Deema Al-Bahisi in 2022 in her bakery/bedroom. Photo: Eman Ghassan Abu Zayed

Since childhood, Deema Al-Bahisi has felt a unique connection to the kitchen. But it was cake in particular that opened a special world for her. The cake form made it so she could shape, with her small hands, and fill with color, her hopes and joys. At just 10 years old, she began her first experiments with baking, unaware that her passion would one day become both her message and her form of resistance.

On February 22, 2022, while still a university student at Al-Azhar University in Gaza, Deema launched her own cake business online. Living in Deir Al-Balah, she transformed her small bedroom into a mini-bakery filled with the sweet aroma of vanilla and chocolate. With the support of her family, who provided her with the basic tools and ingredients, she took her first steps into the world of business.

It wasn’t easy, especially under the harsh conditions of the Israeli-imposed siege in Gaza with its various challenges, from constant power outages to limited resources. Deema saw every cake she made as a chance to spread hope, in rejection of the extreme odds. She poured her heart into every batter, believing that what she was creating wasn’t just dessert to be eaten and forgotten, but heartfelt messages of love and care. Her project became a window to the world and a personal space where she could express herself.

Watching the joy on children’s faces as they received their personalized cakes made every hour of effort worth it. “The smile of a child looking at a cake that resembled their favorite cartoon character could erase the exhaustion of days under occupation,” she recalls.

What made her bakery truly unique wasn’t just the taste; it was the purpose behind it. Deema dedicated much of her work to baking for children with chronic illnesses, especially those suffering from hepatitis. She created special recipes without milk or eggs to protect their fragile health. She delivered her cakes to children admitted to Al-Aqsa Hospital in central Gaza.

Her inspiration came from seeing how the siege deprived children of almost everything that could bring them joy. Deema often said, “Children don’t need much to be happy; they light up from the simplest things.” However, shops lacked items tailored to their needs. Her belief, and the extreme deprivation, pushed Deema to focus her efforts on them.

Deema made small cupcakes for the children at Al-Aqsa every week, bringing them a little joy in the midst of their suffering. People noticed her work and started sending small donations to help her continue. She insisted on the cakes being free for the children. Her project wasn’t about profit, she told her supporters, it was about humanity.

Deema in the camps with the children. Photo: Eman Ghassan Abu Zayed

Her business was going for about a year. But then in 2023 the war escalated, as it always does, and shattered everything.

One day, heavy shelling hit her neighborhood, including her home. By this time the war had already caused widespread destruction, and the situation in Gaza was dire. Despite the increasingly difficult conditions, Deema had been able to continue her bakery and distribute cakes to children in refugee camps, clinics, and the hospital.

Before her home was bombed, she would carefully prepare her small cupcakes in her makeshift bakery room and personally deliver them to children at Al-Aqsa Hospital. She found purpose in these small acts of kindness, even as the sounds of explosions echoed through the streets. Each successful delivery felt like a small victory in the face of overwhelming adversity, and the joy on the children’s faces, though fleeting, gave her hope to keep going.

As the weeks passed, the shelling grew heavier, and her home was directly hit. The blast partially destroyed her room, breaking her tools and spoiling the ingredients she had carefully stored. The home that had once been filled with the sweet aroma of her cakes was now a pile of rubble.

In the aftermath of this devastation and hardship, Deema remained determined. With the borders closed and no access to gas, Deema turned to a traditional Palestinian clay oven to continue her work.

“The conditions are extremely harsh,” she says. “Sometimes I would spend three or four days searching for a single bag of flour, just to make one cake that could bring joy to a sick child.”

Everything became scarce: flour, eggs, electricity. The sense of safety had vanished, like her materials. As the war dragged on, Deema fell into depression. Her father, a psychiatrist, told her: “If you want to heal, return to what you love most.”

So she went back to baking. But this time, it wasn’t just for others; it was to heal herself, too.

“I poured my sorrow and pain into every cake I made,”  she said. “Each sugar flower was a form of resistance.”

People began calling her “The Happiness Maker.” It wasn’t just a nickname; it reflected the warmth, care, and light she and her bakery brought into people’s lives. Children would shout her name with excitement when they saw her coming with her pink cake boxes. Mothers, whose hearts she had touched with her kindness, called her an angel for what she did for their sick children. Even young brides-to-be, overwhelmed with gratitude after receiving engagement cakes in the harshest of living conditions, lovingly refer to her by that name. Her new title spread from one person to another until it became part of her identity.

With limited tools and unstable conditions, she continued her work. Deema didn’t own a shop, just a small room she had rebuilt piece by piece after it was damaged in the war. She crossed dangerous roads, walked through rubble-filled streets, and risked her life to reach displaced families in the newly formed displacement camps. On each trip, she carried boxes of sweetness and messages of hope. Many nights, she wasn’t sure if she would make it back home. But her desire to see children smile, to plant even one moment of joy in their hearts, gave her the strength to keep going.

Deema’s bakery became a form of resistance and a clear plea to, as Deema pleads, “Stop the genocide. Stop the bloodshed. The war has taken everything from us: our homes, our youth, our universities, and our dreams. Even a simple cake has become a miracle.”

Still, today Deema is baking. For four years—first through the siege, then through the escalation, and now through the genocide—Deema is baking. Deema bakes for life, for the children, and to prove that happiness can still rise from the ruins. Despite losing her tools, her home, even her sense of safety, Deema never lost her purpose. Baking has become more than a passion or a project; it is now her way of giving, resisting, and healing.