'Even if it's rubble, it's home': Displaced Palestinians vow to return and rebuild Gaza

Among the rubble of homes and displacement bags still unpacked, thousands of Palestinians from Gaza City and the northern Gaza Strip cling to a single hope that has never left them: returning home, no matter what remains of it.

Israel's genocide in Gaza, launched after October 7, 2023, has displaced approximately 1.9 million of Gaza's 2.3 million residents, with northern Gaza experiencing some of the heaviest bombardment and destruction. The World Bank estimates that $50 billion is needed to rebuild the devastated enclave.

In temporary tents and rented houses across central and southern Gaza, the displaced prepare for a return they have yearned for, despite knowing the destruction and absence of life awaiting them there.

Gaza, with all its pain and ruin, remains for them the irreplaceable homeland — the only place that can be rebuilt with stones and longing together.

'Life is unbearable away from Gaza'

Among the thousands anxiously waiting sits 32-year-old, mother of three, Fidaa Abdul Aal, from the Jabalia refugee camp, north of Gaza City. With her eldest being ten years old and the youngest two and a half, she contemplates the long road that has separated her from her city during these harsh months of displacement.

"I'm not thinking of returning directly to the north. Life there is almost non-existent," Fidaa tells The New Arab, her voice filled with longing.

"The area needs infrastructure, water, and basic services. There are no foundations for life in Jabalia camp. But if tents or temporary camps become available, I'll return immediately. We'll go back no matter what. Life is unbearable away from Gaza."

Jabalia, Gaza's largest refugee camp, established in 1948, has been among the hardest-hit areas, with the Israeli military conducting extended ground operations there, claiming to target Hamas infrastructure.

Fidaa recounts the financial toll of survival.

"We paid everything we owned when we fled from Gaza City to al-Zawaida in the central area. The cost of displacement reached $5,000, and today we don't have enough money to return," she shares. 

When the ceasefire was announced, a smile returned to Fidaa's exhausted face. "I felt tremendous joy. Finally, the bloodshed will stop. There will be no more martyrs and wounded. Children will return to school. Despite all the destruction that befell our homes, we won — we kept our lives, and that's the most important thing.”

For three years now, all the children, including Fidaa's, have been without education or schools.

"I hope caravans or tents will be provided, we'll return directly to Gaza. There's no place there. The building we lived in has become rubble, but if the rubble is cleared, we'll pitch our tent on top of it," she added.

'A tent on my home's rubble is better than displacement'

From the al-Tuffah neighbourhood east of Gaza City, Kamal Mustafa, 68, a widower and father of nine married children, was forced out just ten days ago by relentless bombardment.

For the first time in his life, he fled to southern Gaza. But his heart remained in his neighbourhood, never leaving his memory.

"I never thought about displacement, but I was forced to do it," Kamal says, his voice filled with determination and longing.

“I went the day before they closed the checkpoint, and when I learned it had been closed at 11:30 a.m., it was too late; the Israelis closed it at noon.”

He recalls the details of his attempted return with precision.

"I went at 2:30 a.m. and stood at al-Nuwayri hill. The occupation forces opened fire on us and on those who were there. I returned and waited an hour, then approached again, and they fired again. I stayed until 6 a.m., then went to a friend in Nuseirat to be close to the hill. After 10 a.m., I went back and waited for the checkpoint to open," he tells The New Arab. 

Despite the danger, Kamal never abandoned his desire to return to his demolished home.

"I risked my life because of how much I missed my neighbourhood. A tent on the rubble of my house is a thousand times better than displacement to the south, better than any other place."

He adds after a pause to take his breath, "I don't know what happened to my house, is it still standing or has it become a pile of rubble? But even if it's rubble, I'll set up my tent on top of it."

Kamal was displaced more than ten times within Gaza City before leaving it to the south for the first time. He can no longer bear being away: "My children call me to return to our displacement location in al-Zawaida, but I haven't responded to them. I can't wait any longer. Gaza is calling me."

'We must compensate for the loss'

In the al-Daraj neighbourhood in central Gaza City, Nuha Hammada, 23, waits with indescribable eagerness for the moment of return after the ceasefire announcement.

Nuha studies computer engineering and aspires to complete her studies abroad to compensate for the brain drain that occurred during and after the war.

She comes from a family of nine, and she dreams of studying for her Master’s and Doctorate degrees abroad through a scholarship, then returning to Gaza to complete her journey there.

"I want to serve my country and work here in my homeland and also complete a doctorate in computer engineering," she says.

"Many engineers were martyred in the war. My uncle was the only one who held a doctorate in these studies and was killed in the war a year and a half ago. We must compensate for the shortage of doctors and engineers who were killed or left during the war."

She completed her university studies online under challenging circumstances, finishing her degree while also working as a social activist distributing aid.

Nuha's father works in the West Bank and couldn't return during the war. She lives with her two sisters. She also has one brother who travelled abroad and one married brother.

“The first thing we heard about the ceasefire decision, we couldn't believe it,” Nuha, who was displaced three times within Gaza City before moving for the first time south of Wadi Gaza, told The New Arab.

"For two years, we tasted every torment, starvation, bombardment, and repeated displacement. We can't convince ourselves that the genocide is over, after all the abandonment we lived through."

Wadi Gaza, a seasonal river valley, serves as a geographical dividing line between northern and southern Gaza, with Israeli forces using it as a strategic separation point during the war.

With features mixing caution and hope, she adds, "The first thing we thought about after the news was our house... what happened to it? And how will we return? The joy is great that we'll return to Gaza, even if we're going to live in a tent, but it's enough that it's in our city."

Nuha and her family are already planning their return cautiously.

"My brother will go see the condition of the house, and we're waiting to arrange transportation to go back. We're waiting to return more eagerly than ever. Gaza is our entire life."

'I'm afraid the war will return'

Between feelings of fear and hope, Mu'tasim Murshid, 40, a father of four children, lives through long days of waiting and anticipation since the ceasefire announcement.

Mu'tasim was displaced just twenty days ago to the south, after being forced to leave his home in the Tel al-Hawa neighbourhood west of Gaza City, which witnessed widespread destruction during the war.

"Since news started coming about the ceasefire, I couldn't sleep,” he said in a tired voice, recalling details of his last days in displacement.

"All my thinking is how to return to Gaza and see my house. Even if it became rubble, I want to pitch my tent on top of it. What matters is being in my city."

"We tasted the pain of displacement and starvation. I couldn't believe the ceasefire went into effect. I'm afraid every moment the war will return to Gaza again," he adds with sorrow.

Mu'tasim speaks about his financial hardship after long months of war and displacement.

"We don't own anything anymore. We spent everything we had when we were displaced. The Tel al-Hawa area wasn't very dangerous, but with the continuous bombardment, we were forced to leave. It pained me to leave my house and my city, but there was no choice."

Ansam Al Qitaa is a freelance journalist based in Gaza. For years, she has covered the successive wars in Gaza and their humanitarian and social impacts for international and local outlets

This piece is published in collaboration with Egab