we are not numbers
emerging writers from Palestine tell their stories and advocate for their human rights
I have traveled a very long road to reach my goal of dual bachelor’s degrees in translation and education.
The Islamic university courtyard (before it was bombed), as seen from a university lecture room. Photo: Sujood Alkhour
In 2022 and my third year of studying English translation at the Islamic University of Gaza, I was ahead of my classmates in completing my coursework. I had a plan to complete my bachelor’s degree in three years instead of four, and then enroll in a master’s program.
When the weather was nice, I used to walk around the university with my friend Ohood. How we enjoyed listening to the birds chirping and watching the butterflies fly above the flowers planted in the university courtyard! I would tell her about my plans and she would encourage me.
One sunny morning, Ohood and I walked along the familiar path to the university courtyard. We sat down on a bench in the shade to share drinks and a cheese pie I had picked up on the way.
Ohood turned to me. “You are special, and you will be whatever you want: a writer, a translator, an academic researcher. I bet you’ll even get to study applied linguistics in Ireland, become a professor, maybe even an ambassador!”
She took my hands. “In the meantime, you could become an English teacher.”
“No,” I protested. “I want to finish translation and then go directly to postgraduate studies in Britain or Ireland.”
“You could teach in a school in Gaza. You just need to get your teaching diploma.”
I liked the idea, but I was worried. “Ohood, that might delay my master’s.”
Ohood kept reassuring me with her beautiful smile. “Sojoud, you can get two degrees at once, one in translation and the other in teacher training.”
Her unwavering confidence made me feel like anything was possible. I sat up straight, my heart filled with joy thinking about my future.
Ohood is an education student, so she accompanied me to the educational training department. We took the elevator to the fifth floor, where we found a group of students waiting in line.
Finally, it was my turn. I laced my fingers together and told the employee about my plan. She smiled and handed me a schedule of courses. A warm feeling spread through my chest as I held the schedule in my hands.
Ohood said she had never seen me this happy before. We kissed each other on the cheek before we parted ways. I then headed to the International Center Bookstore to find the teacher training books. It was full of students and dust was everywhere. I was surprised how many books fit in such a small space. Fortunately, I found everything I was looking for.
Once I started studying and attending lectures, every breath was filled with excitement. I was doing what I set out to do, and the teachers were so supportive, praising me in front of the class.
I worked hard and received excellent grades in several courses, though I had no idea what my final score would be. My dream was within reach.
When the war broke out in October 2023, I had to flee with my family to the southern Gaza Strip. My father decided to stay behind with two of my brothers, so it was just me, my mother, three of my brothers, and my four sisters. Leaving them behind felt unbearable.
As we walked out the door, it felt as if our souls were about to leave our bodies. We started crying in the street as we looked back at our house.
We only took the most essential items with us, some clothes, and official papers.
Everyone’s faces around us were red and dripping with sweat. I could hear them breathing harder and harder with exhaustion the further we walked. Rubble was everywhere.
When we arrived in southern Gaza, many buildings were damaged or destroyed, and the streets were covered with dust and rubble. Stray cats and dogs wandered through the empty roads, searching for food.
We found a place to stay in an overcrowded school that had been turned into a shelter for displaced families. Classrooms were full of people, mattresses, and bags, leaving no space to move and providing almost none of the basic necessities of life.
At night, the explosions were sometimes so loud that everyone would stop speaking and listen in fear. We were both exhausted and terrified, longing to return home to Gaza City.
The occupation targeted educational institutions, including the Islamic University in Gaza. The thought of the classrooms, halls, and library reduced to rubble felt like the weight of the buildings was pressing on my chest.
A whole year passed, and then we were able to study online. Yet this was challenging. Internet and electricity outages were frequent, so whenever we needed to submit assignments or take exams, we had to travel to distant locations to access small charging stations where everyone’s phones and devices were plugged in at the same time.
