The Story of Saed Hanani… How “Foras Khadra” Was Born from a Closed Road

Sometimes, the biggest idea in your life does not come because you are “ready.”

It comes when reality pushes you so hard that you either break… or create a new path.

I am Saed Hanani.

Founder of Foras Khadra.

And this is not a story of quick success, or luck.

It is a story of repeated attempts, difficult choices, and a journey where I learned that opportunity is not something you wait for… it is something you build.

I come from Palestine.

And in Palestine, even simple things can become a battle: education, movement, travel, and even planning for the next week.

Yet every time I faced a closed door, one question appeared inside me:

If this door is closed… what door can I open with my own hands?

The beginning: “Tawjihi” (high school) as fear… then as an illusion

In our society, Tawjihi becomes bigger than an exam.

It becomes a judgment. A number that people say will decide your future.

And honestly… I lived every part of it: stress, fear, confusion.

At first, I was thinking differently. Business, work, an early start.

I wanted to move fast. Build a life before years disappear in study.

But in the last month before the exams, something shifted inside me.

Suddenly I decided: I want to become an engineer.

The decision came late, so the road was harder.

I studied day and night. Still, I did not succeed the first time. Nor the second.

I had a real struggle with English, and it is still part of my journey.

But I am the type of person who, once he decides… does not stop.

I succeeded in the end.

But the result was not an easy gate to engineering.

That was a turning point:

Either I accept that my grade “decided everything”… or prove that a number does not define a person.

I chose to prove it.

I chose a harder path than the traditional one. The goal was not only to pass, but to excel under real pressure. I had to prove myself inside the college under strict conditions: achieve a GPA above 85%, and pass the comprehensive national exam with a score above 85% as well. Only then could I enter the bridging system and continue my bachelor’s degree in engineering.

In the end, I graduated from An-Najah National University – Hisham Hijjawi Faculty, ranked first in my class, achieved 96% in the comprehensive exam, and ranked first in the faculty.

This point is not for pride. It is a point of meaning.

Because it simply says:

Tawjihi is not destiny.

High school may give you a number… but it does not define your ceiling, your future, or your value.

Your future is built by your decision to continue, and to search for another path instead of stopping at the first wall.

Corona and working on a mountain: when life becomes a survival test

I reached university full of excitement.

I wanted activities, volunteering, connections, a space bigger than the limits of the village and the checkpoint.

After almost one week… COVID arrived.

The university I dreamed about became a screen.

Everything stopped.

But I discovered something important then:

The whole world became online.

Which means the whole world became closer—if you know how to reach it.

I started learning the world of digital meetings.

I invested my time improving my English with foreigners, because I knew language is not a subject… language is a key.

At the same time, the economic reality was harsh.

I worked inside the occupied territories without a permit.

I slept on a mountain in a basic tent, with no electricity, and real daily fear.

I carried my laptop to charge it at work, then returned to continue my assignments and exams.

People saw me coming down from the mountain with a laptop and laughed:

“What are you doing?”

I was living a strange life: student, worker, and afraid… all at once.

On winter nights, I heard rain hitting the tent and water flowing under me.

Every night felt like “the last night.”

Not because I love drama… but because life in Palestine sometimes does not give you the luxury of safety.

That phase taught me a lesson I will never forget:

Giving up is not an option when your life itself requires an attempt every day.

The checkpoint: becoming a stranger inside your own country

I am from Beit Furik, near Nablus.

A beautiful village… but surrounded.

One entrance. A checkpoint that can turn a 30-minute trip into two or three hours.

I had to live away from my family.

Not because the university was far… but because the checkpoint decides when you move and when you are stopped.

That is when I felt real pain:

To be far from your family because of a checkpoint, not because of distance.

But that pain did not turn into hatred of life.

It turned into determination:

If conditions close spaces around me… I will create a new space.

When you do not find opportunity… create it

When university life slowly returned, I discovered that many activities had stopped.

The place I dreamed of as a “space of opportunity” felt frozen.

So I asked myself: why wait?

I contributed to founding and leading a student club in the Faculty of Engineering (IEEE).

