jollibet What Remains In Gaza: A Young Palestinian Amid The Wreckage Of His Home

Sanad Osama Al-Qadi visits his home in Rafah after the ceasefire (representative image) Photo: @i.sanadosama via Instagram Sanad Osama Al-Qadi visits his home in Rafah after the ceasefire (representative image) Photo: @i.sanadosama via Instagram

Under the blue skies of Gaza lie endless stretches of grey–a graveyard of once-loved homes. Rubble from one building blends into the nextjollibet, making it impossible to tell where one ends and another begins.

Twenty-year-old Sanad walks from his makeshift shelter in Khan Yunis to Rafah, to see what remains of his five-story home. When the war began in October 2023, he and his family fled in fear for their lives. Just 12 hours after they left, their home was bombarded—while the structure was left standing, the home was hollowed out. In the second bombing, however, most of it turned to rubble.

(L-R) Sanad's home after the first airstrike vs after the second airstrike Photo: @i.sanadosama via Instagram (L-R) Sanad's home after the first airstrike vs after the second airstrike Photo: @i.sanadosama via Instagram View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Sanad Alqadi | سند القاضي (@i.sanadosama)jollibet

“Everything is gone,” Sanad says in a video he posts on social media after he’s come to terms with reality that his home really is gone. His eyes are puffy and cheeks look flushed, but when he faces the camera, he shrugs.

“Everything is gone but all we can say is thank God for everything.”

As Sanad treads through the one portion of the house which remains standing, barely, he finds some personal belongings, remnants of a happier time.

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A post shared by Sanad Alqadi | سند القاضي (@i.sanadosama)

“This isn’t just a house. It’s a reminder of everything I’ve lost and everything l’ve had to fight for since,” he says, “being here again is painful, but it also reminds me of the resilience and hope that have kept me going all these years.”

Amid the wreckage—broken pipes, ceiling fan blades, and splintered furniture—a copy of the Quran lies open. Its binding has come undone, and it’s missing most of its pages. Sanad picks it up gently.

Sanad finds a copy of the Quran lying among the debris Photo: @i.sanadosama via Instagram Sanad finds a copy of the Quran lying among the debris Photo: @i.sanadosama via Instagram

He looks around, his eyes fixing on the stairway—now leading to nowhere. He walks toward it and begins to climb. As he reaches the top, a scene unfolds before him—one that looks like a set from a dystopian, apocalyptic film. Only this was the reality of Rafah.

A stairway Photo: @i.sanadosama via Instagram A stairway Photo: @i.sanadosama via Instagram

Slain trees lie scattered among the ruins, their trunks broken like the city itself. Twisted metal peeks out from under the crumbled cement structures. The neighbourhood where Sanad once played football as a child is gone—reduced to dust and memories

view from the top of the stairway Photo: @i.sanadosama via Instagram view from the top of the stairway Photo: @i.sanadosama via Instagram

With most of the house blown to bits, Sanad tries to salvage whatever he can. He digs through the debris, pulling out a few pairs of clothes—dusty jeans and some colourful shirts. When he and his family fled, they packed only what they could carry. For the past year and a half, they have been living off those few belongings.

Clothes pulled out from under the debris Photo: @i.sanadosama via Instagram Clothes pulled out from under the debris Photo: @i.sanadosama via Instagram

His father sits atop a mound of rubble, patiently removing each misshapen piece, one by one. Even he doesn’t know what he’s searching for—perhaps a memory, a fragment of their past, anything that still feels like home.

“In the end we just took some wood for fire and clothes and then left,” Sanad says.

Sanad's father trying to salvage what he can Photo: @i.sanadosama via Instagram Sanad's father trying to salvage what he can Photo: @i.sanadosama via Instagram

The twenty-year-old also finds something he perhaps would have preferred not to— a piece of the very bomb that destroyed his home.

A part of the bomb which destroyed Sanad's home Photo: @i.sanadosama via Instagram A part of the bomb which destroyed Sanad's home Photo: @i.sanadosama via Instagram

Sanad Osama Al-Qadi is one of ten in his family. He once lived in a happy home with his father, two brothers, sister, and their families. Life was normal then—he spent his days studying, dreaming of becoming a pharmacist one day.

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For now, they return to Khan Yunis, clinging to the hope of rebuilding their home. But Sanad doesn’t know how that will happen. There is no money, no manpower, no resources, no help. Even finding a meal each day is a struggle.

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A post shared by Sanad Alqadi | سند القاضي (@i.sanadosama)