Just as India achieved independence in 1947, witnessing Lebanon repeatedly rebuild itself, and the removal of the Assad regime in Syria, I truly believe complete Palestinian liberation is possible and this is why I am an activist. Like many others who protest, fundraise, and mourn the suffering of indigenous people under violent colonizers, I aim for my career to be a part of the movement that frees Palestine; fluency in Arabic is one of the many first steps.

Gaza has the highest number of amputees per capita in the world. So many children are now growing up not only completely alone but with no homes, no hope, and, as Trump callously called it, in “a demolition site.” The beautiful land, once known for its rich culture, the strength and kindness of its people, and the sacredness of its olive trees, has been reduced to ruins.

When I arrived in Halle, the first thing I noticed was the number of Middle Easterners there, many of whom were Palestinian and Syrian refugees. Immediately, I felt at home with them—their culture is similar to mine: chatty and welcoming. Rafat, the manager of the Excellence Centre (where I took my intensive Arabic classes), carried my bags, and we immediately connected about how desperately we want Palestine to be free.

Rafat himself is Palestinian and grew up only 20 minutes away from Gaza. His mission of creating a centre in both Germany and Palestine, where people can connect through their love of communication, is evident the moment you step inside. The centre is vibrant and homely, with pictures of Palestine everywhere. Palestine shouldn’t just be known as a country that has been colonised and bombed, but also as a beautiful land, with a rich history. 

Halle is also filled with Middle Eastern restaurants, all of which are amazing and remind me of my Gujarati-Islamic background. Evident in their business, Arab people carry their culture proudly on their shoulders, even when far from home. Every time I spoke to someone in Arabic, their whole face would light up, and they would generously teach me more about their culture and ask me more about mine.

I remember being incredibly nervous about meeting my flatmates, but this dissipated when I met my roommate, Fida (on the right). We clicked almost instantly, went everywhere together, and spoke about everything. I was so grateful to meet another Indian-Muslim here to study intensive Arabic—someone 19 years old like myself and dedicated to standing up for injustices.

The highlight of my trip, and the reason I went there, was my intensive Arabic classes. I had pictured them as being almost militaristic—strict, fast-paced, and overwhelming.

My teacher, Muaz, was the opposite. Muaz is like a light. He is a Palestinian-Syrian refugee with a distinct sense of humour. Like many Arabs I met there, both mourns and reminisces fondly about his time in Syria. I have never learned so much Arabic in my life as I did with him. Our classes involved listening to Fairuz, cooking ful, travelling to another city, and walking around Halle to learn Arabic from his friends. Muaz’s priority was for me to learn as much as possible no matter what. So everyday he sat on the floor of the classroom with me (instead of at a table), and taught me there, no questions asked - because I liked sitting next to the heater. Classes were a lot of fun—three hours long but felt like five minutes.

There is a film called ‘Swimmers,’ on Netflix, it is a true story about two Syrian refugees, fleeing the civil war, they travelled on a dinghy which began to sink in the middle of the ocean. They had no choice but to swim the dinghy themselves from the Turkish coast, all the way to Greece. It is a very hard watch and eventually one of the girls became an Olympic medallist swimmer

You’d never guess that Muaz was on the boat behind them, or that they were his friends. Muaz has shown me the scars on his face from Syria; one of his friends, also one of the funniest people I have ever met, walked on foot for three months to reach Germany. None of them had a choice.

Unlike how the media paints their stories, every refugee I met wanted to return home. They are intellectual, funny, kind, and have so much depth in how they speak.

I learned so much during my time there. I’ve never empathised so deeply, never grieved so much from hearing others’ stories, and never been more in awe of people’s strength. The media’s purposeful erasure of the suffering of Black and Brown people is chilling. It is horrifying to realise how little those in the West—many of whom are well-versed in colonialism, apartheid, and imperialism—understand their own privilege. I cannot imagine being in a situation so desperate that you leave everything you’ve ever known, never know when you will see your family again, get on a boat in the middle of the sea, and risk your life, only to arrive in a country that rejects you for your skin tone and where you don’t speak the language.

This experience was so much more than just Arabic classes. When I left, I was unbelievably grateful. It wasn’t just Arabic I had learned, but empathy and grief. I’ve never been more determined to work in the Levant or more committed to the liberation and justice of Palestine, Syria, Lebanon, Congo, and Sudan. I’ve never wanted it so badly in my life.

My time in Halle, living amongst so many Arabs, also made me miss the Islamic culture I grew up with, which has so many overlaps with Levantine culture. I felt so accepted and at home with them, which is a feeling foreign to me. Gujarat is, unfortunately, riddled with Islamophobia, and the growing far-right racism in England is terrifying for many people of colour.

I am so grateful for this award for enabling this experience.

I look forward to the day when I will work in Palestine, fluent in their language and able to celebrate their freedom.