MEXICO CITY, Mexico — Mohammed Abed describes his life in Gaza before October 2023 as comfortable, even “luxurious” compared with what would follow. He had a house, a car, a company and a family. Becoming a refugee was something he had never imagined having to prepare for. However, the war that followed the Oct. 7, 2023, attacks destroyed the foundations of his previous life. Overnight, he says, his life “turned from white to black.” He lost his house, his homeland and his daughter. His loss of livelihood reflects a common story of economic collapse in Gaza. By 2025, unemployment had reached 78%, nearly four times the pre-conflict level, according to the World Bank. Poverty had become nearly universal in Gaza, with families increasingly depending on aid for basic supplies such as food and fuel.
Destruction in Jabalia
Much of the area and infrastructure around Abed’s community of Jabalia was destroyed, including hospitals and schools. Electricity and running water became increasingly unavailable, while access to health care and education disappeared from daily life. Abed’s nephew was severely injured on three separate occasions and left nearly paralyzed. He also lost his daughter. When discussing her, Abed said that returning mentally to what happened is enough to ruin his entire day. “It feels as though a part of my body has been taken away,” he says. He misses the ordinary moments most: coming home after a long day at work, sitting with her and stroking her hair.
Seeking Refuge
Abed, like others around him, was desperate to take what remained of his family and escape the war zone. Leaving was constantly discussed among friends and neighbors, but plans proved nearly impossible to put into practice. For the Abed family, there was already a history of displacement connecting Gaza and Mexico. In 2009, Abed’s father moved to Mexico after his factory was bombed and destroyed and fell in love with the country. He repeatedly tried, unsuccessfully, to bring his family over, telling Abed that if he got to know the Mexican people, “he would love them.” Abed’s father later died following a heart attack, and his body was returned to Gaza for burial, as he had wished.
In 2019, Abed’s brother Shady also moved to Mexico City and continued their father’s efforts to reunite the family there. They eventually succeeded despite the extraordinary difficulty, and Abed relocated to Mexico in 2024.
Life in Mexico
After two years of war, Abed remembers the gratitude he felt at being able to turn on a tap and wash his face without having to use a bowl. He recalls the joy of freely using electricity again. For Abed and other Palestinian refugees in Mexico City, arrival has also meant relying on a network of local support while rebuilding lives disrupted by the war. Through organizations DAR and BEITNA, around 15 volunteers assist roughly 30 refugees with doctors’ appointments, housing, government meetings and paperwork, transport, employment and fundraising, according to Adham Bakry, an Egyptian artist working with the community.
Collective meals and market stalls also raise money to support refugees establishing themselves in Mexico City. The network has helped arrange speech therapy for children experiencing trauma and medical treatment for war-related injuries, including amputations, prosthetic limbs and an operation following a bullet extraction from a 5-year-old girl’s skull. In Abed’s own life, DAR organized fundraising to assist with hospital costs for the birth of his newborn son, Youssef.
Community Support
Bakry’s role has been described to him by a refugee as that of a “cultural anchor.” He translates between Arabic and Spanish and accompanies refugees to various medical and legal appointments, helping them navigate unfamiliar systems and customs. For newly arrived refugees, he also provides a familiar Arabic-speaking presence while they adjust to a country and culture they do not yet understand. Bakry says learning Spanish and moving to Mexico have taken on a significance he could not have imagined before beginning this work. “I have done far more through the work I have done here than I could have at home because of the repressive regime.”
Support for Palestinian refugees in Mexico City also extends beyond organized volunteer work and into the communal culture of the city. Abed remembers forgetting to top up his Metro card one day. When the barrier rejected it, the person behind him immediately tapped theirs and let him through without being asked. He recalls similar occasions when locals approached him while he was looking lost and helped him find where he needed to go. “My favorite thing about Mexico is the people’s friendliness, the smiling, the openness.”
Abed also recounts the story of a couple he knows who work as professors and spend their spare time making handicrafts to sell, donating the proceeds to Gaza. Others have offered money, transport and practical assistance despite sharing no Palestinian or Arabic heritage. “People here are empathetic,” Abed explains. “A woman I met told me she was worried for the people of Gaza and that she hoped they were warm and had enough clothing. She asked what she could do.”
Cultural Connections
Food has also become a way for Palestinian refugees in Mexico City to maintain a connection with their homeland. When asked about the parts of Palestinian life he has managed to continue, Abed immediately begins with food. For him, it is inseparable from his memories of Palestine, but initially he struggled to find important ingredients such as za’atar, particular spices and familiar olive oil. After discovering the Central de Abasto market, he was able to buy individual ingredients and learn how to reconstruct familiar spice mixtures himself. Through the various produce stalls, he and his brother also made contacts who invited them to begin selling Palestinian food at markets and tianguis. The ingredients Abed once struggled to find are now used to cook food that he and Shady sell to people across Mexico City.
The longer Abed lives in Mexico, the more small points of recognition he finds between the two cultures. At a market, he noticed patterns embroidered onto Indigenous clothing that indicated the region the craftsperson came from. He immediately recognized a parallel with Palestinian embroidery, where different patterns can similarly carry regional identity and heritage. He began noticing other familiarities in the importance of surnames and regional heritage, the closeness of communities and the way neighbors looked out for one another. Within a country that had initially felt alien, Abed increasingly found things he recognized. His father’s prediction that he would love Mexican people, were he to get to know them, now seems more prescient than he could have known.
Final Thoughts
However much Abed adapts to his new home, two of his sisters, along with aunts and uncles, remain in Gaza. The time difference means calls sometimes arrive at strange hours, while internet outages can leave him unable to reach them at all. “My heart and mind are still in Gaza,” he says. He continues to do what he can for his family in Gaza while building a life in Mexico City. His Spanish is improving and, with it, he says, his “love for the Mexican people.” At markets across the city, he and Shady now sell the Palestinian food whose ingredients they initially struggled to find. Around Abed is a growing network of Arabic-speaking migrants and Mexican volunteers, each bringing something of their own and building a community for Palestinian refugees in Mexico City. “The humanity of Mexicans is inspiring,” Abed says.
– Elliott J Carter
Elliott is based in Mexico City, Mexico and focuses on Good News for The Borgen Project.
Photo: Unsplash