreaking to see profit from the suffering of our loved ones,” Mahmoud Saqr told me.

He once owned an electronics store in Gaza. These days he has to go to a store in Cairo with a bundle of cash to transfer money to his sister.

“There was no receipt, no evidence – just a confirmation a few hours later that they had received the money,” he told me, describing the process.

“It’s risky because we don’t know who was involved in the deal, but we have no choice.”

These are desperate times for everyone.

During my year in Türkiye, I tried in vain to create a peaceful living environment for my family.

But every time we go to a restaurant, my kids reminisce about their favorite places in Gaza, their big house, their game store, their friends at the equestrian club, their classmates.

Some of the students were killed in ongoing Israeli air strikes.

But since October 7th, time has stood still for us. We have not moved on from that day.

Our bodies may have escaped, but our souls and hearts are still connected to our loved ones in Gaza.