Disease, starvation, and a failing economy means Yemen is facing one of the world’s largest humanitarian crises. With 2025 marking a decade of turmoil, our Media and Communication Coordinator in Yemen, Nada Abu Taleb, reflects on the experiences of displaced families.

I joined Islamic Relief a little over 2 months ago, but I have been working in the humanitarian field for several years. Funnily enough, I’m working in the same building where I had my very first job. It feels like stepping through a time portal, bringing back memories and certainly making me feel older!

Back then, I believed humanitarian work was just a straightforward administrative role. I didn’t begin my career directly in the field, and so didn’t have personal interactions with the people the organisation I worked for aimed to help. Most of my early work revolved around understanding people’s needs and planning how to meet them.I sympathised with their struggles, but, looking back, I realise how distant that sympathy was from a true understanding of their lives. I didn’t know much about the real world.

That all changed when I conducted my first interview – with a young girl named Hafsa*, who had been displaced with her family from the city of Marib to Yemen’s capital, Sana’a, a journey of almost 4 hours by car.

Speaking with them, I realised that once you step outside your cosy bubble, there’s no going back. The realities I witnessed changed me forever.

Understanding displacement

Before meeting Hafsa, I thought I understood displacement: families being forced to move, fathers losing jobs, and the resulting struggle to make ends meet. But I hadn’t grasped the deeper truth. Displacement isn’t just about moving out of your house; it’s about abandoning your home. It’s not merely about the struggle to provide for your family; it’s the heartbreak of facing your loved ones knowing they’ll go to bed hungry that night, yearning for warmth, and dreaming of a place they can once again call home.

When we arrived at Hafsa’s house – a modest shelter she and her family were forced to call home after fleeing their own – her family was ready to welcome us. Her father, who worked at the nearby market after being displaced to Sana’a, greeted us at the door, and her mother had carefully tidied and decorated the house to make it more presentable. These small gestures spoke volumes about their resilience and dignity.

And then there was Hafsa, the little girl I was there to interview. She wore a simple dress, likely the only one she kept for special occasions, and was visibly cautious not to stain it with the dirt from their backyard, where we filmed the interview.

After the customary cup of tea, the atmosphere felt warm and comfortable, and Hafsa began to speak. She shared stories about her daily life – helping her mother clean the house, doing the dishes after school, studying, and playing with her toys. Her homemade toys, though simple and misshapen, were her cherished companions. She laughed as she described how she wanted to grow up to be like her mother and do her own dishes in her own home and with her own family.

Our shared humanity

I couldn’t help but marvel at her resilience. How could a young girl who had faced such immense challenges – displacement, daily struggles for food, and the lack of basic resources – still radiate so much joy and warmth?

Then another realisation hit me: anyone could find themselves suddenly facing the same challenges as Hafsa, even me. A slight twist of fate, a different set of circumstances, and her story could easily have been mine – or yours.

I was reminded of the words of Atticus Finch, a character in the famous novel To Kill a Mockingbird, that you never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view – until you climb inside of their skin and walk around in it.

Meeting Hafsa sparked the change in my understanding of the world and my place in it. It brought a profound sense of shared humanity and humility. Our lives are so often shaped by forces beyond our control – where we are born, the opportunities we have, the challenges we face. In this way, we are all interconnected, part of a fragile web of humanity.

My conversation with Hafsa became so much more than just a conversation. It was a call to action, a reminder to treat everyone with dignity and kindness. Her smile and her spirit taught me that compassion and solidarity are not just values – they are essential principles to live by. They remind us that, despite the hardships, there is resilience, strength, and hope in every one of us.

Hafsa is just one of more than 4.5 million people who have been internally displaced in Yemen. Many are forced to live in cramped camps without access to food, water and medical assistance. Please donate today to help Islamic Relief support the people of Yemen.

*Name changed to protect confidentiality