The WHO has called Hanin. There is a place in a medical evacuation. She leaves after Eid.

She tells me herself. No official coordinator, no system. Hanin tells me.

She is terrified. She says she would rather stay in Gaza and die there than face what is waiting for her on the other side.

I have to convince her to go.

I talk to her every day. I tell her she will not be alone, that we will be there. I put together a support group with trusted donors. In a few days we raise $400 — for her, right now, a record.

There is another fight: the authorities have not included Maha on the evacuation list. Maha is eleven. There is no family left in Gaza to leave her with — everyone is gone. We push until they include her.

With part of the money raised, Hanin buys clothes, shoes, and food for the journey. The first new things they have had in a long time.

Hanin writes to me from the border. They are stopped, waiting. She sends me a photo.

Hanin and Maryam in the ambulance. Border crossing, 3 June 2026.

They have left Gaza.

I find out they left when she writes to tell me they have arrived. No warning. No coordination. That is how this works.

They arrive at Bir Al-Abd, northern Sinai. A transit centre. Two rooms with bunk beds — one for men, one for women. Five families per room. Too many people for the space.

The accommodation at Bir Al-Abd.

Every morning: bread and cheese. That is all they provide. No medication — it was left behind in Gaza. No documents — they have been kept by the authorities. No information. Just: wait.

With the money she has, Hanin buys extra food, milk for Maryam, nappies. She pays $50 to keep her mobile line active in Egypt — without that, she is cut off from everyone.

Hanin writes to me these days in a tone I have not heard from her before. She regrets having left. Once, twice, several times. Do I know for certain she made the right decision? Will there really be a hospital on the other side of this wait?

I don't know what to tell her. But I tell her to keep going.

News of the transfer reaches me during the weekend, at odd hours, in fragments.

Thursday evening, around seven, they were told they were being transferred. Taken to Bir Al-Abd hospital, where they waited under heavy guard without explanation. At ten a bus arrived. Night travel, security checks, searches along the way. They arrived at Masakin Al-Abd residences at half past two in the morning.

They were left on the bus until five in the morning.

When an employee arrived, he refused to receive them. Bir Al-Abd had not requested authorisation. A bureaucratic dispute between two institutions, and Hanin's family the victim. Bilal went from employee to employee asking for a room. Sent to high floors, went up, nothing, came back down, another floor. Until seven in the morning. They were offered a 3×3 metre room, already occupied by other families. They refused. They were put on the street.

Sama and Maha on the street in Cairo, waiting. 11 June 2026.

Maryam and Sama on the ground at night, with nowhere to go.

They stayed on the street until five in the afternoon. No one intervened.

When they finally got authorisation and recovered their papers, they went to the home of a contact of Bilal's. A roof for that night. Nothing more.

Hanin writes when they arrive. She tells me she wishes she had stayed in Gaza and died there.

A member of Displaced Children's Fund manages to contact someone in Egypt. That person reaches Hanin and Bilal and gives them the first concrete guidance since leaving Gaza: apply for passports, find their own accommodation, build a base.

Each passport costs $40. There are five of them.

It is the first useful information they have received since crossing the border. Ten days after leaving Gaza.

Hanin has a hospital appointment on Wednesday.

They are sleeping in the home of a contact from the support group. Not their home. Not permanent. They need to rent — and for that they need a deposit, bedding, towels, kitchen basics. Everything they had in Gaza and left behind. Starting from zero in a country that is not theirs, without documents, without a network.

The Palestinian embassy told her she must go to a public hospital, get a medical report, and apply for the embassy to cover her treatment. Response time: 15 days. Meanwhile, they need to be able to live.

The campaign has little visibility. Few people know her story. That is what needs to change.

I have been following this family for over a year. I know what it costs to hold a campaign, to keep attention on a story when the world has too many stories in front of it. And still I am here. Because Hanin has never asked for help without being desperate. Because her daughters are very thin and have never had anything. Because Maryam started her life with severe malnutrition and is still fragile. Because Bilal looks for solutions with a dignity that makes your hands hurt from not being able to do more.

They are a family that has been punished for a long time. And they are still standing.

Update — 18 June 2026

Yesterday, Wednesday, Hanin had her first hospital appointment in Cairo. She waited nearly 12 hours. When they finally saw her — because she is Palestinian, she was seen last. The result: a written referral summarising her known condition, with no new tests carried out. To have her surgery covered by the Palestinian Authority, she must now submit a formal application to the embassy.

Waiting room. Cairo public hospital, 17 June 2026.

Meanwhile, Maryam is sick. Fever, flu. Her immune system has never been strong — the consequence of years of inadequate nutrition starting from birth. There is no margin in her body for illness.

Maryam, sick with fever. Cairo, 16 June 2026.

On housing: we have no solution yet. Cairo is expensive. Rents are high even for small rooms, and building a sustainable donor base to cover monthly costs is going to be very difficult. The support group has helped bridge these first days, and we have some funds — but not enough, and not for long.

