In Memory of Farah: Her Gaza Family Urgently Needs Help

In Memory of Farah: Her Gaza Family Urgently Needs Help

Organizer: Virginia Schuett, MS, RD, PKU nutritionist; Founder, Director and Editor of the non-profit organization National PKU News (1989-2015)

We all know about the horrific situation in Gaza since October 7, 2023 and feel the pain of the thousands of innocent Palestinian people who have suffered and died. It might seem that we don’t have any obvious way to help. This GoFundMe campaign is created in memory of a very special young woman with PKU, Farah Shaheen, who was a casualty of this brutal war between Israel and Hamas in Gaza. I hope it will help one wonderful Gazan family that I have known for more than 17 years.

An Israeli bomb killed Farah, age 21, and her entire immediate family of 7 and many of her extended family (19 in all) on October 23, 2023 less than 3 weeks into the war. The donations from this GoFundMe effort are desperately needed to get four of Farah’s surviving extended family members out of Gaza: two aunts whom she cherished and two cousins whom she loved. I also hope we can raise enough money to help all 11 of her surviving family members (seven of whom have already escaped Gaza into Egypt) with their medical needs from injuries suffered in the bombing as well as daily expenses until they can figure out how to manage now that their houses and livelihoods have been completely destroyed in Gaza.

The conditions in Gaza are almost unbearable now, with very little food, clean water and sanitation, and no medical care. These remaining four family members are living in tents with almost nothing, so there is especially great urgency in getting the money needed for them to enter Egypt. The trauma they have endured, one aunt losing 4 of her 5 children and the other losing 1 of her 2 children, is severe. And now they are just trying to survive nearly inhuman conditions when every day brings fear of more bombing and desperation for food and water. The trauma is never-ending.

According to Farah’s Uncle Mahmoud (please see Mahmoud’s Story after Farah’s Story), who survived the bomb that killed Farah and is now in Egypt, there is an Egyptian travel company, HALA, that will get people from Gaza into Egypt for a substantial fee of $5,000 per person. Since Mahmoud recently was able to cross into Egypt via this company (using money borrowed from many friends, an amount now depleted), he can use the money we raise to pay the required $5,000 for each of the four remaining family members. The travel process takes an average of two to four weeks from the registration date due to the high number of travelers. I will be able to transfer money directly to Mahmoud in Egypt as there are several safe methods that I can use to transfer the funds from this GoFundMe campaign.

Please help with your donation, in Farah’s memory, and for the sake of this remarkable family that has endured so much. While we can’t do anything to stop the violence and mayhem in Gaza, helping this family is something we can do! Any amount large or small will help. Together we can make a difference!

Thank-you very much!

Virginia Schuett, Seattle, WA

Two of Farah's aunts (Rania left and Nesreen right) and their two surviving sons, Youssef (28) and Alaa (17) are desperate to leave Gaza like their Uncle Mahmoud has done recently. Rania lost her husband and a son, and Nesreen lost 4 children.

All of Farah's family who were not killed in the blast were significantly injured. They have endured unspeakable loss and suffering.

Farah’s Story

Farah was born with classic PKU, a rare genetic disorder diagnosed at birth. Fortunately, she had been able to receive the proper diet treatment for her first 4 years of life when the special formula from the West Bank was imported into Gaza. Her strict diet allowed only fruits and vegetables and a very limited amount of certain grains like rice, and required a very expensive special formula that gave her the protein and energy she needed to grow and thrive. Without this diet and the formula, she would have become mentally retarded, as surely happened to many other children in Gaza who didn’t have the formula consistently or at all since 2006. Farah is the only person with PKU living in Gaza who was continuously and well treated since that time and there are hundred who were diagnosed. She never forgot this, and was so thankful for her special Phenyl-Free formula that she loved. Only later in her life was she aware of how difficult getting that formula for her had been over the years, a constant struggle for her amazing dad Mohammed and me and against all odds.

Farah, the adorable 4-year-old who captured my heart.

Farah’s father Mohammed first contacted me via email from Gaza in early 2006 for advice about her diet, having received none since her birth. At that time, Hamas was taking over the government. I was then a nutritionist specializing in PKU and was the director of National PKU News, my non-profit organization started in 1987 to benefit children like Farah with news and information. Shortly after Mohammed contacted me, Hamas decided to stop providing the formula in Gaza.

