The Electronic Intifada 24 September 2024
The author finding a quiet space to study amid Gaza’s destruction.
June 2024 was meant to be the pinnacle of my academic journey, a moment to celebrate my hard work and begin a new chapter as a teacher.
Of course, this dream has been completely shattered.
On 7 October 2023, the sound of rockets shattered the morning calm. Fearful, I rushed to my sister, Sumaya, asking what was happening. “It seems like a new war is starting,” she said, confirming my fears.
We gathered some essentials and took shelter in the lower floor of our home.
A few days later, my university – the Islamic University of Gaza where I was studying education – was bombed.
I was defiant. This war will not break me. I will graduate. Even if we had to leave our area of Beit Lahiya in northern Gaza,
When a ceasefire was announced on 24 November, we returned, only to find our home in ruins.
I found my books scattered on the street. My determination to complete my studies grew even stronger.
In April, a ray of hope appeared: West Bank universities announced programmes to accept students from Gaza for online courses. I applied to Birzeit University straight away.
It felt like a lifeline had been thrown to me when the acceptance email arrived.
I was tremendously determined despite the appalling circumstances in northern Gaza and the impossible conditions for students across the territory.
Every day I would walk close to a kilometer for internet access to attend my online lectures or try to download books and files. I studied at any place that offered good internet access to my e-SIM, even amid bombed homes.
Danger was lurking at every corner, yet I never let go of my dream.
Adversity breeds defiance
The struggles, however, soon became overwhelming. The internet became unreliable. I was afraid to miss a lecture or an exam due to the weak connection.
On 11 May, my father came rushing into my room while I was studying and told me to pack my things because the entire north had been threatened again.
I packed my books, pens, and some clothes, and we began searching for a safe place, even though we knew there was no truly safe place during this Israeli genocide.
We then fled to the United Nations Relief and Works Agency headquarters near the Islamic University.
The damage Israel had done to my university made me cry.
I tried to find internet access. It proved impossible.
I couldn’t access the internet for three weeks. As a result, I was unable to take my exams, and I lost my place at Birzeit University.
It was heart-wrenching. I was back to square one. But then I remembered the countless nights I had stayed up studying by candlelight. I remembered how my family always supported me in school.
I remembered how my father would wake up every day, get ready for work and ask me about my studies. He would reassure me that I could do it, I could complete my studies with distinction.
I remembered how my mother would constantly support and encourage me, always saying, “I love your passion for your studies and your desire to achieve your dream of graduation.”
I imagined myself as a teacher, standing before my students and telling them how their teacher persevered through unimaginable adversity to achieve her dream.
I knew I could not and must not give up.
On 28 June, the Islamic University announced that it would resume online studies in two phases.
“This is my chance,” I said to myself.
If at first…
I enrolled, determined to continue despite all the obstacles.
Despite the constant anxiety that I might not have access to the internet during my final exams, I refused to let go of my dream. I knew that a poor connection could cost me the GPA I had toiled so hard to achieve over the past three years, but I never let these fears deter me.
Basic supplies such as stationery were scarce. I had only one pen and a single notebook in which I meticulously recorded all my lectures.
During one of our evacuations from al-Shifa hospital, I lost my laptop, another challenge to overcome.
But I completed the first phase with excellent marks. I felt immense joy and my results simply fueled my determination to work harder.
I remembered how the last semester before this genocide, I achieved the highest grade in my class. I remembered the days when my life was stable, when I had my desk, my books and pens. My desk was not just a piece of furniture; it was my sanctuary, where I felt a profound sense of peace.
Now, in the second phase, I am taking 17 credit hours.
Every day is a battle to continue my studies. With terrible internet access, it often takes me nearly four hours to watch a lecture that lasts less than an hour.
In addition to my laptop, I’ve gradually lost all my files, work and books in endless forced displacements.
But I am continuing on my phone, which I have to charge twice a day. Since we have no electricity in our house, I have to take it to a place that charges phones from solar panels.
Every step I take among the rubble searching for internet access inches me closer to my dream.
Nothing will stop me from achieving my dream — not genocide, not destruction, and not even the lack of resources.
My perspective on education has shifted: It is no longer just a personal goal but a form of resistance — a beacon of hope to me in the midst of this Israeli genocide.
Ohood Nassar is a writer currently finishing her degree in education studies in Gaza.
