✨Hi, As you already know, my name is Laura, I am Italian, and I run this fundraiser for Mohammed.

I want people to understand what it means to have a friend in Gaza.

A friend you speak to every day. A friend who tells you what life is really like there — not through headlines, but through lived experience, daily messages, photos and videos that arrive from a place that most of us can barely imagine.

I have watched him change over time. I have watched him grow thinner, more tired — not because he gives up, but because he always gives first. Food, strength, hope. Everything goes to his family before it reaches him.

Mohammed is an extraordinary father. When he sends me videos of Manal, it feels as if the war has never touched her. Her smile is intact, her eyes are light. That does not happen by chance. It exists because her father has carried the fear for her, because he has protected her from hunger, cold, and terror with an immense, stubborn love.

He is also a devoted husband. Even after his wife was injured by shrapnel, even while living in a tent that collapses again and again, he remains present, attentive, protective. He never speaks of himself without speaking of them.

I have seen Mohammed lose almost everything — his mother, his brother, his home, his work — and still choose responsibility over despair. I have seen him help orphaned children in his neighborhood, share what little he has, and refuse to let violence harden his heart.

Sometimes people ask me how I can listen to all this every day. The truth is: Mohammed and his family are the ones who give me strength. They reassure me. They comfort me. They never fail to remind me that, despite everything, they are still alive, still loving, still standing.

In March, their family will grow again. A new baby girl will be born into a world of rubble — a little sister for Manal, who will soon turn one. Life continues, because Mohammed insists on protecting it.

I speak about him not only because of what he has endured, but because of who he is.

A father. A husband. A man who carries others even while the ground collapses beneath his feet.

What I have shared is only what I see from the outside — as someone who walks beside him, like an older sister, listening, worrying, hoping with him.

This is why I stand beside him.

And this is why I ask you to stand beside him too.

I want you to hear Mohammed himself.

Not filtered, not rewritten.

In his own words.

This is his story. This is his voice:

"Hello friends,

How are you?

The war has not ended… it is still ongoing, taking something from us every single day.

My name is Mohammed, I am 27 years old. I studied design and video editing, and I once had a simple dream—to live a dignified life. My wife, Mayar, and I have a baby daughter named Manal who is 9 months old. My wife is now six months pregnant, and we are expecting our second daughter in the midst of this hell.

During this war, I lost my mother and my older brother.

My father was seriously injured and lost his eyesight, and now lives in permanent darkness—both physically and psychologically.

I lost my home, a home I never even got the chance to live in…

I poured my life’s savings and hard work into it, and it was destroyed before I could ever rejoice in it.

I also lost my work equipment—my laptop and my phone—everything I depended on to earn a living, during the bombardment.

My wife was injured by shrapnel, fragments that are still lodged in her body to this day.

We live in fear every single day, trying to remain strong only for the sake of our children.

We have been displaced more than 50 times during this war.

We endured days of hunger, and lived through days darker than the darkest night.

I lived through the entire war in northern Gaza. I did not go south, because this is our land—and we will not leave, and we will not surrender.

We are now living in a worn-out tent since the beginning of winter.

It has collapsed on us more than six times.

The tent is not a home—it is merely a means of resilience, our only way to stay alive on our land.

All I ask for today is something simple…

To be able to provide for the needs of my daughter Manal, and my daughter who is yet to be born:

Milk, diapers, medicine, and the most basic necessities of survival.

I am not asking for comfort.

I am not asking for much…

I am only asking for a chance at life,

And a chance for two little girls who bear no guilt for this war.

Your kindness and support, no matter how small, could be the reason they survive.

And if you are unable to help financially, sharing our story may reach someone who can.

Please…

Do not leave us alone in these difficult days."

Mohammed’s words do not ask for sympathy.

They ask for the bare minimum needed to keep his family alive.

If you can help, your support will go toward milk, diapers, medicine, warmth, and basic necessities for Manal and her baby sister who will be born in March — toward dignity, not comfort.

And if you are unable to donate, please share this story.

Sometimes reaching one more person can change everything.

Standing with Mohammed means standing with a father who has carried fear so his children don’t have to.

It means choosing humanity, quietly, where it is needed most. Standing with Mohammed means standing with humanity.

Thank you for being here.

Thank you for not leaving them alone.

For any information, you can DM Mohamed on Instagram: @mohmd_abusamed, Or me for info also in italian: @_some.thing.wrong_