For Hamed Abdel Wahab and his family, displacement is a recurring nightmare. Just seventy days after returning to their devastated Rafah neighbourhood in southern Gaza, they are on the move once more. 

This time, the coastal zone of Al-Mawasi near Khan Younis, where they had previously sought refuge, is crammed with thousands of fellow Palestinians forced to flee Israel’s latest assault on the besieged coastal enclave.

When Abdel Wahab, 53, returned to Rafah in early January after a brief truce between Israel and Hamas, he found nothing but rubble where his home once stood. 

With nowhere else to go, he set up shelter on a small piece of agricultural land he owns. But that temporary respite was cut short when the Israeli military issued new evacuation orders for the entire city of Rafah and parts of southern Khan Younis.

Now, Abdel Wahab and his family—his wife and five children aged 14 to 26—have been forced to flee again, hauling what little they had salvaged onto a flatbed truck and heading west. Al-Mawasi, a previously quiet agricultural area turned makeshift camp, is now overflowing with displaced Palestinians.

“We're going through this hell again,” he says, his voice weighed down by despair. “We thought we had seen the worst the first time, but it’s all happening again—only worse.”

Since October 7, 2024, the Zionist military offensive has pushed more than 1.9 million Gazans—roughly 85 percent of the population—into forced displacement. 

Rafah – once deemed a ‘safe zone’ – was the last refuge for over a million people. Since then, the Israeli army invaded the city and Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu announced plans to establish a new security corridor between Rafah and Khan Younis, terminating that final haven.

Abdel Wahab’s new shelter is a barren stretch of land near a UNRWA training facility. “We’ve escaped death from bombings before. But this? This is death in slow motion,” he says, explaining how hunger, dehydration, and fear now define daily life. “They want to make Gaza uninhabitable so we’re forced to leave.”

His eldest son, Younis, helps unload barrels of water, wood panels, and tattered bags from the truck. Just hours earlier, they had buried his uncle and cousin, killed in an airstrike. 

Now, there’s no time to mourn—only to survive. As Younis tries to erect a makeshift tent using plastic sheeting and wooden poles, he breaks down. 

“We can’t take this anymore,” he cries out. “God, either help us or take us. Everyone who died in the bombings—at least they found peace.”

The family doesn’t know if they’ll ever return to Rafah. “This time feels different,” Abdel Wahab says. “Last time, we believed we’d go back. Now, I fear we never will.”

After he was ordered to leave Rafah, Sheikh El-Eid is clearing debris from a small piece of land in Al-Mawasi where he is going to set up a tent for his family. Photo: Mohamed Solaimane

A city emptied

Long lines of people—families, the elderly, children—snake westward from Rafah. Al-Mawasi has once again become the heart of Gaza’s displacement crisis, but now it's bursting at the seams. 

Some families are forced to move toward central Khan Younis, even as they fear another round of evacuations there.

Among them is Bashir Sheikh al-Eid, who managed to secure a small plot vacated by another family that had returned to northern Gaza. 

A father of three and recently married for the second time, he spends his day leveling the ground, digging holes for tent poles, and wrapping nylon sheets for shelter.

He had hoped to return to the buildings of Al-Aqsa University, where he previously took refuge, but found them overflowing. 

“Rafah is gone,” he says. “And they didn’t just destroy homes—they destroyed hope. The next phase will be worse. They’ll squeeze us into Al-Mawasi and then push us out of Gaza altogether.”

His fear echoes that of many Palestinians who believe the war is no longer just about defeating Hamas, but about altering Gaza’s demography. 

“They’re not just targeting fighters,” Al-Eid says. “They’re bombing markets, preventing aid, and starving us. This is a war on life itself.”

Since March 2, Israel has blocked all aid deliveries, worsening Gaza’s already dire famine conditions. Photo: AP

A shifting war strategy

Israeli military attacks have gradually expanded southward—from the devastated north, including Beit Hanoun and Jabalia, to Khan Younis and now Rafah. 

Entire districts such as Shejaiya and Zeitoun in Gaza City have been emptied. Analysts say the shift signals not just a change in battlefield tactics but a deeper strategy of fragmentation and long-term control.

Ahmed Fayad, an Israeli affairs analyst, says the occupation of Rafah—covering around 20 percent of Gaza’s landmass—offers both strategic depth and a new base for extended offensives. 

“This isn't just about defeating Hamas. It's about redrawing Gaza, militarily and politically,” he explains. “By dividing the strip into isolated zones and controlling aid flow, Israel is pursuing a broader agenda.”

Netanyahu’s government has openly discussed plans to keep “security control” over Gaza even after the war. The announcement of a new military road—“Morag Corridor”—to separate Rafah from Khan Younis is seen by many as the first step toward permanent partition.

Fayad believes the goals are twofold: military domination and humanitarian leverage. “By making areas like Rafah unlivable and controlling where aid goes, they aim to undermine Hamas while increasing pressure on civilians to leave,” he says.

Since March 2, Israel has blocked all aid deliveries, worsening Gaza’s already dire famine conditions. Strikes on southern Gaza’s remaining farmlands have destroyed the last viable sources of local food, compounding fears of mass starvation.

In Al-Mawasi, Abdel Wahab is unloading a tent and a shed that he had hoped he wouldn’t need again. Photo: Mohamed Solaimane

‘We have nowhere left to go’

For families like the Abdel Wahabs and Al-Eids, the immediate concern is simply surviving. But behind every act of building a tent, fetching water, or cooking a meager meal over a fire, there is a growing realisation: this might be permanent.

“Our biggest fear,” says Younis, “is not knowing how this ends. Will we die here? Will we ever go back? Or are we being pushed out, slowly but surely?”

He pauses, then adds, “Whatever happens, we don’t want to leave Gaza. It’s our home. But if this continues—this starvation, this bombing—what choice will we have?”

As the sun sets over Al-Mawasi, the horizon is dotted with plastic shelters and makeshift kitchens. Smoke rises from small fires. Children play in the dust, unaware of the politics shaping their fate. Their parents, however, know the stakes all too well.

“This is not just war,” Abdel Wahab says. “It’s erasure. And we’re being erased—tent by tent, bomb by bomb.”

This piece was published in collaboration with Egab.