This started my amazing, wonderful, difficult, and emotional journey with the family over the next 17+ years. I was able to provide Farah with formula and some special low protein foods, which at first I had to send in big and costly shipments twice a year. We enlisted the help of the Red Cross and later the World Health Organization to deliver the many big boxes to the Shaheen’s home in the Al Bureij refugee camp in central Gaza after they arrived in Israel. Later when those organizations declined to continue, we scrambled to found other ways to get the formula for Farah. Whenever the boxes finally arrived, battered as they might be after their long and arduous journey from Seattle to Israel and into Gaza, we all celebrated. Farah was elated to receive the formula, food, cute American clothes, many books, and an assortment of gifts for her (and usually something for her brothers too).

Farah and her father Mohammed retrieving boxes sent from the U.S. of PKU formula and food at the Red Cross office in Gaza City.

It was always an exciting day when the boxes finally arrived and Farah found her special formula, lots of foods she could eat, clothes and gifts from her American mom.

Farah loved getting special fruit snacks and treats from the U.S. to augment her restricted PKU diet.

Farah loved showing off the American clothes that arrived in every shipment of food and formula.

When I retired in 2015, Mohammed, a very smart and extremely resourceful man, and I figured out creative ways of continuing to make sure that Farah had the formula every single day of her life despite how hard that was and how uncertain it was for her to get it at times, especially when violence suddenly erupted as it did so often. Fortunately, I was able to make this happen with financial support and Mohammed worked his magic in Gaza to get the formula from the West Bank through numerous creative routes. Whatever it took, and it was not easy, Mohammed and I were a team determined to keep Farah on her diet.

Mohammed was a middle school science teacher, a wonderful man who never stopped giving of his time and attention to each one of his four boys (ranging in age from 10 to 24 when they died), but his special devotion was to Farah. She called him “my hero”.

When we first started corresponding, Mohammed told me that “you are the lung through which I breathe” as the conditions in Gaza were always so difficult and opening himself to a whole new world of the United States was so astonishingly beautiful to him. He relished our connection as I did too, and I was so happy that I could help him and the family have a better life. For example, how exciting it was when I sent them money to buy a refrigerator so they could better keep the fruits and vegetables that Farah needed for her diet! Or when I could pay for a whole new set of windows in their house when nearby bomb explosions had shattered them. I was happy that I could send money for a generator so they could have electricity more than a few hours a day and pay for a filtration system to ensure they had clean water. It was always my pleasure to help in substantial ways.

They all lived with the constant threat of violence and Mohammed told me often that he didn’t expect to live to an old age, both because of the stress of living in Gaza and because he knew that he could be killed in other ways at any time. He was just 48 years old at his death on October 23, 2023.

Farah and I had a special bond that continued through her life. From the time she first learned about me at age 4, she insisted that I was her “American mom” and when she was asked her name she was never hesitant to proudly tell anyone that in fact her name was Farah Schuett, taking my last name! She loved to tell her “story” about me to anyone new she came in contact with. And each email message she sent, which was almost daily, she started with “Sabah alkeer (good morning in Arabic) my beautiful mom” and always ended with “Ana bahbic (I love you in Arabic), your daughter, Farah” and usually added many heart emojis. Starting when she was young, we had a story that we shared about a little bird that we saw in our gardens that would fly across the ocean to visit one or the other of us and the bird would carry a big kiss and a hello, and then fly right back to do the same on the other side of the world. In the beginning she thought the bird was real and had magical powers, but as she grew up we continued to talk about our little bird often and pretend that indeed the bird was real and could carry those same kisses and greetings. In her last message to me on October 19 from the house in Rafah, though she must have been very fearful, she wrote, “Don’t worry, I’m okay mom, our little bird will keep me safe.”

Farah had a lovely biological mother, Mesta, but Farah and I connected in a deep and wonderful way that was beyond biology and Mesta found that to be just fine. She was so thankful that Farah had someone always looking out for her. The Shaheens considered me to be an integral part of their family and I loved that. They would even celebrate my birthday each year with a decorated cake and party with the whole big family and call me to all sing Happy Birthday over the phone from Gaza, despite the less than great connection we often had.

