Help Ahmed, Marihan, and Their Baby Survive Gaza
United States
My name is Ahmed Wael Sadiq. I am 23 years old, newly married to the love of my life, Marihan Majed Fares, who is just 21. Before October 7, our future was bright—filled with dreams, hard work, and the simple joys of a young couple building a life together. But war stole everything from us. This is my story.
A Life Full of Promise Before the War
I was a diligent student at the Applied College, studying Information Technology with excellent grades—so strong that I earned a scholarship. My wife, Marihan, was my biggest supporter, always cheering me on with pride. Alongside my studies, I ran a small barbershop—my own humble salon—where I worked as a men’s hairstylist. It wasn’t luxurious, just a modest room beneath our house, but it was mine. Every cut, every shave, every smile from a satisfied customer was a step toward our future.
Marihan and I had so many plans. We dreamed of expanding the salon, furnishing it beautifully, and turning it into something greater. We lived in our family home in Al-Qarara—a simple, cozy place where laughter filled the air. I had even renovated a room before our wedding, turning it into our little haven. Life was peaceful. Life was good.
October 7: The Day Everything Shattered
Then came the war.
At 7 a.m., leaflets rained down, ordering us to evacuate immediately. We fled in terror, driving toward Khan Yunis, only to witness horrors no human should ever see—bodies in the streets, blood staining the roads, the relentless roar of bombs. We barely made it to my grandfather’s house, where we stayed for a week… until the bombs found us there, too.
The house next to ours was struck without warning. The blast shook us to our core. We survived by a miracle, but the trauma was too much for Marihan, who was pregnant at the time. The fear, the stress, the unending terror—it took our unborn child from us.
Displaced Again and Again
We were forced to flee again—this time to Rafah, where we now live in a flimsy tent, barely shielding us from the biting cold of winter or the scorching summer heat. Ten of us cram into this suffocating space, cooking over open fires because there is no gas. We eat canned food that leaves us sick—constipated, nauseated, weak.
Our home in Al-Qarara? Bombed. My beloved salon? Destroyed and looted. My university? Reduced to rubble. Even my wife’s family home was stolen from us, left in ruins. And the losses go deeper—cousins, friends, neighbors—gone forever.
We Are Running Out of Time
Seven months of war. Seven months of grief, hunger, and exhaustion. We cannot take much more.
Now, our only hope is escape. We are raising funds to evacuate Gaza, to find safety, to someday return and rebuild what was taken from us. Every dollar—every cent—brings us closer to survival. A breakdown of the difference your donation could make is below.
$10 USD → Water
$30 USD → Medicine or Food for 1 day or one month of cell service
$50 USD → Expensive medication, tests for baby.
$80 USD → One day of survival including food, water, medications, and daily rent
$240 USD (31.48 AUD) → Rent for our tent
$50 USD (78.70 AUD) → A step toward evacuation.
A Plea for Humanity
We are not just numbers. We are people—people who once had homes, careers, dreams. Now, we cling to life by a thread.
I do not know if the world hears us. But if you are reading this, you can make a difference. Share our story. Donate if you can. Help us escape this nightmare.
We have lost so much. Please, do not let us lose hope, too, as hope is all we have left.
Ahmed Wael Sadiq Rafah, Gaza
Amy Jo
-
$10,000.00
Funding Goal -
$0.00
Funds Raised -
0
Days to go -
Campaign Never Ends
Campaign End Method
Product Description
United States
My name is Ahmed Wael Sadiq. I am 23 years old, newly married to the love of my life, Marihan Majed Fares, who is just 21. Before October 7, our future was bright—filled with dreams, hard work, and the simple joys of a young couple building a life together. But war stole everything from us. This is my story.
A Life Full of Promise Before the War
I was a diligent student at the Applied College, studying Information Technology with excellent grades—so strong that I earned a scholarship. My wife, Marihan, was my biggest supporter, always cheering me on with pride. Alongside my studies, I ran a small barbershop—my own humble salon—where I worked as a men’s hairstylist. It wasn’t luxurious, just a modest room beneath our house, but it was mine. Every cut, every shave, every smile from a satisfied customer was a step toward our future.
Marihan and I had so many plans. We dreamed of expanding the salon, furnishing it beautifully, and turning it into something greater. We lived in our family home in Al-Qarara—a simple, cozy place where laughter filled the air. I had even renovated a room before our wedding, turning it into our little haven. Life was peaceful. Life was good.
October 7: The Day Everything Shattered
Then came the war.
At 7 a.m., leaflets rained down, ordering us to evacuate immediately. We fled in terror, driving toward Khan Yunis, only to witness horrors no human should ever see—bodies in the streets, blood staining the roads, the relentless roar of bombs. We barely made it to my grandfather’s house, where we stayed for a week… until the bombs found us there, too.
The house next to ours was struck without warning. The blast shook us to our core. We survived by a miracle, but the trauma was too much for Marihan, who was pregnant at the time. The fear, the stress, the unending terror—it took our unborn child from us.
Displaced Again and Again
We were forced to flee again—this time to Rafah, where we now live in a flimsy tent, barely shielding us from the biting cold of winter or the scorching summer heat. Ten of us cram into this suffocating space, cooking over open fires because there is no gas. We eat canned food that leaves us sick—constipated, nauseated, weak.
Our home in Al-Qarara? Bombed. My beloved salon? Destroyed and looted. My university? Reduced to rubble. Even my wife’s family home was stolen from us, left in ruins. And the losses go deeper—cousins, friends, neighbors—gone forever.
We Are Running Out of Time
Seven months of war. Seven months of grief, hunger, and exhaustion. We cannot take much more.
Now, our only hope is escape. We are raising funds to evacuate Gaza, to find safety, to someday return and rebuild what was taken from us. Every dollar—every cent—brings us closer to survival. A breakdown of the difference your donation could make is below.
$10 USD → Water
$30 USD → Medicine or Food for 1 day or one month of cell service
$50 USD → Expensive medication, tests for baby.
$80 USD → One day of survival including food, water, medications, and daily rent
$240 USD (31.48 AUD) → Rent for our tent
$50 USD (78.70 AUD) → A step toward evacuation.
A Plea for Humanity
We are not just numbers. We are people—people who once had homes, careers, dreams. Now, we cling to life by a thread.
I do not know if the world hears us. But if you are reading this, you can make a difference. Share our story. Donate if you can. Help us escape this nightmare.
We have lost so much. Please, do not let us lose hope, too, as hope is all we have left.
Ahmed Wael Sadiq Rafah, Gaza
Amy Jo
| ID | Name | Amount | |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1244 | Listing Agent | [email protected] | |
| 1215 | Listing Agent | [email protected] |
