I'm 23, and I'm Already Starting From Zero for the Third Time

A young couple in Gaza facing repeated loss and trying to rebuild a life from nothing.

Prologue / Introduction

I’ve shared many stories from Gaza, but I won’t try to rewrite this one. I could never tell Sameh’s story the way he tells it himself. I could never put his experiences, his losses, or the way he explains his life into clearer words than he already has. So instead of trying to retell it, I’m letting you hear it directly from him.

Sameh is 23. His wife is 23. They were nursing students before the war, building a simple life together. What happened to them after that — the destruction, the displacement, the fear, the miscarriages, the constant starting over — is something no young couple should ever have to live through. These are his own words, and I’m simply giving him the space to be heard.

For clarity: when he mentions “my dear mother Omaima,” he is talking about a close friend of mine who has been helping him and his family survive during these months of hardship.

Sameh:

I am Sameh Mahmoud from Gaza. I am married, and both my wife and I are 23 years old. Before the war, we were a husband and wife studying nursing at Palestine University. My wife was the top student in her class, and I used to work after university hours in a marble factory.

My story began on 23/10/2023. That morning, I woke up feeling very afraid, though I didn’t know why. After washing my face, I decided to go to the market to buy some food with the little money I had left. My wife insisted on coming with me, and I didn’t refuse since the market wasn’t far from our home.

We arrived at the market, and after a very short time, a massive explosion happened. I felt as if my heart had been ripped out of my chest. I grabbed what I had bought and headed back home… but that was the moment of shock and slow death.

When I arrived, I saw my beautiful home reduced to a pile of stones and rubble. It wasn’t a big house, but it was big enough to hold our dreams. The neighbors didn’t know we were outside, so when I arrived, I found them searching for me and my wife under the rubble. Alhamdulillah, we were not inside.

I kept thinking: how will I live now? Our clothes, our belongings, all the basics of our lives and our dreams were inside that house. The house was destroyed — and with it, everything.

We were forced to go live with my family. When we arrived, my parents welcomed us and gave us food and water. Living together as a family helped ease the sound of death around us.

But it didn’t last long. After a little over a month, on 05/01/2024, tanks entered our area without warning. Our house was the first in the area. We were forced to leave while the tanks stood at our door. Again, we left with nothing — no food, no clothes, not even a glimpse of hope. We felt as if a tank shell could hit us at any moment.

We were forced to flee to Deir al-Balah. My parents, my two brothers, my sister, my wife, and I spent our first night sleeping in the street. The next morning, nearby shelling woke us in terror. A woman whose husband had been martyred saw us from her window. She came out and took us to a piece of land that had belonged to her late husband. She brought us some wood and a small tarp and said, “This is all I have — you must build a tent with it.”

My father and I quickly built the tent. The woman returned with one mattress and three blankets. Because my mother suffers from asthma and breathing problems, we gave her the mattress. We slept on the sand. One blanket for my mother, one for my father and my brothers, and one for me, my wife, and my sister.

The tent was extremely small. After four days, with tears in my eyes, I was forced to send my wife to live with her family because I couldn’t bear the suffering she was going through with me. We said goodbye in front of her family’s house in Nuseirat camp, and I returned to our fragile tent.

Because everyone was cooking on fire, and because of my mother’s illness, her condition worsened from the smoke and dust. We took her to the hospital, but on the way, her condition deteriorated, and she fell into a coma. I never left her side. I slept at her feet every day.

She remained in a coma for 9 days. Alhamdulillah, she came out of intensive care and was moved to the cardiac unit. Then the doctor told us: if your mother stays in the tent, next time we may not be able to save her.

I was overwhelmed with fear and pain. I asked my father to let my sister stay with my mother, and I went searching for a place to rent. After two days, I found a small room with a bathroom for 1200 shekels.

We lived there, but on the first night, I couldn’t pay the rent. I asked the landlord to give me two days, but he refused and threw us out into the street.

A neighbor saw us and allowed us to stay temporarily. I went out again searching for a solution and met a friend who advised me to start a fundraising campaign. He told me about a house for rent, so I took it and began creating a campaign.

Since I didn’t know anyone who could help me create a GoFundMe or Chuffed campaign, I used FundHope, a Lebanese platform. I started promoting my story on X.

I raised $3,050, but when I tried to withdraw, the platform took a 31% commission. Then my withdrawal request was rejected without refunding the commission. This happened four times. On the fifth attempt, it was accepted, and after 21 days, I received only $990 out of $3,050. The rest was lost in commissions.

I paid the rent, even though we were barely eating one meal a day.

A week later, my wife’s family called me. When I went to meet them, they told me: either you take your wife to live with you, or you separate.

I was devastated.

My family’s home was too small, so I was forced to rent another furnished house. With the help of my dear mother Omaima, who is very precious to me, I was able to rent it. She also helped me raise donations for rent, food, and my wife’s university fees.

After a short time, we discovered that my wife was pregnant. I felt great joy — as if life was finally giving me a moment of happiness. But after two and a half months, she miscarried. We said Alhamdulillah and tried to move on.

Two months later, she became pregnant again. Hope returned — but after three months, she miscarried again. At that moment, I felt that happiness was not written for me.

Today, I am revealing something I didn’t want to tell my dear mother Omaima so she wouldn’t be sad: my wife miscarried again in the middle of Ramadan.

Two months ago, the landlord asked us to leave because he wanted the house for his son. We found another house, but it had nothing — no mattresses, no blankets, no water tank, nothing.

Thanks to my dear mother Omaima, we managed to rent it. I posted on X asking for help to buy a water tank, but there was no response. We lived for a month and a half without water.

Again, my dear mother Omaima helped us buy the tank, pay rent, and provide food.

Now, we urgently need to pay $750 for rent within two days (including commission), and we need $680 for basic home necessities like mattresses, blankets, and clothes, as each of us only has one set of clothes.

In the end, I extend my deepest thanks to my beloved mother Omaima, sister Leila, sister Kathy, and everyone who has helped or will help us. 🥺❤️🫂

Closing / Call to Action

Please help if you can. This community has come together so many times to support families in Gaza, and you can feel the desperation in Sameh’s own words. He and his wife have lost their home more than once. They’ve lost their safety. They’ve lost their unborn children. They are trying to rebuild a life from nothing.

Any support makes a difference. And if you cannot give, please share. Sharing helps the story reach someone who might be able to help when you can’t.

Thank you for reading his story and for standing with this young couple in their hardest moments.

Donate: https://chuffed.org/project/sameh

If you want to contact Sameh and give him words of support, you can do so through his Twitter account: SamehMahmou2003