I miss Farah more than words could ever say and writing about our relationship that was so special helps to mend my broken heart. To know that we will never get that real live hug that we both longed for is devastating. In the last few years, she had become acutely aware of the dangers of living in Gaza and repeatedly told me that “life is short” and so she hoped that it would not be too long before the two of us could finally meet, some way or another. She was always worried that I would be the one to die, and she didn’t think she could live without me. I never imagined I would be the one to live without her.

A remarkable fact is that Farah never strayed from her diet, as strict as it was, embracing it with the self-discipline that she showed throughout her life. She kept perfect control of her blood levels (monitored by a lab in Gaza City). In the loving environment of a wonderful and educated family she grew into a remarkable and accomplished young woman that gave all of them and me such pride and joy.

Not only was she spared mental retardation, but Farah was a brilliant young woman who excelled in her education and had great aspirations for the future. She was in her third year of a prestigious 6-year Doctor of Pharmacy program at a university in Gaza City and she was very excited to be on the verge of becoming a part-owner of a pharmacy being established by one of her professors, where she envisioned having a wonderful career helping people.

Farah was a lovely young woman with so many hopes and dreams, and an outstanding university student.

Farah loved learning, and from the time she was in grade school had wanted to become a doctor. In fact, her classmates often called her “Doctor Farah,” even when she was just 6 or 7 years old. She was exceptional in her studies as well as in her personality. She was always thinking of other people and was thoughtful, sweet, and kind but at the same time outspoken and fearless when it came to proudly and unabashedly speaking about her “PKU story” and her special relationship with me, her “American mom” with so many people that her father said she was like a little ambassador for Americans. Her classmates all looked up to her as the leader in every class she ever attended. She also was the top student in the Pharmacy School program, no surprise since she had won every single academic competition that was held yearly among multiple Gaza schools, and was unfailingly dedicated to her studies.

Then came October 23, 2023 and everything changed with the Israeli bombing of the house they were sheltering in near Rafah and the Egyptian border, less than 3 weeks after the Gaza-Israeli war began. I am heartbroken that Farah’s life was snuffed out, at the age of just 21, her many dreams obliterated in an instant of horror beyond all words.

That bomb on October 23 not only took the lives of her mother, her father, her four brothers and her grandfather, but also many cousins, all of whom were sheltering in a house of a friend near Rafah, where they were told they would be safe. In all, 19 family members were killed, with just 11 surviving. My only solace is that at least those killed did not have to survive the “hell on earth” that has enveloped Gaza since then. Their house was destroyed and most of their refugee camp along with it. Both Farah and Mohammed told me on more than one occasion, when violence had broken out once again, that the family wanted to either all live together or all die together. I never imagined that they would be granted their wish in such a horrific way.

I hope that you will consider donating generously in Farah’s memory, and to help her suffering family members.

This is what remained of the Shaheen family home int he Al Bureij refugee camp after it was bombed. The family had already fled to what they thought was a safe house near Rafah when it was bombed. This photo was taken by a friend later.

What was left of Farah's room in the family home, a copy of a book I had given her when she was young, Black Beauty, laying forlornly amid the devastation.

The rubble of the house where Farah and 18 other family died on October 23, 2023. It is miraculous that 11 people survived.

I asked Farah’s Uncle Mahmoud to tell the full story of October 2023 in Gaza, for your sake as well as for mine, as I continue to grieve for Farah and the rest of the family. He writes in heart wrenching, vivid detail in remarkably good English. He reached out to me when he was still in Gaza trying to get out, which he references in his first sentences of the email below, and now that he is in Egypt can more easily write.

Mahmoud’s Story

Background

I am an architect, just like my beloved wife, Heba. We owned an architectural office in Gaza specialized in designing and implementing interior decoration works. We achieved many things. Our office was destroyed. In addition to our work as architects, I also owned a page on Facebook, which was a very strong source of income. It was one of the most powerful pages, specializing in everything a woman needs in general. Overall, this provided me and my family with the financial ability to live a very good life, until the war came and literally left nothing behind.

Farah's Uncle Mahmoud and his two sons, Tarek and Abdullah, who were killed in the bombing on October 23.

Mahmoud after the bombing, receiving limited care in a hospital with nowhere but the floor to sleep on.

