‘Dear Diary: Am I wishing for too much today?’
On World Humanitarian Day, we asked our colleagues in Yemen to journal a day in the life of what the UN calls the ‘world’s greatest humanitarian crisis.’
Often, the most uninhibited expressions of our daily hopes, challenges and fears begin with the words, Dear Diary. In recognition of World Humanitarian Day, we present diary entries from seven of our UNHCR and sister UN agency colleagues in Yemen, where war has raged for seven years. Though written for the public, our colleagues and friends shared their raw feelings about their work, their worries and their wishes just as they would in a personal journal.
Since the beginning of the relentless violence in Yemen, at least four million people have become internally displaced, meaning they have fled their homes but remain within the country. Roughly 233,000 people have died since the conflict began due to the violence or to related causes such as hunger and lack of health services.
The colleagues whose stories we share below all call Yemen home, whether they were born there or, like Naima, fled Somalia to the country in search of safety years ago. The diary entries have been edited for length and clarity.
Alawia Saeed, a Somali-Yemeni managing UNHCR hotlines in southern Yemen
This morning, Abdul Qader, who is a refugee community leader, called me at the crack of dawn. He needed help for Ibrahim, a critically sick refugee man who required urgent medical assistance. Ibrahim had been refused admission to the hospital, which is not unusual these days. Since the beginning of COVID-19, it is getting more and more difficult for people to get medical assistance because the hospitals here do not admit new patients for fear they might be infected with the virus. I spent the entire day on the phone trying to get him help.
My efforts paid off, and Ibrahim was able to see a doctor and get medicines, but my heart goes out to thousands of others out there who are in a similar situation — just not as lucky. Since the war ravaged my beloved country, life has become very difficult. Each day comes with new suffering.
She looks at me and smiles. She has the most beautiful smile.
Sometimes, I wish I had a magic wand so that I could wave it and make all the problems disappear. Every time my phone rings, I know there is someone on the other side with a heart-wrenching story. The needs here are enormous: food, water, medicines — basic needs that we struggle to get because of the war. I still hope that Yemen will recover soon. Until then, I will continue doing all I can in my capacity to help those who call us on our helpline.
I wish … wait, am I wishing for too much today? Well, no harm to wish for the betterment of humanity. My wish is for COVID-19 to leave us soon. Working from home with a little child and answering the hotline calls has been extremely difficult. The daily power cuts and bad internet and phone connection don’t help either. I also worry for my family, especially Baba who is over sixty now and a heart patient.
But I am lucky to have a cute little daughter, my angel. She has been my light throughout these difficult times. She comes to kiss me when I work. She looks at me and smiles. She has the most beautiful smile.
Ali Jawwad, a medical doctor with the World Health Organization (WHO), in the city of Mukalla
The resilience of my people never ceases to amaze me. The news headlines this morning were just as gloomy as every other day, but what worried me the most was a warning from my organization that our health system is close to collapse. I thought about a kidney patient I met three months ago.
The war had made him look older than his actual age. His face was pale like the dry sand of a desert. His family had brought him for dialysis. He was visibly sick, but the electricity went off and the generators were not operational because of fuel shortage. There was nothing any of us could do but to wait for the power to be back. Despite all this, this amazing man appeared very optimistic. He told me that the mere opening of the centre, regardless of whether or not services were available, gave him hope that it was still possible for him to live another day.
The health workers in Yemen deserve a medal. They are fighting on more than one front.
His optimism taught me humility, empathy and the power of faith. I want to believe that good days will return. Sometimes, though, I feel the pressure so badly. The list of obstacles is long: war, displacement, bad economy, fuel shortage, cholera, floods and now COVID-19. Sometimes, I wish all this was just a bad dream.
I am happy we were able to assist the General Health Office in establishing COVID-19 treatment centres last year and made them ready to receive suspected cases. I still feel the strain in my shoulders. For this centre, I worked around the clock. The process indeed demanded massive energy and hard work, but what made it worthwhile is watching the job done and seeing that people in need of support now receive proper medical assistance.
I am happy to see all the global accolades for health workers. Those in Yemen especially deserve a medal. They are fighting on more than one front.
Naima Tahir, a former Somali refugee in Yemen working as Shelter/non-food item Manager for the International Organization for Migration (IOM) in the city of Marib
I start my day with a cup of coffee, which I take by the window of my bedroom. The window brings in some natural light and a little sense of normalcy during these days of restricted movements. I live in Marib, where we are not allowed to go out unless we visit specific locations at specific times. I look at the wide blue sky as I sip my coffee and my eyes wander from the sky to a partially constructed house in the neighbourhood. Not sure if it’s my job as a shelter manager or the solitude that draws my attention to the small details of the house that I could see from my window. This has now become part of my morning routine.
