A Palestinian
teacher's arduous journey through broken streets and checkpoints in Gaza
reveals widespread destruction and hardship, yet a steadfast hope it
will soon rise again
Displaced
Palestinians wait to cross a checkpoint manned by Egyptian and US
security on Salah al-Din road in al-Mughraqa in the central Gaza Strip,
on 10 February 2025 (Eyad Baba/AFP)
I live in Khan Younis, in the south of the Gaza Strip, but my work as
a teacher is in Gaza City, which is classified as part of the northern
area. I used to go there daily, and the journey took only 20 minutes.
The withdrawal of the Israeli army from the Netzarim Corridor was a
dream for all of us - not only for the displaced who longed to return
but for everyone in Gaza - because life cannot continue without access
to Gaza City and the north. I always promised myself that I would go
back the moment the army withdrew.
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The long walk home to northern Gaza
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My father would ask: "Will you go to report from Gaza and the
northern areas when the army withdraws?" My answer was always, "yes". He
wanted to come with me to see the beautiful city where we once relaxed
in beach cafes.
When the Israeli army withdrew at the end of January, we waited for
its complete departure. As a resident of the south, I knew I could not
stay in the north and would need to return home.
By early February, I checked with friends about the road conditions
and checkpoints. Was it crowded? How long would the journey take?
Some suggested going by sea, where there was no barrier - only a
short walk, after which I could take an animal-drawn cart to reach the
Gaza Corniche. It would be quick, they said. But I hesitated. I still
had a back injury and severe bruises, and walking would worsen my
condition. I decided to wait.
The following Sunday, I had work in Gaza City - I needed to prepare a
video story about a girl who had returned north with her family.
I also wanted to check on my school, the Rosary Sisters School in Tal
al-Hawa. I had taught there for five years, commuting daily without
issue. I missed my science lab, where I spent so much time during school
hours. I wanted to know the fate of it, hoping it had not been
destroyed like so many other places during the 2021 war.
An endless maze
That morning, I told my father we were going to Gaza City.
At the taxi area, we asked about the road conditions. Would it be
crowded? How long would we wait at the checkpoint? These endless
questions were exhausting.
The entire Maghraqa area, once a thriving agricultural zone, was now a wasteland
Before the war, I would go to Gaza City at any time without a second thought. Now, the Israeli army had imposed a painful reality upon us. But we would overcome it.
We found a taxi driver. "Is Salah al-Din Road crowded?" I asked. "Or
is it clear?" He reassured me: "Don't worry, we'll get there as quickly
as possible. Come with me."
My father and I shared the taxi with a family heading north to visit
their daughter, who had never left Gaza City during the war. As we drove
along Salah al-Din Road and reached Netzarim, we encountered massive
sand barriers blocking the street, forcing us onto bypass roads through
the Mughraqa area.
I wondered what this was. How will we ever get to the checkpoint?
I felt like we were in a maze. Our driver followed others, navigating
a confusing network of rough, unpaved detours. At one point, we stopped
- about 30 cars were lined up in front of us, waiting.
I stepped out to observe the area. The checkpoint was in a well-lit
spot ahead. Around us, deep craters, some as deep as nine metres,
scarred the landscape. The entire Maghraqa area, once a thriving
agricultural zone, was now a wasteland. The houses were gone.
I checked my watch. I had work to do, and I wanted to visit my school for the first time in 16 months.
A woman in the taxi sighed, "We endured the Israeli army for a year
and a half. How do people in the West Bank live like this every day?
Their suffering must be immense."
Others in the car discussed how the army, unfamiliar with coastal
areas like Gaza, had reshaped the land into high sand barriers,
mimicking the mountainous terrain of the West Bank.
Unrecognisable roads
As the cars inched forward, I noticed Qatari, American, and Egyptian personnel managing the checkpoint.
An Egyptian officer greeted us and asked young men to exit the cars
and walk a separate path. My father, at 55 years old, was allowed to
stay. We stepped forward and were met by another Egyptian officer, who
handed us oranges and water. A Qatari man nearby gave hard-boiled eggs
to some children.
Across the way, American soldiers stood in watchtowers, weapons aimed at the road. Sand barriers surrounded them.
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War on Gaza: How Palestinian lives are reduced to a series of grotesque calculations
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For the first time in my life, I encountered a checkpoint that
actively prevented me from reaching my own city. As we moved past it, I
felt relief that I was finally close to Gaza City. But that relief was
crushed when I saw the devastation in the Zeitoun neighbourhood, just
before the city's entrance.
I used to know these roads well. Now, they were unrecognisable. We
tried to identify landmarks from what little remained of their walls.
Finally, we reached the area where my school once stood.
I asked the driver to stop so I could walk the last stretch. From a
distance, I saw the school building - but the outer wall had been
destroyed and Israeli bulldozers had razed the yard. As I approached, I
took in the destruction: shell damage in the kindergarten and classrooms
buried in sand.
Guards stood at the internal door. "I'm a teacher here," I told them. "I want to see what happened to the school."
Inside, shattered glass littered the floor. Rooms were burned. I hurried to my science lab.
Exhausted but hopeful
I went down the stairs and found the lab covered in missile smoke and
dust. The windows were shattered, and many of my lab tools were
missing.
But I was relieved - it had fared better than the library, which was
completely burned. The classrooms were intact, but the schoolyard and
theatre, once filled with students' laughter, were destroyed.
The destruction was widespread. The army had not spared a single area
I wanted to clean my lab myself. I tried to open the door, but they
told me to wait until next time. Everything around the school had
changed. Nothing looked as we remembered. Once again, we were being
forced to accept a new reality that Israel had imposed on us.
I could not stay at the school for long - I had to return south. The
trip to Gaza City had taken two and a half hours, and I feared being
delayed on the way back.
After finishing my work, I checked the condition of the city's main streets, al-Rimal and Unknown Soldier Street.
The destruction was widespread. The army had not spared a single
area. Universities, hospitals - everything had been reduced to ruins.
At al-Rimal Street, I bought supplies that were unavailable in the
south, then told my father it was time to leave. We searched for 30
minutes before finding a car heading south.
The journey back was gruelling. The roads were rough and congested,
and displaced people were going home. For the first time, I felt the
full weight of the distance. The exhaustion was visible on everyone's
faces.
Gaza is wounded. But it is trying to rise again. Gaza City calls me
back, and I hope that one day, the road will be open and free - without a
checkpoint.
The views expressed in this article belong to the author and do not necessarily reflect the editorial policy of Middle East Eye.