Laughter, songs and joy: This is how it felt the moment news of a ceasefire reached Gaza

It was two o’clock in the morning when the messages began arriving. A voice note from a friend said there might be an announcement of ceasefire in Gaza any minute. I was only half awake but immediately I grabbed my phone and started scrolling through the news. 

Already, Donald Trump had posted that an agreement had been reached between Hamas and Israel. For a few seconds, my mind froze. I couldn’t process it. I checked other sources to validate the information. It was true. Trump had really posted. I didn’t know what to do.  

I woke my wife and said to her: “The war is over.” She looked at me in a strange way, confused, and she told me: “What are you talking about? It’s the middle of the night. There is no news.” I said: “No, Trump just announced it. The war is over, or at least they have an agreement.” She told me to wake up the kids and tell them. So I did immediately.

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My children didn’t quite understand at first. Each of them grabbed their phones to see for themselves. The emotions were mixed, strange. I can’t describe them.

My wife asked me if this meant that we could go back to Gaza City, which we were forced to flee four weeks ago. Our seventh displacement. I said: “Yes, I hope this means we can return to Gaza City again.” Gaza City is our home, and we had lived there in the same neighbourhood our whole lives, until recently.

My little boy, Ahmed, just eight years old, looked at me with wide eyes. Surprisingly, he asked me if this means we will be able to eat meat and chicken again. I smiled and said: “Yes, my son, soon, soon Inshallah. We will eat chicken and meat again.” This question shocked me. He jumped with joy. Pure, honest joy.  

I sent a message to my brother in our family WhatsApp group. They were still asleep. Fifteen minutes later, one of them replied: “Are you joking? Are you dreaming?” I said: “No, this is real.” He asked me if I had told our father, but I said: “No, let’s let him sleep and I will tell him in the morning.”

Within minutes, emotions swung between disbelief and joy. My wife hugged me, and we hugged our children. We thanked God that we are all safe. The worst chapter of our lives is over. A beautiful one will begin now.

At around quarter past two, we began hearing sounds from nearby tents: clapping, cheering, whistling, people shouting with joy. All of us ran to the windows to watch. The streets were alive. Normally at this hour, Gaza is silent. But now there was laughter, songs and some people shouting: “The war is over, the war is over.” Messages were flooding my phone – congratulations, thanking God for our safety, it’s finally over.  

We could not sleep that night, the night of October 9. We stayed awake following the news, analysis and speculations. Everyone asked: “Will we return to Gaza City? Is it real or not real?” But the joy in people’s eyes, it was beyond words. Everyone began packing their things and getting ready to leave as soon as the moment of return was announced. We could hear the sounds around us. Inside the tents, people were already collecting their luggage.  

It was a moment of real happiness, mixed with disbelief, fear and hope. Happiness that we might finally return to Gaza City but uncertainty about what we will find when we go back. In that moment, I prayed that this would be the last dark night my people would ever have to live through.  

Mohammed Aklouk is the Norwegian Refugee Council (NRC)’s shelter cluster information management coordinator in Gaza.

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