Now there are 4 members of my family in Gaza: my eldest sister Rania and her son Yousef, my middle sister Nesreen, and her son Alaa, who are Farah’s aunts and cousins. These are the ones I am striving to rescue and get out of Gaza. As for myself, I lost my sons Tarek and Abdullah, and my wife Heba. My brother Mohammed, Farah’s father, lost his entire family, his wife and all their children: Abdulrahman, Farah, Anas, Ahmed, and Mahmoud were killed. My father was killed. My eldest sister's son Ahmed, was going to launch his wonderful project soon but was killed. Nesreen's 4 daughters were killed. My youngest sister Alaa's husband and two of her children were killed. So, I have lost a total of 19 family members; only 11 survived.

The Terrible Story

First, I would like to thank you, Virginia, for responding to my recent email. I must apologize once again for not responding to your last email since things were going crazy, circumstances were much more difficult and I didn't have access to the internet. I understand that you need to hear the whole story with all its details and what exactly happened with your daughter, Farah, and the rest of her family.

I will narrate the complete story from the last week before the start of the war, not from October 7th, so you can have a full picture. First of all, we are a family of five: myself, my brother Mohammed, and three sisters: Rania, Nesreen, and Walaa, along with our father Abdullah. We lived in a small neighborhood in the middle area of the Gaza Strip, we were so close that we had houses separated by a few meters, except for Mohammed and I, we lived in the same building. Our father lived on the ground floor, Mohammed on the first floor, and I lived on the second floor with my wife and 2 sons and 2 daughters, and there was a small garden attached to our house. This garden was our heaven that we sheltered in from life's worries.

Our home was more precious to us than everything, as it held memories, laughter, and countless days of joy. The last of these joyful days was on October 1st, just a week before the war. As you know, in our Arab culture, we have customs and rituals for celebrating weddings that differ from many other cultures. It was seven days filled with the happiest moments for our family, celebrating Farah's oldest brother's marriage, and we didn't let a second pass without celebrating, laughing, dancing, and spreading joy around us. Farah was the angel of this celebration in every sense of the word. As you may know, as everyone knows in our family, I am the closest to Farah's heart, and she has truly been my angel. She used to share every detail of her life with me, even in choosing her dress for the wedding, I was the one she asked for his opinion. Trust me. She was the princess of the wedding, and I'll send you her pictures one day.

The week of celebration has ended, and we're getting ready to return to work, schools and the most important thing is the opening of Rania's son, Ahmed's, coffee brand “Ramo”—a project that has taken time, effort, and invaluable resources, as it represents a new chapter in our lives. It's worth mentioning that Rania's husband passed away when they were both very young; Ahmed was only two months old, while Yousef had just turned two years old.

October 7th arrived. . . We woke up at six in the morning to the sounds of explosions and rockets everywhere. Our hearts were filled with panic, feeling like it was doomsday. At that moment, after my father, my brother Mohammed, and I gathered, we truly realized that something serious and terrifying was happening, unlike anything we had experienced before. We agreed to evacuate our homes and head to a safer place until things became clear. Every family prepared whatever clothes and personal belongings they could carry. We moved to the heart of Gaza City, as it's usually classified as a safe place since it’s very crowded and was rarely targeted in previous wars. We headed to my wife's father's house and did our best to prepare the place and clean it, as it was empty since her family had been living in Egypt for a long time. So, we stayed in the house for several days until we were asked again to evacuate our neighborhood. The IDF contacted people, ordering them to evacuate as they would be the next targets of military operations. After each call, we moved from one neighborhood to another, draining our strength and the money we had. I can never forget the terrifying sounds of explosions we could hear while relocating several times within Gaza City.

Until the Israeli army notified all residents of Gaza City to evacuate and head to Rafah City, claiming it as a safe zone. On that tough day, we endured hours and hours of agony, fatigue, and stress, thinking about where to go and the difficulty of moving with the entire family to the South. I can't forget Farah's tears, and terror. She asked me, "Uncle Mahmoud, promise me you'll protect me and take me to the sea as you used to," and I tried my best to make everyone feel that we would be okay.

