In a quiet suburb of Johannesburg, Sameh Jamal Al-Barawi's flat looks unremarkable from the outside. It blends into the rhythm of the city, another building in a place far removed from the Mediterranean coast where he grew up.
Once the kitchen door opens, distance collapses. The smell of fried aubergine, sumac, onions softened in olive oil, and spices heavy with memory fills the air.
Here, cooking is not just a profession; it is an act of remembering.
Since settling in South Africa in 2018, the 34-year-old Palestinian chef from the Al-Tuffah neighbourhood in eastern Gaza City has worked as a private chef, preparing Palestinian food for events, gatherings, and families curious about a place they mostly know through headlines of war and devastation.
Yet what he offers goes beyond plates of food. Each dish carries a story of a home left behind, of a land under siege, of a culture that refuses to disappear.
"For me, Palestinian cuisine isn't just food. Its identity and belonging," Sameh tells The New Arab.
"It's the smell of home, the taste of childhood, and the stories of family and land."
Leaving Gaza, he explains, was neither a dream nor a choice driven by ambition.
In September 2018, amid worsening economic conditions and an already suffocating blockade, he left on what he describes as a psychologically exhausting journey.
As well as dozens of Palestinians who left Gaza at that time, he crossed into Egypt, travelled on to Saudi Arabia, and eventually reached South Africa.
"Gaza isn't a place you leave easily. You don't just leave your house. You leave part of yourself behind," he said quietly.
Today, Sameh lives in Johannesburg with his wife and two children, four-year-old Adam, and Alma, just a year and a half old.
Inside their home, Palestine is deliberately kept alive. Arabic fills the space. News from Gaza is followed daily. Family calls are never skipped. And Palestinian food, prepared almost ritualistically, anchors their sense of belonging.
"I want my children to know Palestine, even if they've never seen it. I want them to grow up proud of who they are," Sameh shares.
Shaped by memory
Sameh's journey into cooking did not begin from culinary schools or professional kitchens — it began beside his mother in Gaza.
As a child, he would stand quietly by her side, watching her prepare meals for the family. "She didn't explain much," Sameh says. "But I learned by watching, by memorising movements, smells, and timing."
That early relationship with food resurfaced years later during the COVID-19 pandemic. Lockdown in South Africa left Sameh at home, surrounded by silence and an overwhelming sense of nostalgia.
"I had time, and I missed Gaza deeply, so I started cooking every day — first for my family, then for friends," he continued.
Gradually, requests multiplied.
For Sameh, it was crucial not to market his food as generic "Middle Eastern" or "Arab" cuisine.
"Palestinian food has its own character, its own story," Sameh says.
"Many people here only know Palestine through war. I wanted to show them the human side, and food is the fastest way to the heart."
Dishes that carry Gaza
When Sameh speaks about food, his language is not technical. It is emotional.
To him, maqluba is the dish closest to his heart. "It's not just rice and vegetables. It's a story. It's family gatherings, Fridays, special occasions," he said as he turned his maqluba out into a large bowl.
Musakhan, drenched in olive oil and sumac, he says, symbolises the land itself. "Our olive trees, our harvests, our connection to the soil," he added, flashing a smile.
Then there is Gazan fatteh, the dish he describes as closest to his soul. "It reminds me of childhood, of simplicity, of the spirit of Gaza," Sameh shares.
Another dish, summaqiyya, which is often served at weddings and communal celebrations, represents endurance. "It reflects Gaza's patience and strength, rich in flavour, built slowly, resilient," he continued.
Even falafel and hummus, foods often stripped of context and globalised beyond recognition, carry meaning for him. "They were for everyone in Gaza, the poor, the student, the worker. Street food that brought people together every morning," he explained.
In South Africa, maqluba tends to capture attention first. "People are drawn to how it looks," Sameh says. "Then they taste it, and they understand."
However, he refuses to alter recipes to suit local palates. Authenticity, for him, is non-negotiable. "Some customers later visited Palestine and told me the taste was the same. That's the greatest compliment," he tells The New Arab.
Food as resistance
Since the start of Israel's genocidal war on Gaza in 2023, Sameh's relationship with food has shifted from preservation to resistance.
"Cooking," he described, "has become a deliberate political act, even if it unfolds quietly in private kitchens and dining rooms far from the sound of bombs.
"When Gaza is being erased, when people are killed and starved and reduced to numbers, I feel a responsibility to protect what can still be protected," he added.
"They are trying to destroy everything, not just lives, but memory, culture, and identity."
Every dish that Sameh serves is a refusal of erasure. By insisting on naming Palestinian food as Palestinian, and by telling its story to those who eat it, he challenges a narrative that seeks to strip Palestinians of their humanity.
"When I cook, I am saying that we exist, that we have a history and a future. This is not just food from nowhere," he tells The New Arab.
Customers often ask him why he is so emotionally attached to his work. His answer is simple. "Food is one of the last things they cannot take from us," he explains.
"They can destroy homes and streets, but they cannot erase taste, memory, or stories if we keep passing them on."
In a moment when images from Gaza are dominated by destruction and death, Sameh believes presenting Palestinian food with dignity is a way to confront dehumanisation.
"I want people to see Palestinians as people who cook, who gather, who celebrate, who love. Not only as victims," he continued.
"This is my way of standing with Gaza."
Loss and meaning
Behind Sameh's cooking stands his family. His wife, Carmen, has supported him from the beginning, helping prepare dishes and desserts.
His young son, Adam, often stands beside him in the kitchen, mimicking his movements. "Maybe he'll be a chef one day," Sameh says, smiling.
The most emotional moment of his journey came when he cooked for Palestinian families recently displaced from Gaza during Israel's latest genocidal war.
"When they tasted the food, they started crying," he recalled. "They said it had been two years since they had eaten Palestinian food with its real taste."
He pauses. "That moment broke me. But it also made me proud."
Sameh dreams of expanding his project, opening Palestinian restaurants across South Africa, establishing a culinary school, and publishing a recipe book that tells Palestine's story through food.
Asked what he would cook first if he ever returned home, without hesitation, he responded: "Maqluba. For my family. Especially for my mother."
He adds, "Identity doesn't fade. And food is my way of carrying Palestine into the world."
Sally Ibrahim is The New Arab's correspondent from Gaza