Cupresso Café in Gaza, once one of the most popular spots frequented by foreigners before the war. Photo: Nour Abo Aisha

“People asked me about you, my love.”

Prior to October 7, 2023, Fairuz’s voice resounded from Gazan homes, and the aroma of coffee wafted from all of Gaza’s neighborhoods. Despite the siege, Gazans had coffee-drinking rituals. Historical and cultural series often included scenes of morning coffee, as they embody the reality of life in Arab homes, and they were also popular as scenes in Arab dramas. During Eid, Arab countries serve Arabic coffee as a form of cultural and traditional celebration. As a result, coffee is more than just a daily beverage; it is a cultural symbol that reflects people’s identities and unique characteristics. 

In Europe, as in other parts of the world, each country has its own distinct coffee culture that it is proud of and sees as part of its national heritage. From Italians who regard espresso as an art form, to Turks who see it as a traditional ritual, coffee has evolved into a cultural entity that carries, in its aroma, the spirit and history of a place. During World War I, Europeans experienced a severe coffee shortage, limiting soldiers’ and the general public’s ability to endure the war. Some of them turned to alternative ingredients, such as ground dandelion seeds, to invent coffee substitutes. Similarly, during the Gaza war, when coffee disappeared from the markets between March and August 2025, Gazans invented a coffee substitute made from chickpeas and lentils. They grill chickpeas until they turn the color of coffee and then grind them.

In Gaza, we freelancers have had a difficult time adjusting to life without coffee, and none of the alternatives are satisfactory. Sugar, which could provide us with energy instead of caffeine, has also disappeared. We walk long distances in the hot sun because there is no transport, which, even when available, is extremely expensive. We arrive at internet- and electricity-equipped workspaces exhausted, with hunger-related headaches, and lacking the most basic concentration stimuli. I once tweeted, “My greatest ambition now is to be sitting at a desk with a cup of Nescafé beside me.”

However, we continue to write, despite the fact that writing consumes the last of our available energy. My journalist colleagues are forced to cover events and massacres while being denied food, water, rest, security, and even life. This was the case with Anas Al-Sharif, who continued to document the war and fight with words despite the starvation and deprivation that he faced, until Israel targeted him in cold blood, depriving his daughter Sham of his voice and tenderness.

A wartime coffee substitute made of roasted chickpeas. Photo: Nour Abo Aisha

Creating energy from nothing

Although Newton’s law of conservation of energy states that energy cannot be created out of nothing, Gaza violates this law on a daily basis. Because Gaza is above the law. We do generate energy out of nothing, despite the absence of basic components. We don’t convert energy from one form to another; rather, we create it by depriving ourselves. What explanation does science offer for this?

Physics cannot trace this Gazan energy, but it inspires us with a desire to survive, work, and tell the truth. My coworkers agree that if there was coffee, life would be easier, and I’d be able to finish my graduation project without delay. Coffee literally has a presence, entity, and effect on the human mind, particularly in terms of evoking information.

Before the war, I used to leave the house early every morning to buy coffee and drink it during my 8 a.m. lecture. The funniest thing that happened to me during my university days was when I had a final examination. I usually bring a cup of Nescafé with chocolate and a bottle of water to the exam table so that when I face a difficult question, I can renew my energy with a sip of Nescafé. The lecturer asked, “Nour, are you sitting on the beach or taking an exam?”

Destroying hope by any means

Israel is killing us not only directly through bombing and starvation but also with subtler forms of deprivation, such as preventing us from meeting up with friends. Friendship gatherings have always been considered a necessity, not a luxury, in Gaza. Our friends were dispersed following the October 7 war; some were killed, others were displaced, and our meeting places were bombed.

The cafe Restritto, on a rooftop in Universities Street, used to witness our conversations after university, our cups of coffee and croissants, after which we’d return home full of energy for the rest of the day. A month before the war, my friend and I spoke with the café owner, who told us that he wanted new ideas for the café’s “Restritto Coffee Podcast,” but we did not get to discuss the people’s issues because the war came unexpectedly. I cried a lot the first time I saw the destroyed café in December 2024, when I was displaced in the industrial area in West Gaza.

The aroma of Mazaj Café also lingers in my mouth, as it is well known among Gazans as their favorite café. If you ask a Gazan in the diaspora about Mazaj Coffee, they will tell you that it represents Gaza, its winter, its people, and the lights. 

Cupresso Café. Photo: Nour Abo Aisha

Cupresso Café—another of Gaza’s most well known cafes, with imported coffee beans and espresso machines—was where I used to spend time with my best friend before we were separated by the war, when she left Gaza. We would sit there for hours, contemplating the noise of the place and the ringing of the bell as orders were prepared. Many foreigners who came to Gaza on student exchange scholarships used to frequent this café.

I recall a picture of Mahmoud Darwish hanging on the walls of the Babaroti Café, which was playing Muhammad Abdel Wahab’s song, “Mata Ta Habibi Mata” (“When will time allow, my love”) and that tree on which we hung our wish notes, until Israel destroyed the olive tree, which bore witness to all of Gaza’s hopes.

At the time of the truce in January 2025, some cafés attempted to rebuild themselves as a refuge from the destruction, but Israel continues to bomb any place that provides us with hope, even if only momentary. A massacre was committed at the Al-Baqa Café on Gaza beach, killing, among others, Amna Al-Salmi, a writer and artist who had gone to Al-Baqa that morning to breathe the sea air and drink a cup of espresso. Before her death, she had created a painting of a bleeding girl, unaware that her work would be used to commemorate the scene of her murder. 

I once paid $3 for a single gram of Nescafé in the market. In July this year, a pot of coffee would have cost $100. These prices do not exist anywhere else, even in London. In Gaza, we live in a mad era. This is a battle for the minds of our people and our productivity. It’s as if Israel is saying, “We’re going to drive you crazy in one way or another.”

Meanwhile, all Gazans wish for is life, a cup of coffee, and a morning without the buzz of drones or news of death.