A mirror in the shape of historic Palestine adorns the Ayloul Palestinian Restaurant in Mansoura City, Egypt. Photo: Reem Sleem

When I first entered Ayloul Palestinian Restaurant in Mansoura City, Egypt, I felt a mix of conflicting emotions all at once.   

I saw the Palestinian flag and felt that I had finally found a refuge — a place I belonged to, one that embraced me in my exile. Yet at the same time, a reel of horrific war memories passed through my mind, and hesitation overtook me for a moment. 

I felt like a frightened child who had come upon a soothing presence. I had forgotten what safety felt like throughout the past two years I spent in exile, far from my homeland. 

The place enveloped me in iconic images of Palestine: a map of Palestine with all its cities hanging on the wall, a large mirror in the shape of the map, images of the Dome of the Rock and Al-Aqsa Mosque, and photos of distinctive Palestinian dishes displayed along the restaurant walls and on the menu. Each day of the week was dedicated to a special dish. I went on a Tuesday to sample the daily special: maftoul. 

When I took my first bite, the flavor of pumpkin and chickpeas transported me back to the past, to days in Gaza when I used to gather with my cousins at my grandmother’s house around a large plate of maftoul, eating it joyfully. 

With every bite, I felt warmth and longing, and gentle memories flowed through my mind.

I lost my home, my friends, my food, my university and my dreams — so how could I return? I now try to compensate for a part of my loss in this restaurant. 

I was curious to learn about the story of the restaurant and the woman who ran it. I had many questions. I firmly believe that suffering can trigger creative responses. So I decided to meet the owner, Azza Saeed Safi, to uncover the story. 

Azza grew up in Jabalia and came to Egypt four years ago to pursue her master’s and doctorate degrees at Mansoura University, Faculty of Commerce. Her father was a well-known businessman in Gaza; the family name was associated with a telecommunications company and they also owned a gas station. The Israeli army bombed it all to ashes. 

During the active genocide, Azza lost 15 members of her family and relatives on the very same day she graduated with her master’s degree. She called her family repeatedly to share her joy, but no one answered. Later, one of her friends in Gaza sent her a condolence message, and that was how she learned the news. 

Her grief is etched on her face, making her look older than the 33-year-old woman she is. 

Despite her grief and the difficult circumstances she faced in Egypt, Azza decided to open a restaurant in late November 2025, making use of her exceptional skills in Palestinian cooking. She designed her menu around the concept of a daily special that she prepared herself — musakhan on Sundays, maqluba on Mondays, and so on. She named her restaurant Ayloul (September), the month of the olive harvest. The olive harvest is a symbol of the resilience of the Palestinian people; no matter what happens, if it is at all possible, we harvest our olives in September. 

I asked her how the restaurant opening felt. She answered, her face pale: “It was a beautiful and sad moment at the same time. It is a painful feeling to open a project alone while your family is far away, suffering in Gaza. It’s hard to feel joy when the lump in your heart is still there.” 

Her customers come from a variety of nationalities. In addition to Palestinians and Egyptians, many Syrians, Jordanians, and Iraqis come for meals. Most of her customers are non-Egyptian students who found a place that embraced them and eased their loneliness. 

One Palestinian customer told her: “You brought us back to my home in Gaza. I feel as though I am eating my mother’s food.” 

Ayloul serves healing Palestinian food. Photo: Reem Sleem

Another customer, Huda Rabee, added: “My son loves the maftoul dish. I used to cook it for him in Gaza, and when we were displaced to Egypt, I never saw him satisfied with food until he took his first bite of Azza’s maftoul. He loves it very much.” 

Azza tells me that by opening the restaurant, she has reclaimed a part of her homeland. She feels as though she is in Gaza whenever she enters it — especially when she sees the positive reactions of customers — like a mother embracing them tenderly through her cooking. 

Meeting Azza and hearing her story made me realize that someone who has lost something can give generously and lovingly to others, turning their loss into a gift for others.

I left the restaurant grateful for the intimate moments it gifted me. My anxiety was gone, as if a wounded part of me had been healed. I carried with me a container of hummus as a gift from Azza and promised her that I would visit again very soon. 

A vague hope lingered within me — that the war would end, that I would return to eat maftoul in my grandmother’s kitchen with the decorated plates, to drink mint tea with her fresh date cakes and look at the olive trees outside her window, and to listen with enjoyment to her entertaining stories that combined heritage and history. 

I recall my grandmother’s stories, and I am certain that I will reclaim my land from those who occupied and destroyed it, and that goodness would ultimately triumph over evil, no matter how long it takes.

This article is co-published with Washington Report on Middle East Affairs.