Northern Gaza’s Displaced Residents Dream of Returning to Their Land

By Nour Dawood

“Sheja’eia, Sheja’eia, please,” a displaced man in Deir al-Balah, central Gaza, asks a driver. “Inshallah, one day we will all return to our lands, brother,” the driver replies.

It’s not permitted to go to northern Gaza’s neighborhoods amid the ongoing war. However, displaced people have continued to ask drivers to take them there since the day they were forced to flee. They do this out of hope and a belief that, one day, they will return to their homes and lands.

I was on my way to buy some candies for my son, Adam, who, about ten months after the war began, kept asking me what candies are and what they’re made of. He’s 4 years old and used to eat candies before the war. However, with Israel’s use of starvation as a weapon of war, people have forgotten everything they used to eat or do during normal times. I told him, “Adam, I always bought you candies before we were displaced. Have you forgotten?” He replied, “I don’t remember any of that. But I remember when we went to the mall with you and Dad.”

Displaced people live on their memories, constantly recalling and narrating their pre-genocide days.

Displaced people and residents walk in the streets of Deir al-Balah in central Gaza in January 2025. (Provided)

Aya Nai’m, a 30-year-old woman from Jabalia, was displaced along with her husband in January 2024, when she was seven months pregnant. One month later, her husband was killed in an Israeli attack in Deir al-Balah.

“I was alone when I gave birth to my son, Yazan. He is now an orphan. We fled from our homes under Israeli threats,” Aya said.

She continued, “I’ve been living in a tent on the street. I have no money. My family is still in the north, and they are all I have left.”

Aya dreams of returning to the north to reunite with her family. “My home was bombed. I lost everything. But I haven’t lost my faith in Allah. We will return, no matter the cost.”

Destruction and Hope

Destruction, rubble, blood, screams, cold, tents, starvation, and lost childhood—this is what I see in the streets of Gaza every time I step outside.

A school-turned-shelter on Salah al-Din Street in central Gaza. (Provided)

On Salah al-Din Street, whether you turn left or right, all you will see is rubble.

Palm trees line Salah al-Din Street. (Provided)

Before the war, siblings and friends would fight over who would sit by the window to enjoy the view of the green fields, the palm trees, or even the sight of people going about their daily routines.

On my way, I passed a field of grass. One of the passengers remarked, “Is this a sign of hope? Will we ever return to our land, plant it, and rebuild our homes?”

Another passenger replied, “We will. Just trust in Allah. The oppression will not last forever, and the land will bloom again.”

The driver added that his wife and children now keep their belongings and clothes in bags. I asked him, “Why do they do that?”

“A ceasefire will be declared soon, we hope,” he said. “I want to return to my home too, to see my friends, to breathe the air of the land…”

One person said, “You mean to see destruction?” The driver responded in a calm, trusting voice, “Whether it’s destroyed or not, we will return. We love it. It is Gaza! If they offered me all the money in the world, I would still choose to live there.”

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