Meanwhile, I contacted a friend of mine who works as a teacher at one of the universities in Gaza, and he was waiting for me to arrive in Rafah City, where the new chapter of suffering began. We reached Rafah City after long hours of fear, terror, and tiredness, around four o'clock in the afternoon. We began arranging the place and preparing whatever food and drinks we could find, securing water, which was the hardest and sometimes impossible part. Indeed, everyone sank into a deep sleep due to exhaustion, except for me, Farah, and my son Tareq. We sat in my car, which Farah loved, exchanging thoughts about the future and planning our dreams that we strive for after the war ends. I was convinced that the war would not end, at least for another year or two, yet until the last moment before the direct bombing, I tried to create a virtual reality for them to experience moments of joy and peace, engaging their minds with jokes, playful games, and storytelling, which Farah cherished. Yes, I did that even though I was terrified that we might not be able to make it this time, this time the war was dirty. We entered a critical stage where prices went to unimaginable numbers for food, water, and fruits, which Farah greatly depended on for her PKU diet, to the extent that we stopped using our cars to preserve whatever fuel remained in case we needed to leave the place under any new threat, as previously happened in Gaza City. The last days were peaceful, and I could see their laughter returning to their faces but this couldn’t continue.

On October 23rd, I and my sister’s son, Ahmed, went to the market early in search of any type of food, drinks, and fruits to bring back for our children and families. We walked a very long distance on foot, and indeed, we don't know how we managed to gather a very good quantity of food and bread. I was at the peak of happiness when I found some grapes, pomegranates, and bananas that Farah loves so much. I said to myself, "thank god, I've managed to secure what is necessary for at least a week for all family members." We returned home at 12:40 PM, utterly exhausted from the long distance we covered, yet the joy of what we brought back overshadowed the exhaustion. Just a few meters away from home, the warplanes began bombing several houses with what is called the "fire belt" to hit the largest number of targets at the same moment. Quickly and fearfully, everyone rushed inside the house seeking safety, where we gathered in a room no larger than 20 square meters, looking at each other, praying to God that these moments would pass without losing anyone.

We didn’t know that fate had more in store for us, and I will never forget the silence that took control suddenly, the way we started looking at each other as if we knew something was going to happen, they bid me farewell with those gazes, especially Farah and my wife, Heba. A rocket weighing over a ton fell directly on the house, causing it to collapse as if an earthquake had erupted from the depths of the earth, destroying every piece of the house. Heat emanated like lava from a volcano, burning every exposed part of our bodies. I pray to God to be able to forget those moments every day, I can never forget the one voice that came out of everybody around me and then was the “infinite silence”.

I still remember every second vividly. I began screaming and calling out to each person, desperately searching for any sound that someone was still alive. Indeed, I started hearing their voices and tried to reassure everyone that we were okay and that someone would come to rescue us. However, the voices began to fade one by one. I tried to lift the rubble that were covering me to reach anyone, hoping they were unconscious but not dead. I prayed to God to give me strength, one more time, to rescue my family and not be left alone in this life. And indeed, I lifted what was covering me, moved, and began digging with my hands until I saw a thread of light. At that moment, I realized I was close to getting out, so I continued digging and made a small hole at least for oxygen to enter inside. I started searching, and within minutes, I found Yousef, my nephew and the brother of Ahmed, alive. He told me he was okay and would survive, so I left him as he was close to the exit hole, and I went back to search, but I couldn't find anyone. Everyone was covered in large amounts of rubble; some I could see a hand, others their arm, and some I could see their foot. I tried to wipe the blood off their faces and continued searching until I heard a voice again. It was my daughters, Sama and Haya miraculously still alive.

It was as if God had granted me the strength of a thousand men. I began digging again until I reached them and pulled them out of the rescue opening. I could hear the voices of people outside starting to dig, searching for any survivors inside. I returned once more at that moment to search for another glimmer of hope that would bring some hope back to my heart. This time, a portion of the rubble collapsed, closing the opening I had made, but I paid no mind, hoping that the rescuers outside would create another opening. I continued crawling and digging, then I heard a faint voice. I fell silent, listening, until I was certain it was the voice of your daughter, Farah. I began digging like a madman until I reached her. I cleared the dust from her face, trying to extract her body from under the rubble, but I found her tightly trapped, and all parts of her body had been torn by the iron used to reinforce the ceilings. I realized that even if she were rescued, the latest rescue equipment wouldn't be able to extract her without causing further damage to her body. So, I decided to lay down beside her, to begin the conversation I'll never forget. I used the funny facial expressions that I knew she loved and that always made her laugh from the depths of her heart. Yes, Farah laughed and said, "You still manage to make me laugh, Uncle." I told her, "We are trapped and injured, our bodies filled with wounds, but we will survive. Don't be afraid; someone will come soon to rescue us." She knew she was not going to make it, she knew I was lying. She told me, don’t lie uncle, I feel it inside my body “The iron”. She told me to tell everyone that she loves them, especially her parents. She didn’t know that the entire family had been wiped out, all of them had been killed.

