The ceasefire will not bring our lives back

The deafening roar of missiles and explosions, the buzzing of drones, the cries and wails, and the shouts of “martyr, martyr,” the shattering of glass, doors being violently kicked in, buildings collapsing, flames raging, thunder, lightning, howling winds, the death rattle, darkness and ashes—all these sounds and images still linger in my mind.

It has been almost a year since I left Gaza, yet these sights and sounds continue to haunt me. I left everything behind—my home, my friends, my extended family—but I cannot escape the echoes of war. In Cairo, I constantly relive the trauma of what I saw, heard, and felt during the first four months of the war in Gaza.

When I hear the sound of an airplane in the sky, my heart races with fear, thinking it's a fighter jet. When I hear the sound of fireworks, I panic, thinking it's a bomb exploding. I once thought exile would bring safety and peace, but it has proven to be merely an extension of the war.

The death and destruction that is happening in Gaza still dominates our lives. The grief, the pain, and the struggle for survival that we thought we had left behind continue to follow us like a shadow. We are not living in tents flooded by rain, nor are we starving; the sounds of bombs are not real, but rather echoes of memories in our minds. Yet, we still live in anguish.

My father, the pillar of our family, has been unable to find work for months. When he does find work, the wages are meager. We are facing mounting debt and cannot afford even the basic necessities. Meanwhile, we remain completely immersed in the horrors of Gaza. The bombings, the massacres, the suffering in tattered tents—all of it floods to us every moment via instant messaging.

All my Palestinian friends here seem to be in the same situation—living in pain and despair, haunted by the war. “I wish I had died with them rather than living like this,” my friend Duaa recently told me. Her family sent her to Cairo shortly after the start of the genocide so she could complete her studies in peace. “When I said goodbye, I had a premonition that I would never see them again,” she sobbed.

A few days after arriving 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 received no response. Anxiety consumed her until she received the devastating news that they had become martyrs. The pain was unbearable, and her studies failed. To this day, she struggles to pay her apartment rent and tells me that the landlord will soon evict her for not paying. She is an orphan, alone in exile, and may soon be homeless.

Another friend, Rawan, had been studying in Egypt for several years before the war, dreaming of a bright future. On October 10, 2023, a massive explosion destroyed her house, taking the lives of her entire family. Only she miraculously survived, along with her critically injured mother, and her married sister, who lived in another house. Rawan tells me that she misses her father’s encouraging messages, the support of her brothers, Muhammad and Mahmoud, and the innocent laughter of her sister, Ruba. She has not completed her studies, and she has become a shadow of her former self.

Another friend, Nada, is in Cairo with her sister. The girls had to leave their parents and younger brother in Gaza because their names were not on the list of people allowed to pass through the Rafah crossing. In Cairo, Nada feels lost, alienated, and afraid. She tried to apply again to allow her parents and brother to travel, but the occupation forces attacked Rafah and closed the crossing. At that point, she told me that she felt all the doors of life had been closed to her.

Nada and her sister live alone, without the support of relatives, and life is difficult. The stress and grief have taken their toll on them. Nada has lost a lot of weight, and she now says she looks like a skeleton. She tells me that harassment and fear of being kidnapped make them reluctant to leave the apartment where they live. “We yearn for every detail of our past lives,” she said.

We do, but we also know that our past lives are lost. Even if the war ends, things will never be the same again. Nothing can compensate for the painful losses we have suffered. The ceasefire agreement that went into effect today was supposed to stop the fighting, but it is unclear whether it will end the war. Since the ceasefire was announced on Wednesday, more than 120 people have been killed. We know there will be more deaths because the situation will not improve. Gaza is no longer fit to live in.

Even with a lasting peace, the Israeli government will set its own conditions and continue the blockade and harassment of the population. Reconstruction—if it happens—will take many years. That is why we, as a family, despite the challenges, have decided to start building a new life in exile.