Rami Fayyad (foreground) with the Palestinian writer Gharib al-Askelani in Gaza in 2001. Photo DR
Beneath a mass of black hair and a pair of fleshy cheeks, he was one of the faces of the French-speaking world in Gaza. A teacher of French as a foreign language for almost 20 years at L’Institut Français, Rami Fayyad trained dozens of teachers and generations of students.
In the autumn of 2024, Fayyad was expected at the University of Rouen, France, to defend his doctoral thesis on the contribution of the written and audiovisual press to French language learning: A tribute to his own experience, as he had learned the language by watching TV5 Monde and listening to RFI. It’s a testimony to his perseverance, which he wanted to put at the service of Gazan students. It’s a project, like so many others, consumed by the war that has been ravaging the Palestinian enclave for the past year.
Fayyad did not die under the bombs, like tens of thousands of his compatriots, nor from hunger. He died of a simple flu. Under normal circumstances, the 49-year-old's body would have swept away the virus in a matter of days. But on Feb. 9, after months of eating canned food and a shortage of medicine, his immune system failed him.
“Things went from bad to worse all of a sudden. An ambulance took him to hospital, but it was packed with wounded people and martyrs. By the time a doctor arrived, he was gone,” recalled his wife, Nermeen Fayyad. The following day, a diplomatic source told AFP that France had been working “at all levels for several months” to get the Israeli authorities to authorize the evacuation of Fayyad and his family so that he could receive treatment in France. But to no avail. “The positive response came after his death,” said his wife, who now lives in Strasbourg with their three children.
For those who knew him, the resident of Khan Younis is remembered for being kind and calm. “Rami was a quiet force. He was infinitely kind and excessively polite. I never saw him get angry,” said Philippe Lane, his friend and thesis supervisor at the University of Rouen. “He was the eternal fresh-faced, a face that never changed from year to year, despite life in Gaza, which can quickly make you look older,” said Jean Mathiot, who served as director of L’Institut Français in Gaza from 2009 to 2012. But for both of them, what stood out most was the level of his French. “He spoke a polished language, with an almost Parisian accent in the middle of the Gaza Strip, which was pretty unusual,” recounted the diplomat.
Fayyad’s passion for language was boundless. In his white house overlooking a garden of olive, palm and orange trees, “he always had a book in his hands,” recounted his wife. An enthusiast of classical literature, “he had a deep understanding of Victor Hugo’s writings,” said Jean Mathiot. When he commented on Madame Bovary, “he used so many words, expressions and images that his text was almost more complicated than Flaubert’s,” said Philippe Lane. Fayyad’s attachment to the French language is such that, after receiving a scholarship in 2016 for his doctorate in Rouen, he took the painful decision to leave the Gaza Strip for over three years, during which he would not see his family. “It was heartbreaking, but he told me: ‘If I go back, I’m not sure [the Israeli authorities] will let me cross the border back to France’,” recounted his former thesis supervisor.
When he returned to Gaza in 2019, he devoted most of his time to work, juggling his job as a teacher and French inspector at the Gaza Education Ministry. French is taught in two universities and a dozen schools. “Even on the weekends, my husband gave lessons,” recalled his wife. “He was a perfectionist, with this feeling of never doing enough.”
Despite his high rank in the academic echelons, the Francophile never sought the limelight. “Because of his discretion and simplicity, he did not make a career for himself. He didn’t have the international ambitions to which he might have aspired,” said Jean Mathiot.
It’s also a way of participating in the future of the Palestinian territory. “Like many Gazans, he was very attached to his land, and as a kind of recognition, he wanted to pass on his success to it,” he added.
But the war stole Fayyad’s last months. The closure of L’Institut Français and the almost non-existent Internet connection prevented him from giving lessons, even online. The effects of famine and bombardment became part of his daily routine. “He used to go out a lot to get us water and food; all his energy was devoted to that. He also had to look after his ailing mother. The fact that everything depended on him made him very tired,” said Nermeen Fayyad. “His departure was so sudden, we still can’t believe that lack of care had taken him,” said Philippe Lane. “He was a cheerful person who laughed with everyone, even if he didn’t have a very developed social life,” his wife recalled. “He left a huge void in our lives.”
This article was originally published in French in L'Orient-Le Jour. Translation by Joelle Khoury.
