When the sirens fade in Gaza, the sound that follows is not silence. It is the sound of plastic chairs dragging across the sand.
For the past months, my life has been measured not by hours or meetings, but by the relentless, daily pursuit of normalcy. As the founder of Gaza Great Minds Foundation, my work has become an act of defiance. We are turning tents into classrooms and dust‑covered corners into spaces where children can remember how to dream.
I remember a morning last week, just after Omar’s 6th birthday. The heat in the tent was stifling, and the dust hung heavy in the air. Omar, who often follows me to the sites, found a discarded, broken pencil lead in the sand. He didn’t see it as trash. He sat down in the corner of the tent, using his own thumb to smudge the lead against a scrap of cardboard, carefully drawing a picture of a house with a window. “Baba,” he said, looking up at me with eyes that have seen too much, “Look, I can write my full name in Arabic. Is it nice?”
“Yes, baba. Yes. It’s the most beautiful name in the world.”
In that moment, I realized that we are not just teaching children to read; we are helping them build and craft their skills. To open a book when the world around you is collapsing is to declare that you have a future. To teach a child to write their name is to insist that they exist.
My own life is inextricably woven into this struggle. I am an educator, yes, but I am first a father to Omar, Keenan, and Ibrahim.
Losing my father during this war was the moment the ground shifted beneath me. I learned then that when our elders are taken, the burden of passing on the story falls entirely to us. Now, when I walk into one of our tent schools, I am not just a principal; I am a guardian of a future that many have tried to erase.
My team — Kathy, Amr, Sohaib, Sergio, Islam, Noor, Baraa, Hosam, and Saja — shows up every morning. They bring their grief, but they leave it at the door, choosing instead to bring patience to students who arrive with empty stomachs but hungry minds. We fight a daily war against scarcity, struggling to secure furniture and notebooks.
Running an educational project in a war zone is not a task for the faint of heart. It is a grueling, daily negotiation. Yet I am terrified of what would happen if I stopped. If I quit, the darkness wins by default.
We are often told that the world is becoming multipolar, that power is shifting, and that geopolitics are dictated by the moves of great nations. But from my vantage point in a tented schoolhouse, the only power that matters is the resilience of the human spirit.
We are not just surviving; we are documenting our own endurance. We are writing our own history, one lesson, one meal, and one act of kindness at a time. As long as I have breath in my lungs, I will be here, ensuring that for my sons, for my students, and for our people, the light of knowledge continues to burn.
Ahmad, you are incredible. Your words are full of sense in a senseless world. You are compassionate and heartfelt. You are doing a great job.
❤️