Yemen has a very special place in my heart. I was only three when my family fled from Somalia in 1987 to escape the war that was just around the corner. Yemen became my home for many years. I spent my childhood here. The generosity and hospitality of Yemenis cannot be found elsewhere in the world. The war has taken so much from the people here, but to this date, their hospitality remains unchanged.
The human cost of this conflict is too high. People once living dignified lives are languishing in camps.
In 2015, when I left Yemen, I didn’t know I would return as a humanitarian worker in 2019, where I’ve been working until today. Here, I manage a team of seven who spend most of their time in the field, assisting distributions of shelter materials — plastic sheets, nails and some poles. The needs and suffering of the people are far greater than the capacity of my team.
Imagine yourself living with your family under a 4x5 sheet of plastic, held up on a few poles to protect you from the sun and rain. The human cost of this conflict is too high. People once living dignified lives are languishing in camps.
When my team and I return from the field every day, we usually share stories of harsh weather or of children playing barefoot, completely oblivious of their surroundings. I will never forget a child I met in an IDP [internally displaced persons] camp. He was nine or 10-years-old. He made us all cry when he told us he could not sleep in the tent, which was torn off and patched in different places. He wanted to go back home and to his school. He said he missed the walls of his room. He said he was afraid of insects and the fear of someone coming in keeps him awake at night.
That night, I noticed the walls of my room for the first time.
Nouf-Al-Hashimi, Assistant Protection Officer for UNHCR Yemen
This morning a Facebook post caught my attention. The post read, ‘for displaced people in Yemen, community centres can be a second home.’ I started thinking about their first homes, about our first home. It refreshed the bitter memories of the morning of April 2015. I was on the phone with my colleague Safa discussing whether or not to go to work because the shelling continued the entire night. All of a sudden, the earth started shaking. I was at my aunt’s house; we had been there since early April due to the continuous airstrikes in the area where my house was located. I talked to Safa again at 6:00 pm to check that they were all alive! It’s been five years since then, but the memories are still so fresh.
There was no point staying in that neighbourhood anymore. Packing my life, memories, belongings and documents in one suitcase was one of the hardest decisions I have had to make. We did not have time to pack everything, so I only packed our identity documents, certificates, family albums, photos and some clothes. Our beautiful house which my dad built with love and affection was hit by mortars twice after we left.
That was the moment I realised how it feels to be a refugee or an IDP. For us, we were lucky. We just moved within the city — from the neighbourhood under attack to a relatively calm area in Sanaa. But many others didn’t have that choice.
If I had to address the world from a podium, I would say, ‘Dear World, enough is enough.’
Every time I hear an explosion, I rush to call my family. The pause between the explosion and my family’s response feels like the longest and toughest period, with tens of scenarios running through my head.
I find solace in my work. The other day, my colleagues and I received a certificate of appreciation from the Refugee Community Leaders. There is nothing more rewarding than seeing a deserving person get the support they need. I sometimes think of a Somali family who were bullied and harassed. Ultimately, we were able to resettle them in Sweden. The best feeling ever.
OK, it’s dinner time. Before the electricity goes off, I better go serve dinner. Every night I pray for this war to end soon. Every night we go to bed, we are not sure what tomorrow will bring. Every time I go to the market, I see poverty dancing in the streets. If I had to address the world from a podium, I would say, ‘Dear World, enough is enough.’
Saeed Saif, Women’s Protection Sub-National Coordinator in Hodeidah for the United Nations Population Fund (UNFPA)
Today, I was reading a report about an increase in the number of domestic violence cases during lockdown. It worries me. Women and girls suffered from issues of gender-based poverty and violations of basic rights even prior to the conflict; now they are facing even more risks and vulnerabilities. The conflict and now the pandemic have further hampered our capacity to reach out to women in need. I can no longer go out as frequently as I’d wish, to meet our partners and the women who would come and ask for assistance.
I try to be strong, but the stories I hear are so painful that even a rock would break into tears.
I do my best to ensure that women and girls receive the services they need regardless of the challenges that come my way.
I try to be strong, but the stories I hear are so painful that even a rock would break into tears. I can never forget the faces of those starving mothers who have not eaten for days. I come across these stories daily. These mothers approach us and request food and medical assistance for their children. They are tired of the war and the challenges they have to face as women. This is not the story of one or two women but, unfortunately, thousands of women and girls without any male support live through this ordeal daily.
My journey as an advocate for women’s rights started after I went through the tough experience of a failed marriage. It was an arranged marriage by our parents without our consent. I resisted but to no avail. My father believed happy marriage is not based on love but rather on producing as many children as possible. He predicted that I would have a happy married life, but this was not the case.
I am writing these things for the first time in my life. As a man, opening up about your personal life is usually not done. But someone has to break the ice, why not me?