In a relatively short period, we created many activities—online and offline—and opened real training spaces and partnerships.

The goal was not just events.

The goal was to plant a culture:

A student is not only lectures and exams, but personality and path.

Through partnerships, students found jobs, and companies discovered hidden potential.

Here, a clear mindset formed inside me:

Sometimes you do not need to search for an opportunity. You need to create it… and opportunities will follow naturally.

Orange peels that opened the door to the world

From this environment came my first entrepreneurial experience: transforming orange peels into cellulose, then into material usable for threads and textiles.

It was not just a “nice idea.”

It was a lab, effort, and daily experiments.

The process required daily presence at the university.

Transportation alone cost nearly $20 per day, between commuting and one meal.

And access itself was often blocked by raids, closures, and strikes.

Still, I continued.

After about six months of daily work, I extracted the first successful cellulose sample.

From there began a journey of awards, invitations, and travel.

I presented the project in several countries—Arab and European—and the experience reached East Asia.

My first trip was to Lebanon through ESCWA in 2022. It was a turning point.

That is when I understood something that later became a life motto:

The first time is always the hardest.

It is hard to get your first opportunity.

Hard to arrange your first travel.

Hard just to leave Palestine.

But after the first time… doors begin to open.

War and after graduation: when everything stopped… and “Foras Khadra” appeared

I graduated at the end of 2023, in a time when everything was collapsing.

Projects stopped. Life paused.

Even the funding I had secured—€9000 for my project—stopped, because reality no longer allowed continuation.

It was a shock.

Not only because my project stopped… but because suddenly the ground pulled away the plan you had built for years.

But honestly, I do not know how to live without trying.

I started searching for a small light at the end of the tunnel.

I co-founded a regional Arab youth network with colleagues.

Through conferences and discussions, I saw the problem clearly:

Opportunities exist.

But many young people do not reach them.

Or see them too late.

Or lose them because language is a barrier.

Or because they do not know where to start.

Or because they lack a network that gives them a map.

From here… Foras Khadra was born.

Not as a page posting links.

But as an idea of access justice:

Environmental, climate, and professional opportunities should be clear, close, in Arabic, and practical.

We started publishing daily opportunities: funded travel, training, conferences, scholarships, and career paths.

The platform became a community.

Over time, a volunteer team formed across Arab countries—more than 320 volunteers from 18 countries—working with one spirit and one goal:

Increase Arab youth participation in international spaces, and build real readiness for the climate and green economy.

I always believed our presence in international spaces is not a luxury.

Our region is among the most vulnerable, and the least prepared for disasters.

If we are not there… others will decide for us.

Travel as a Palestinian: not a ticket… but a test of will

I do not speak about travel as a photo or tourism.

Travel for us is a series of battles:

Taxes, the road to Jordan, bridges that close suddenly, plans changing within hours.

Once, I slept two full days at the bridge just to exit.

Another time, I got stuck in Jordan due to escalation, then found a route by sea to Egypt, then a flight, arriving hours before an event… under extreme pressure.

But I believed my presence there had meaning.

I always wear the keffiyeh.

Not as an accessory.

As a reminder: I do not represent only myself. I represent many young people who could not reach.

The sentence that summarizes everything

If I could speak to Saed seven years ago, I would say:

Work harder… but do not forget to live.

Balance your life, because long roads need long breath.

And I always remind myself of one sentence:

There is no such thing as loss. The real loser is the one who stops trying.

If you try… you are always winning.

Even if you do not succeed now, you are learning, growing, and getting closer.

Why this story on the “Foras Khadra” website?

Because Foras Khadra did not come from comfort.

It came from a real lack I lived: lack of clear opportunities, lack of guidance, lack of language, lack of networks.

So I said: if I struggled to understand the path… others should find it clearer.

I am Saed Hanani.

And this is my story with Foras Khadra:

From a country that narrows your spaces… to a platform trying to expand spaces for others.

And the most beautiful part?

The next chapter is not only about me.

It is about an Arab young person who will one day say:

“I reached… because someone made the path closer.”