On September 17, 34 students made their way from Gaza to the United Kingdom, excited to embark on their academic journeys. Many of these students had submitted their visa applications after I had applied for mine, so when I heard the news of their successful evacuation, I felt a mix of joy and relief for them. At that moment, I held onto the hope that my turn would come soon. However, when the next evacuation list was released on September 29, my heart sank: there were 17 more names, but mine was conspicuously absent.
I am not alone in this predicament. At least eight other students in Gaza, all of whom received prestigious scholarships to UK universities months ago, are also left waiting. Despite meeting all eligibility criteria set forth by UK Visas and Immigration (UKVI), we have yet to see our names on the evacuation lists.
Our fully-funded scholarships at esteemed UK universities now hang in the balance—not due to lack of advocacy from our institutions, but because of unexplained and inconsistent delays in the evacuation process. My program at the University of Birmingham officially began on September 29. With tuition fees, living expenses, and accommodation all secured through a Sanctuary Scholarship, I should be starting my studies, yet I find myself still trapped in Gaza, anxiously awaiting confirmation that seems to elude me.
Initially, when the first group was evacuated, I felt hopeful. I encouraged myself and the other students left behind not to despair—assuring us that we would all eventually have our turn. After months of applications, interviews, and a constant cloud of fear, the evacuation process finally appeared to be underway. However, the announcement of the next wave, which included only 17 names, shattered that hope. I was shocked to see that none of the early applicants still waiting for an exit were included. Instead, students who had submitted their visa applications weeks after us were prioritized, with some even being contacted just days before their evacuation.
In the meantime, I find myself refreshing my phone incessantly, keeping it close at night, fearing I might miss an email from the government. I have been assured by my university, my MP, and my solicitor that I am indeed eligible. I have completed all forms, met all criteria, and submitted essential documents multiple times to the Foreign, Commonwealth & Development Office (FCDO) and the Home Office. My admission is confirmed, my funding is secure, and my accommodation is waiting for me. Yet, I remain in limbo.
Future evacuation waves might occur, but I worry that each new list will feature fewer names. My fellow students and I cannot afford to wait indefinitely. Each day that passes increases the risk that our scholarships—and our futures—will slip away.
This experience has highlighted a troubling lack of transparency regarding the selection process for evacuation. Why are students who applied later prioritized? What accounts for the rapid processing of some applications, while others like mine seem to be ignored? Despite fulfilling all requirements, I am left without answers.
No one, including universities, MPs, or solicitors who are familiar with the procedures, can clarify these perplexing questions. The process feels opaque, leading me to fear that with each passing day, I am being moved further down the queue. My greatest fear—not just for myself, but for every student still waiting for their names to appear on that vital list—is that this pattern will continue, with new applicants consistently being favored over those of us who have been waiting for so long. Without clarity and accountability, we are left vulnerable to a process we cannot understand or challenge.
Describing the psychological toll of this limbo is difficult. Each day begins with the same ritual: checking my phone, scanning my email, refreshing my inbox. Each day delivers more updates from friends abroad who have begun their lectures, while I remain ensnared in uncertainty, my aspirations on hold. Each night concludes similarly—my phone resting beside me, in hopes that I might be remembered while I sleep. The weight of frustration, disappointment, and despair fills the air here. Every delayed day is not merely a lost opportunity; it inches me closer to losing my place and the chance to pursue my education far away from the conflict. For many of us, this is not just a delay; it is a slow erasure of our future—the only lifeline to rebuild our lives and heal from the trauma we have endured.
The University of Birmingham has been supportive, reaching out repeatedly to authorities on my behalf. However, there are limits to what the university can do. If I cannot leave soon, the consequences will be dire. These scholarships come with time constraints. Missing the start of the academic year could mean forfeiting the funding entirely. My housing is already secured and paid for, but if I cannot arrive on time, my place will be given to someone else. These competitive programs at world-class universities are hard-won, and after years of striving under siege and chaos, losing this opportunity due to bureaucratic delays would be devastating. The Sanctuary Scholarship I received and similar initiatives exist to demonstrate solidarity, showcasing that education can be a vital lifeline for those in conflict zones.
I am not asking for special treatment; rather, I am calling for my visa to be processed. I have fulfilled every requirement and submitted all necessary documentation. What I lack is transparency regarding the criteria determining who gets evacuated. Why are some students expedited while others in identical circumstances are overlooked? Without answers, I feel disillusioned and exhausted, and without urgent action, I fear my future will vanish.
The clock is ticking. In my latest correspondence with the university, I was warned that if I do not arrive by the 17th of this month, I will lose the place I fought so hard to secure—and with it, the future I have struggled for amidst war, loss, and years of sacrifice. I implore those in power to act swiftly; please do not let our futures be extinguished by bureaucratic silence.
