The Electronic Intifada 27 February 2025
US President Donald Trump flanked by Jordan’s King Abdullah and Crown Prince Hussein on 11 February. Trump’s Gaza plan has sparked fears among Palestinians displaced to Egypt that they will not return.
Medill News ServiceSince the ceasefire in Gaza began on 19 January, I and others who were displaced to Egypt during Israel’s 15-month long genocidal aggression, have been waiting impatiently to return home.
The Rafah crossing, however, has remained closed to us, even if equipment and much needed temporary housing began to trickle across into Gaza on 20 February.
In addition, the hopes of refugees hang in the balance by a thread worn thinner with every dangerous utterance from US President Donald Trump about displacing everyone from Gaza to turn it into the “Riviera of the Middle East.”
Despite the facts that more than 62 percent of American respondents to a poll from Data for Progress oppose Trump’s “plan” and that 145 Democrat legislators have called on Trump to retract his comments, the US president so far remains wedded to his idea. He is even pressuring Egypt and Jordan to accept it.
Meanwhile, Israel is constantly violating the terms of the ceasefire agreement, leaving us fearing that it will simply end in more violence.
My father, Saeed, is one of more than 100,000 people who fled Israel’s genocidal aggression. Like many others, he has found neither solace nor work in Egypt. His work – he was in the tech support unit of the Gaza municipality – no longer exists, and we are drowning in debt.
I asked him about Egypt’s stance regarding Trump’s plan.
“I don’t think the Egyptian president will agree to the displacement,” my father said. “He rejected it from the beginning of the genocide. But I can’t be certain – our cause could easily be sold for personal interests.”
And if that happens, I asked? What if we can’t return?
He had no answer. The question remains suspended, awaiting a decision from a US president who now, disturbingly, controls our fate.
Living precariously
Nevertheless, my father remained adamant that, if able to return, despite the destruction of his work and the overwhelming destruction in general, returnees would be ready to work and rebuild their lives. “Just as teachers returned to work despite the destruction of schools,” he said, “we will work, even in tents, if they allow us to return.”
Life in Egypt has been tougher than we imagined. We face complex challenges as de facto refugees without any official legal status. Unable to secure even temporary residency permits, we are in legal limbo, deprived of access to international aid, public health care and even banking services.
Many of us live precariously with temporary visas, valid for just 35 days, and are constantly anxious to find work to support our families. Job opportunities are also limited. With enough capital, people can start their own businesses, but government work, teaching or health care jobs are off limits.
A small number of Palestinians from Gaza have lost hope of ever returning, convinced that Gaza is no longer livable and that its reconstruction could take years.
But by far the majority still dream of returning. Doaa Zaqout, 19, fled to Egypt in November 2023 to complete her high school education. She then lost all her relatives – her parents and three siblings – in Israel’s indiscriminate bombardment.
She now finds herself alone, effectively homeless, having to move from cheap rented room to cheap rented room, waiting only to return to visit the graves of her family.
“I don’t feel safe here,” she says. “My family was my support. They encouraged me to pursue my dream in Egypt. But I lost them forever. I just want to go back and kiss their graves.”
Manal Suleiman, 39, a family friend, also found herself stranded alone in Egypt after arriving for stomach surgery shortly before the genocide began. She has been unable to see her husband and five young children since.
“I miss my little children; they have grown up away from my embrace,” she told The Electronic Intifada.
Defiance and hope
Manal recalled that her doctor had told her to be careful with her health to avoid complications after surgery. But how could she be careful, she wondered, “amid all this horror.”
“I haven’t slept well since the war started. I wake up terrified for my children. I’ve neglected my health, and nothing matters to me anymore except seeing them and holding them.”
Her illness – a bacterial infection that causes stomach ulcers – has returned now, she said, but she can’t seek treatment because her visa has expired. “When I go to the hospital, they ask for my passport. As soon as they see my visa has expired, they refuse to treat me.”
Salah Naji was also in Egypt when the war started, and his visa has long expired.
“The situation here is disastrous. I have no work, no residency, no money. I survive on bread and salt. I owned a house [in Gaza], but now I live in a cramped apartment with other young men; and even that rent is beyond my reach.”
He has also been separated from his children in Gaza.
“The hardest thing for a father is to be unable to provide for his family. One time, I was on a call with my children, and I was told that my youngest son, Abdullah, had been injured by shrapnel in his foot. My heart ached when I saw him cry. When I ended the call, I couldn’t hold back my tears.”
Still, he remains defiant.
“We will return to our homeland, no matter what. When the Rafah crossing opens, I will be the first to go back, and I will never leave Gaza again.”
His defiance is echoed by most. Over 100,000 Palestinians forcibly displaced from Gaza and stuck in Egypt today are waiting for just one thing – the reopening of the Rafah crossing.
To no one is it clear what will happen if they are denied their right to return.
Reem Sleem is a writer and English literature student from Gaza, displaced to Egypt.