It was a rocky start. There were hardly any similarities between my wife and me. I would often leave the house for months leaving her behind to do the daily chores. Just like other men in my surroundings, I did not realize the power imbalance in terms of access to equal opportunities for both men and women. She did everything to please me but on the contrary, I was always too quick to pick on her, criticizing her for everything – the food, the way our children were dressed, the house.
We were struggling to save our marriage, but the strands of our marital relationship just broke off. My wife won the custody of our four-year-old son and two-year-old daughter. I continue to support them financially to ensure their education is not interrupted. I have no shame to admit that my personal experience, including my privileged position as a man in a patriarchal society, opened my eyes to the reality that women, too, have rights and it’s our responsibility to protect those rights.
Sahar Al Hakimi, medical doctor and Yemeni Nutrition Officer for the World Food Programme (WFP)
It is hard to forget the faces of the children I meet during my routine visits to the hospitals — little children who are barely able to open their eyes. You can see them struggling to breathe as they lie in their mothers’ laps, fighting to survive.
I found myself thinking today about Warda, whom I met in one of the hospitals we support when I first joined WFP. She was hardly five months old and weighed just 2kg (4.4 pounds). She was in critical condition because she was malnourished. At this very young age, she was fighting the battle to survive. I couldn’t help thinking how unfair it is that she has such a difficult start in life just because she was born into a family that lived in a remote village and could not access food or health services. I try to be optimistic because I have to keep supporting all children. But sometimes, I feel frustrated.
I am looking for that day when Yemeni people will get a chance to thrive, not just survive
The work I do is difficult due to the constant challenges we face. Managing humanitarian programs remotely is no easy task. This morning, I got a call from one of our nutrition partners working in Dhamar Governorate, where nutrition activities are targeting remote villages in hard-to-reach locations. While transporting nutrition commodities for children and women in one of the mountainous villages where the road is very rough, the truck had an accident. Two people died and three others were severely injured. It was heartbreaking to hear such news.
Living in Yemen is challenging. I am now used to living with anxiety. My brain is always preoccupied with my family’s safety. The threat of bombing always looms. I struggle to find a hospital when my mom gets sick.
Despite the war and the challenges, I live with a positive attitude, counting the blessings and enjoying the happiness in small things. I have to stay optimistic that peace will return one day. I am looking for the day when all Yemeni people will have access to basic life necessities and no one would die of hunger and malnutrition. I am looking for that day when Yemeni people will get a chance to thrive, not just survive. It is my faith that the best is yet to come.
Esam Alduais, Senior Field Assistant for UNHCR Yemen
I spent the day on the phone, sending emails trying to get stocks of the tents, mattress and blankets to the families displaced by the recent fighting. It’s a never-ending saga. Every week is a new battle. Just a few weeks ago, we were rushing assistance to the families affected by rains and floods. Now the frontline in Abyan and Marib are forcing thousands of people on the road again.
All this seems apocalyptic sometimes.
I am managing the coordination, after the post of our coordinator Tesfay was cut last year, when the operation ran out of money. It’s not always easy, especially when you have to work from home.
Only a father of five can understand my situation. I am not complaining but keeping a work/life balance is not easy. When my children see me around, they want me to play with them. They don’t get the concept of ‘work from home.’ Can’t blame them either; the schools are closed and there is not much to keep them entertained.
As we say in Arabic, ‘what is coming is better than what is gone.’ Yemen will rise once again, one day, Insha’Allah.
Today, my youngest son, Mukhtar, invited himself to our weekly virtual meeting. Thank God my camera was off. Otherwise my video would have gone viral, too, like the many others we see these days. We all have our funny work from home experiences. Josiah, who was chairing the meeting, heard Mukhtar talking to me and welcomed him as a ‘new participant.’ Such incidents are now the new normal of our lives. That’s the beauty of life and the joy your children bring into your life.
During these difficult times, I often think about all the people I’ve met in IDP camps … A slightly strong wind would easily blow away their shelters. Years of war have shattered our health system, leaving it incapable of coping with a pandemic. We have no water and sanitation services. People have lost their jobs or savings. How could you tell a thirsty man to first wash his hands and wash it with soap when he has no water to drink? May God protect us all.
Social isolation, disruption of work, family routine, economic instability, job insecurity and ambiguity about the future have all just added insult to injury. Sometimes I feel so powerless. I can’t accept that I can’t predict how things will develop in the coming weeks and months. But I must not give up. I am hopeful about the future. As we say in Arabic, ‘what is coming is better than what is gone.’ Yemen will rise once again, one day, Insha’Allah.
Edited by UNHCR Communications Intern Taraneh Kelishadi
UNHCR, the UN Refugee Agency, is a global organization dedicated to saving lives, protecting rights and building a better future for refugees, forcibly displaced communities and stateless people.
