In Gaza, where war has destroyed homes, businesses, and entire livelihoods, women entrepreneurs continue to fight for survival. Forced to adapt in the face of unimaginable loss, they are rebuilding—not just their businesses, but the foundations of their future. From Donia, who launched a printing shop in displacement, to Aseel, who created a platform connecting Palestinians to opportunities, to Abeer, who fought to keep working despite months of total blackout—these women refuse to be erased. This International Women’s Day, their stories are a testament to resilience, resistance, and the urgent need for real support.

The most obvious thing about war is that it takes lives, but it also dismantles everything that sustains them. In Gaza, where small businesses keep families afloat, the destruction has been all-encompassing. Markets once full of trade and movement are now silent. The shops, bakeries, and businesses that Gazans spent years building – gone.

The war perpetrated by Israel has killed thousands and has stripped countless others of the means to survive. Among those trying to hold on are women entrepreneurs. Before the attacks, they navigated an already fragile economy – years of blockade, financial restrictions, and unreliable supply chains. Still, they built. They adapted. They opened restaurants, ran tailoring businesses, launched online stores, and provided essential services. Their businesses were not just sources of income but anchors of stability for families and communities.

The war reshaped everything, forcing Gazans to start over—again and again. For Donia Hassona, a web developer and UX/UI designer from Gaza, survival meant adapting. Before the war, she worked as a freelance developer, but the constant power cuts and instability made it nearly impossible to continue. She tried to hold on, but as the war dragged on, she realised she needed another plan.

“War taught me that your source of income can be gone in seconds,” she says. That lesson led her to start Donia wa Deen, an online printing gift shop. Unlike other businesses, hers carries a religious theme—something she says reflects a broader shift in Gaza. “During the war, more people were turning to God” she explains.

Running the business, however, is a challenge. Without equipment or reliable electricity, she relies on middlemen for production, which significantly raises costs. “If there wasn’t a war, I could have invested in equipment. I would’ve had electricity, and I could have started on my products,” she says. Instead, every step is an uphill battle.

When asked about the ceasefire, Donia gestures to the ever-present Israeli drone overhead—the Zanana. She hears gunfire near the border. “I feel like we are kidding ourselves. The war is not over. Its consequences are very much present.”

Donia has been displaced three times—first to the village of Al-Masdar, then to Khan Younis, and finally to Al-Zawaida. Every day, she made the journey from Al-Zawaida to Deir al-Balah just to find an internet connection and work. Even now, as she fights to keep going, she is already thinking about the future. Once the situation stabilises, she plans to invest in her own equipment and solar panels, hoping that next time, she will be able to sustain her business on her own terms.

Aseel Abu Sultan knows this struggle well. A digital marketing specialist and graphic designer, she had built a career over six years, working with local and international companies while managing multiple businesses of her own. Before the war, she was a marketing director for several companies in Gaza, alongside running an online media business, a clothing store, and a gift shop. Even then, the blockade made things difficult—restrictions on movement, inflated costs, and the near-impossibility of bringing essential equipment into Gaza slowed down her work. But she kept going.

Then, like Donia, she lost everything. For eight months, her work came to a complete halt. With no electricity, no internet, and no stability, her businesses couldn’t survive. “We had no way to continue,” she says. “We weren’t just cut off from work—we were cut off from life itself.”

But Aseel refused to accept that reality. Even as the war raged on, she kept thinking of ways to help. She saw how international organisations, universities, and companies were offering scholarships, training, and jobs for people in Gaza—but most never reached those who needed them most. The weak internet connection, scattered information, and sheer unpredictability of life under bombardment made access nearly impossible. That’s when she founded Jusoor, a platform designed to collect and organise these opportunities for Palestinians, particularly those in Gaza.

Getting Jusoor off the ground was its own battle. With no power or internet at home, Aseel joined the Taqat initiative, which provided access to electricity and Wi-Fi. “I would leave my house every day with airstrikes happening above me,” she says. “But I had made up my mind—I was going to finish what I started.” She worked under constant fear, pushing forward to create a platform that would connect people to life-changing opportunities. Jusoor now compiles job listings, scholarships from undergraduate to PhD levels, and free training courses, ensuring that those in Gaza don’t miss out simply because they are cut off from the world.
But even after the so-called ceasefire, the reality remains unchanged. “We returned to the north, but to what?” Aseel says. “No homes, no buildings, no infrastructure. No electricity, no water, no internet.” The sound of Israeli drones still fills the sky, and the threats continue. “The war isn’t over—it just looks different.”

Restarting businesses in these conditions is nearly impossible. Aseel tried to revive her gift shop using whatever materials she had left, but prices have skyrocketed. “Even the simplest things cost absurd amounts,” she explains. “And when I question the suppliers, they all say the same thing: There is no stock in the market.” Her clothing business is also in limbo. She had placed an order for inventory in October 2023—when the war started, the shipment vanished. She still has no idea if it ever made it into Gaza.
The economic suffocation continues to crush any hope of recovery. “They were supposed to open the crossings, allow goods to enter, and revive Gaza’s economy,” Aseel says. “But it hasn’t happened. Things are only getting worse.”

Despite everything, she keeps thinking of ways to rebuild. “Every minute, I come up with new ideas,” she says. “I just need stable electricity, internet, and real support.” But she knows that for women entrepreneurs in Gaza, the challenges go beyond logistics. “Women need financial backing, training, and guidance to start businesses again,” she says. “But just as important, they need psychological support. The war has drained everything from us—not just our businesses, but our strength. To rebuild, we need more than just funding. We need the will to keep going.”

For Abir Abdullah, a web developer from Jabalia, the war meant total disconnection. She was working remotely for a Jordanian company, and from the second day of the war, her electricity was cut off. Finding a way to charge her phone was a daily battle. Her company was incredibly supportive, allowing her to work whenever she could. But for six months, there was nothing she could do.
“We had no way to work, no way to reach people. Just survival—food, water, and that was it,” she says.

During that time, Abir and her family had no stable place to live. When Israeli forces invaded Rafah, they fled — they spent 10 days in tents in Al-Mawasi, completely out of touch with the world. Once they settled in Deir al Balah, she was finally able to resume work, joining Taqat, like Donia and Aseel, for electricity and internet. But even then, it was uncertain. “Every time it rained or the weather was bad, we knew we wouldn’t be able to work,” she says.

Today, Abirr is back in central Gaza, but reaching Taqat is almost impossible. “There are no roads, transport costs are high, and it’s not safe. Our new challenge is getting to work safely.” She acknowledges feeling safer after the ceasefire, but nothing is back to normal. “As long as we don’t have necessities, I can’t think about progress and the future,” she says.

This is the reality for women entrepreneurs in Gaza. The war did not just pause their businesses—it uprooted every foundation they had built. Even as they struggle to restart, they face an economy that is barely functioning. Supplies are scarce, costs are impossibly high, and uncertainty is constant. For those who have managed to rebuild something, every sale, every project, every hour of work is a fight against forces that refuse to let them exist.

On International Women’s Day, the world celebrates progress, resilience, and the achievements of women everywhere. But for many women, especially those in conflict zones, recognition is not enough. In Gaza, women are not just striving for equality—they are fighting to survive. They create businesses in displacement, work under drones, through bombings, with no electricity, no infrastructure, no guarantees. They do what they can with what is left. But they know that survival is not enough. Progress cannot be measured in words alone—it must be action. And until the world does more, they will continue to persist. Still striving. Still building. Still here.