We are now contacting every NGO in Cairo that works with Palestinian refugees, asking for help with housing. We will not stop until we find something.

Update — 21 June 2026

Passports. Hanin went to the Palestinian embassy and submitted the paperwork to apply for passports for her daughters. The answer was difficult: because the girls only have identity documents and no previous passports, Israeli approval is required to issue them. She is waiting. No timeline given.

Health. Maryam is still sick. Hanin herself is exhausted after the long, hard journey out of Gaza — she wants to see a doctor to make sure she is holding together. She has not had a moment to think about herself until now.

Housing. No news. The situation has not changed. Finding a room or a flat in Cairo remains the most urgent open problem.

Money. The $100 sent arrived as approximately 5,000 EGP after fees. Maryam's treatments have cost around 2,000 EGP so far. Hanin has $250 left — enough to move around and buy food for now, but nothing more. Transport is expensive because she doesn't know the city and has to rely on private cars. Clothes are unaffordable — she could not buy a single pair of pyjamas for her daughters. They left Gaza with almost nothing, and the luggage limit made sure it stayed that way.

We are now writing to every NGO in Cairo that works with Palestinian families, asking for help with housing. We will not stop.

Update — 1 July 2026

Hanin spent part of the day making calls — the Red Cross gave her contacts for organisations that might help with housing. Some answered, some did not. Save the Children responded and asked for her details.

Maryam had improved over the last few days but is unwell again today. Sama is also sick. The heat in Cairo is intense and Hanin is feeling the physical toll.

The family is currently staying with a family friend while we continue looking for a more stable solution.

We are still in contact with organisations in Cairo. We will update as soon as there is news.

Update — 6 July 2026

Referral commitment form from the Palestinian Ministry of Health, approved 1 July 2026.

Hanin will receive her surgery in Egypt, funded by the Palestinian Ministry of Health — the way it should have been from the start. For now, there is no further information.

Update — 19 July 2026

During the first half of July, Hanin has spent much of her time going from doctor to doctor, running every test they ask for.

On 19 July she told us she's going to have an MRI. The doctors want to take a closer look at something they found in the last test. There are no results yet — we'll share them as soon as we know.

Update — 20 July 2026

Patients evacuated for medical reasons through the Medevac mechanism, coordinated with the WHO, do receive care: Egypt takes them into hospitals in Cairo, Ismailia and El Arish, with international support — the EU and countries like Spain send medical supplies and funding. Many are later transferred to a third country to continue treatment.

But Hanin doesn't have refugee status, even though she was evacuated through this mechanism. This is part of the problem we've been describing: UNRWA, the UN agency for Palestinian refugees, doesn't operate in Egypt — only in Gaza, the West Bank, Jordan, Lebanon and Syria. And UNHCR, the general refugee agency, doesn't usually register Palestinians there either, because in theory they 'belong' under UNRWA's mandate, even though that agency doesn't work in the country. This leaves people arriving from Gaza in a legal void: neither recognised refugees nor regular residents. What they receive on arrival is only a temporary residency permit — usually 45 days, up to 3 months — not a protection status. Many people's permits have already expired. That's why the Egyptian government doesn't provide financial aid: officially, it doesn't recognise them as refugees with a right to benefits.

The bad news

Hanin has run out of money. We spent what we had on food, milk and diapers, medicine for the girls — who have been unwell — and transport: the hospital is three hours away by public transport from where they're staying. She needs money to keep sustaining this.

This doesn't mean things will simply get better on their own: she's still sleeping with the girls in a room someone is lending her, all five of them on the floor. The girls' doctors aren't public, there's no money for clothes, and they can't access education.

The good news

Hanin can try to obtain that status. We've passed her contacts for organisations currently helping with this:

• UNHCR Egypt — even though they don't always register people from Gaza, it's worth registering as an assistance applicant: help.unhcr.org/egypt
• Refugees Platform in Egypt (RPE) — an NGO specialising in legal advice, connecting people with services and aid for Palestinians stranded in Egypt. 'I Need A Service' form, WhatsApp: +44 7441 425270 — rpegy.org
• Mersal Foundation — medical and other aid. Lines: 01224507210 / national line 19340 (based in Maadi, Cairo)
• Mastoora Initiative — help with food and temporary housing, via Facebook or email: mastoorainititave@gmail.com
• Abwab Elkheir Foundation — supports stranded Palestinian families with direct financial aid, funded by donations
• The Palestinian Embassy in Cairo — sometimes handles assistance requests for people from Gaza; worth registering there if she hasn't already.

All of this is a slow, delicate process, and there are no guarantees. We're sharing it carefully: it isn't an immediate solution, it's a path we're going to try to walk with her, step by step.

If you can, this is a good moment to help cover what the system won't: donate to Hanin →