The Electronic Intifada 3 March 2025
Abdallah al-Khaldi (image courtesy of the author)
The first time I met Abdallah al-Khaldi was in 2019. I was 16 years old.
It was a December morning and I was heading to school in the al-Nasr neighborhood of Gaza City with my friend Muhammad.
The sky started pouring as if it was the first rain of winter. The roads began flooding and getting to school became hazardous.
“Let’s skip school,” Muhammad told me. “Come to my house. I have a way of sneaking into my room without my parents knowing.”
I agreed, as Muhammad’s house was only two minutes away. I stayed there until the school bell rang, then left for home.
A couple of minutes after leaving Muhammad’s, however, it started pouring again and I took cover under a shop awning. I did not know where to go or what to do.
“Come in,” a voice from above said. “I will open the door.”
I looked up to see who was talking and to whom. I saw a boy I did not know pointing at me.
He quickly opened the door and asked me to follow him to sit in his family’s warm home until the rain stopped.
An invitation
I sat in his room, wondering what I should say. I was not that outgoing back then.
“Thank you for sheltering me from the rain,” I managed to say. “I will leave once it stops.”
The boy, who said his name was Abdallah, looked at me, smiling, and said, “What do you prefer: tea or coffee?”
I just wanted to leave and did not want to be a burden. So I thanked him for the offer and replied, “Nothing.”
Laughing, he said, “You know what? I am going to make us two warm cups of Nescafe.”
Nescafe was my favorite drink, but I kept quiet. He left while I stayed in his room.
Minutes later, Abdallah came with the coffee and sat in front of me. I was embarrassed as I did not know what to do in a strange boy’s house. But he told me that he and Muhammad were also friends.
We chatted a little about how I got to know Muhammad. When the rain ceased, I rose to leave, thanking him and telling him that we must meet again in better circumstances.
“Muhammad is coming over this evening at 6,” Abdallah said. “Come if you can.”
I told him that I would try my best. As I walked home, I kept thinking about whether to go visit Abdallah or not. A couple of minutes before 6, I decided to go.
Muhammad was surprised. Abdallah had already told him what had happened. But, knowing I was not extroverted, Muhammad did not expect me to visit.
The three of us spent some time chatting about school and homework. Then we decided to play cards and computer games. After we observed the Isha, night prayer, Abdallah told us that his mother had prepared us dinner.
Muhammad and I felt shy and told Abdallah that he did not have to burden himself. Abdallah said it was no big deal and he loved treating his friends.
A supportive friendship
My friendship with Abdallah blossomed from that day. We used to gather in Abdallah’s or Muhammad’s houses to play and enjoy our time.
Abdallah was one year younger than me. When I finished the tawjihi high school matriculation exams, he was the first to congratulate me. I told him I wanted to visit different universities in Gaza before deciding which one I would enroll in.
Abdallah happily replied, “I am free tomorrow. I want to come with you; call me before you go.”
When Abdallah sat for his tawjihi exams a year later, I made sure to encourage him. Whenever I visited, I made him study. He asked me for English lessons, as I majored in the English language with a specialization in literature. I was more than happy to help.
I was the first person to congratulate Abdallah when he graduated. He enrolled at Al-Quds Open University to study digital marketing, as it was not available at the Islamic University, where I ended up studying.
Abdallah had an English course in his first semester. I was busy with my studies but I did my best to help him with grammar and vocabulary. He would sometimes offer me payment for the lessons, but I would always refuse.
Lost contact
Abdallah was buried in his grandfather’s grave.
On 7 October 2023, when the Palestinian resistance launched Operation al-Aqsa Flood, I contacted all my friends to check on them.
Abdallah was one of the few who didn’t respond. I would never speak to him again.
Less than a week later, my family and I were forced to flee to southern Gaza. I called Muhammad and told him to ask about Abdallah in the neighborhood.
He replied that Abdallah’s family went to a safer area in Gaza City but our friend was not with them.
As they were neighbors, Muhammad knew Abdallah better than I did.
Because I kept asking him about our friend, he finally told me that Abdallah was a fighter with the resistance, which meant that he could not leave the area or be in contact with anyone.
When he told me this, I felt goosebumps all over my body. When I asked, Muhammad said that as far as he knew, Abdallah was still alive.
I prayed for Abdallah and asked Muhammad to stay safe.
About a month later, on 24 November, Muhammad called me.
“Khaled, Abdallah is a martyr. May God have mercy on him,” he said while sobbing.
I did not want to believe him, so I hung up. I wanted to remain in a reality in which Abdallah and the few people I care for and love are still alive.
A couple of hours later, I received another phone call, this time informing me that another dear friend, Mohammed Hamo, was killed in another Israeli airstrike.
I refused to believe this news as well.
I tried to convince myself that Abdallah and Mohammed Hamo were still alive. But the illusion was finally shattered when I was informed that Abdallah’s father found his son’s body in Beach refugee camp.
Tears began to pour as reality started to sink in on one of the worst days of my life.
When Muhammad had told me that Abdallah was a fighter, I felt proud that my best friend fought to free our occupied land – despite the grave risk to his own safety. Abdallah was indeed courageous.
I may not be as courageous as Abdallah, who carried a weapon to fight the Israeli occupation on the ground.
But as Dr. Refaat taught us, I can be a freedom fighter and defend Palestine by writing and narrating the story of our cause, our land, our martyrs – and Abdallah.
Khaled Al-Qershali is a writer and translator.