The area around the charging station was crowded and noisy. People sat on plastic chairs, on the ground, or on pieces of rubble, waiting for their devices to charge. I usually sat in a small corner with my phone in my hands, trying to focus on downloading my lessons, submitting my work, or taking an exam, all the while watching the battery carefully in case the power cut off.
Meawhile the rising prices and increased scarcity of food and supplies made me feel helpless and sad. Some days we barely had anything to eat and skipped meals so the younger children could eat.
I remember trying to study on an empty stomach, my head aching from hunger and dehydration. Concentrating on assignments or preparing for exams became harder and harder. My body was exhausted and my mind full of worry, thinking about how we were going to manage.
At one point the occupation forces evacuated the area where we were staying, so we had to move to a tent. We could barely protect ourselves from the heat of the sun during the day. It was not long before the rainy season came in November. The sound of the raindrops hitting the plastic roof grew louder and louder.
Soon, water leaked into our tent, creating small streams across the ground, slowly turning the dirt floor into mud. We rushed to protect the few things we had, placing our clothes and blankets beneath a small table. At night, when the cold air filled the tent, we tried to keep warm by sharing the few blankets we had.
My phone was my only connection to the outside world. Whenever the rain started, I wrapped my phone carefully in plastic and hid it under the table with our belongings, checking it again and again to make sure it stayed dry.
During this time, I learned through Facebook that my dear friend Tasneem Mohamed abo Sylmia was martyred on December 25, 2023. We had spent wonderful times together at the university, but after I arrived in the southern Gaza Strip, I had lost contact with her. Learning that she had been killed made me very sad and affected my studies.
Imagine trying to study under these conditions! In spite of all these challenges and heartache, I remained strong. Actually, my studies gave me something to live for and I was able to complete my coursework.
After finishing, I learned that my cumulative GPA in the Translation Department was 87.62, but I couldn’t get my score in Education due to a technical glitch in the Moodle learning system. In high school, I had scored 97.3 and was eager to achieve a similar score at university, but I fell ill during my first two years, which made it harder to focus on my studies. My hope was to at least graduate with honors in education. Would my dream come true?
News of the ceasefire in January 2025 felt like the storm clouds lifted, filling our hearts with joy. Beautiful moments flashed before our eyes now that we could return to Gaza. We could hardly wait to see my father and brothers.
After being displaced for nearly a year and a half, we started our journey back home along Al-Rashid Street overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. Our shoes had worn out, and we had to walk most of the way barefoot on the wet sand dunes, but the anticipation of our return kept us moving forward.
After four hours, we finally arrived. I had to catch my breath when I saw my father and brothers again who remained steadfast in our home that was still standing. The peace, joy, and comfort of being home again eased all the suffering we had endured.
Ohood and I had stayed in touch through WhatsApp. She had also fled to the south and had since returned. We were beside ourselves to see each other again.
Sujood and Ohood put their hands together into a heart shape, before the war separated them. Photo: Sujood Alkhour
When the university announced a partial return to in-person classes, the news spread among the students like wildfire. I walked through its gates slowly. Being on campus felt familiar, but everything inside me had changed.
Perhaps now I could get my score in Education. I waited in line, shifting my weight from one leg to the other. When the clerk called me, I could hardly believe my ears.
“Congratulations, Sojoud! You have graduated with honors from the Educational Qualification Diploma program with a grade of 91.91.”
In that moment, all the fear and worry disappeared. I couldn’t wait to go home to tell my parents, who had encouraged me throughout my studies. My mother hugged me and cried out, “Now you can enroll in the master’s program!”
It felt like an impossible dream to continue my studies, and yet look at what I had already accomplished in the midst of war! I graduated with dual degrees, became a journalist, and even became an instructor like Ohood had foreseen, teaching students to write in English at the Gaza Great Minds school.
Now I hope to apply for scholarships for my master’s degree in applied linguistics so I can become a professor, maybe even teach overseas someday. I have renewed hope that all of my dreams are within reach.