Farah dreamed of meeting you and visiting the States one day. It was her most fervent wish. She wanted to meet Mom Virginia. More than an hour passed, and I couldn't bring myself to cry for a moment, as I didn't want her to see my tears in her final moments. We talked about every second we spent at her brother Abdulrahman's wedding, and we laughed at the moment when she smashed my face with cake as if she didn't feel any pain. And the moment came when I heard her last breath, leaving me alone. I didn't have the strength to search anymore; my powers had dwindled, and I was bleeding heavily. That's when I heard voices calling from outside. If anyone is alive, let them scream or give a sign so we know where they are. And indeed, I started screaming, and after about half an hour, the rescue teams arrived at my location and pulled me out. I went out to see my sons, Tareq and Abdullah, torn apart. My angels were burned by the missiles of war. I went out to see my brother Mohammed, our genius man. Mohammed, who had no equal, the owner of the tender heart, the one with the right opinion, the one who supported everyone with all the strength he had, I found him cut in half.

At that moment, I heard people saying that the rescue teams had found some survivors and taken them to the nearest hospital, I rushed out with one of the ambulances, but my body didn't cooperate, and I lost consciousness, waking up in the hospital. They told me then that my eldest sister Rania lost Ahmed, and only Yousef remained. My middle sister Nisreen lost four children and only has her son Alaa left. My youngest sister Alaa has only a son and a daughter left, having lost the rest. I lost my sons Tareq and Abdallah and my wife. My dear father didn’t make it alive too. They took everything from me.

I don't think there are words or a way to describe what I've been through and what's going on in my mind: the questions, contradictions, sadness, anger, and regret. Do you understand what it means to feel incapable of balancing them, mourning for one and forgetting the other.

Here began the third chapter, where we stayed in the hospital for 32 days, each day filled with indescribable suffering. The suffering of not finding a bed to sleep on and sleeping on the floor... not finding painkillers while enduring pain. What distressed me the most was watching my injured daughters and sisters in pain, unable to help them... Days passed, and we barely managed to get a meal once a day. After this period, we were discharged from the hospital due to the lack of space. The number of casualties had reached record levels, and there was an urgent need to leave space for them.

The journey of displacement and moving from one place to another began, again, lasting no more than two weeks between each location. We moved without the bare essentials for life, such as clothes, money, and other necessities. We lost our money, cars, clothes and mobiles. After five months of searching for a tent to sleep in... Searching for food and safety... Five months, each day was more painful than the day of the bombardment we experienced.

During this period, I searched for a way to protect what remains of my family by traveling outside of Gaza, all in vain. We needed more than $5000 per person to pay for travelling fees.

After a long period of suffering, through a GoFundMe page, I managed to gather enough money for only part of us to travel. I sat down with my family and discussed extensively who would leave and who would stay. It was decided wisely that my younger sister Alaa and her children would leave because they needed medical treatment the most, along with my daughters and me, who also needed medical care. I thought that while in Egypt, I would be able to work on securing the remaining amount to get the rest of my family out of Gaza.

I cannot describe the pain that haunts me every minute, knowing they are still suffering from the war. I arrived in Egypt, but my soul, heart, and mind are still in Gaza, with my family stuck there. Later, I learned that our homes in Gaza had been destroyed, and we had nothing left to rely on.

This is when the decision to create a donation link was made. I was confident that you, Virginia, wouldn't abandon me, honoring the soul of my angel Farah, that you would help me succeed in my campaign and provide the required amount in record time. At least I could get even one day of sleep, knowing that what remains of my family is safe, away from another rocket that could tear what's left of my heart.

My dear friend Virginia, this is my story, I've told you what I could so you could tell the world that we deserve life, assistance, and a second chance to start a new life. Thank-you to anyone who can help, from the bottom of my heart.

I want to add my warmest thanks, Virginia Schuett

Sitting in my Seattle garden that Farah loved to see in photos and videos and longed to see in person. Our little bird has a permanent home here along with Farah, who has a permanent home in my heart.