Every morning, university professor Hassan El-Nabih fastens his briefcase and laptop to his bicycle and sets off in search of electricity and an internet connection, hoping to be able to reach his students online.
Before Israel’s genocidal war on Gaza, the sight of a university professor cycling through the streets was rare. Today, it has become part of daily life, a reality forced by the war and one of the few practical options left amid shattered infrastructure and the collapse of public transport.
“My car was severely damaged in December 2023 while it was parked in the Shujayea neighbourhood [of Gaza City],” El-Nabih said.
“I was visiting relatives when an Israeli air strike struck a nearby building … shattering both windscreens and crippling the engine. With my car unusable and fuel almost impossible to find, I had to adapt.”
The genocidal war has inflicted extensive damage on the besieged enclave’s transport system, with losses estimated at about $2.5bn. A joint assessment by the World Bank, the European Union and the United Nations found that roughly 81 percent of Gaza’s road network has been damaged or destroyed, cutting off neighbourhoods and leaving basic transport services largely non-functional.
Before the war, Gaza’s streets were crowded with cars, motorcycles, buses and taxis, and even those without private vehicles could usually find transport within minutes. After more than two years of sustained Israeli bombardment, that reality has changed dramatically.
Large sections of roads are now blocked by rubble or deemed too dangerous to use, making motorised travel difficult and, in some areas, impossible.
Abu Mohammed Jundieh, 55, previously worked as a driver using his own car, which he lost during the early days of the genocidal war.
“That car was my source of income and my only way to get around,” he said, noting that owning another vehicle now feels unattainable.
“Prices are high, fuel is expensive, and even if you find transport, it’s hard to [pay],” he said. “Most of the cash we have is worn out, and drivers often refuse it.”
“Sometimes I have to take much longer routes just to reach my destination,” Jundieh said, referring to the destroyed streets. “Even walking is difficult now.”
Movement of any kind carries risk, with Palestinians in Gaza facing the constant threat of Israeli attack whether travelling or remaining in place.
Even the few Palestinians, many suffering from serious medical conditions, who have been permitted to leave during Israel’s partial opening of the Rafah border crossing have been forced to do so on foot.
As demand has risen, bicycles have shifted from being a simple, affordable mode of transport to a scarce and costly commodity.
On Gaza City’s Jalaa Street, Abu Luay Haniyeh, 52, operates a small bicycle repair shop, stocked with used components and a handful of new parts, while customers from all backgrounds wait for repairs. There are no new bicycles available for sale.
“Before the war, selling bicycles was my main business,” Abu Luay said. “Now, repairs are all I can offer.”
“People come here every day asking for bicycles, but there’s nothing … Even when a bicycle is available, most people can’t afford it.”
“A bicycle that sold for less than $200 before the war now costs over $1,000,” he added.
With cars and motorcycles largely unusable because of fuel shortages and war damage, some residents have resorted to hand-pulled carts or limited motorcycle use where fuel can still be found. For many others, bicycles have become the most dependable, and sometimes the only, means of transport.
Bicycles have also become central to certain service sectors, including delivery services.
Inside a large tent on al-Shifa Street in western Gaza City sits the headquarters of Hamama Delivery. A line of bicycles stands outside, while a few disabled motorcycles rest nearby. The company is managed by Abu Nasser al-Yazji, 45.
Before the war, Hamama Delivery had operated for more than a decade, relying on cars and motorcycles to cover the entire Gaza Strip day and night.
Fuel shortages have since made vehicle use impossible. “We had no choice but to switch entirely to bicycles,” al-Yazji said.
“Most of our motorcycles were destroyed, and around 50 of our employees were killed during the war,” he continued.
“But as unemployment increased, more people began looking for any kind of work, including delivery. That’s why our workforce actually grew.”
Delivery workers have adapted their bicycles by attaching plastic vegetable crates to serve as makeshift cargo baskets.
“We transport all kinds of orders … meals from restaurants, clothing from small shops, or whatever people need. We load everything into plastic crates attached to the bicycles,” al-Yazji said.
Poorly lit and heavily damaged streets have forced the company to reduce its operating hours. Instead of running around the clock, deliveries are now limited to about 10 hours a day.
Among Hamama’s delivery workers is Ahmad, 23, who had been studying law before the war but turned to delivery work after his education was disrupted.
“At the beginning, it was physically exhausting,” Ahmad said. “I never imagined I’d be so grateful for owning a bicycle.”
“In the first days of the war, my mother told me to buy one,” he continued. “She felt movement would soon become impossible.”
“During displacement, there are no cars and no transport,” he said. “You move with a few bags, and the bicycle helps you carry them and stay with your family while you’re trying to reach a safer place.”
What began as a survival tool during displacement eventually became his sole source of income.
“Now, securing transport is almost impossible,” Ahmad said. “If you don’t have a bicycle, you’re nearly stuck.”
