My story, as literature would tell it
The war took me away from my country, and made me face its many hardships. It forced me to be without family or friends, just a human being wasting away his years, of which not many are left.
I live in Kuwait and see myself as a body without a soul, in a space metaphorically called a house, eight by four metres. The house can’t comprehend the misery of my children, Evan and Lathina – both two and a half years old – and Riva, age seven.
My wife gave birth to our children alone here in Kuwait, with nobody to support her but me. YouTube was my instructor, teaching me how to care for her during pregnancy and childbirth, and how to look after our newborn babies.
Everything has changed. I am not like I was before. I wake up at dawn and dress without making a sound so as not to wake anyone. I leave my house and head to work. It takes two hours using public transportation. I start from al-Jahra, the town where I live, pass through Kuwait City, and then arrive in Hawally, where I work. It’s a distance of around 45 kilometres, including a walk under Kuwait’s blazing son.
I arrive at work at 9 a.m. There I expect to find complaints waiting for me, and violations that must be monitored. I work for a human rights organisation that helps victims. My heart, which is already heavy from so much suffering, still has enough compassion left for these victims and their stories. With all the energy I have left, I try to help them.
I finish work at 5 p.m., and begin the journey back home. My daughter Riva asked me to buy a car. But how can I tell her that my income isn’t enough? How can I tell her that we are living in a house that is small and far from work because I can’t afford anything better? That I’m trying to make ends meet? What empty terms for a 7-year-old girl.
I did not choose to leave Yemen. My work on religious freedom turned me into a target. I first went to Sudan to start over. That’s where I married my beloved Fatima, who had escaped the war in Yemen to Sudan, with her family. I was alone at my wedding, no friends or family to stand with me. Like we are alone now in Kuwait, in a community that is hard to integrate into. Alone like my children, deprived of their grandfather’s kindness, and their grandmother’s tenderness. They are paying the war’s price early in life. The price of their parents’ migration. For their flight from their homeland and from their childhood, which is engraved on the alleys and walls of Sana’a, a city that we no longer recognise.
My story, as journalism would tell it
No family, no friends: Abdul Razzaq al-Azazi is exhausted. At 38 years old, he does not have many years left. He lives in Kuwait as what he describes as a “body without a soul,” in a house of eight by four metres.
He can barely cope with his children, two-and-a-half year old twins Evan and Lathina, and Riva, age 7. His wife gave birth to the children in Kuwait, with nobody to help her except for al-Azazi. He used YouTube to learn how to care for her during pregnancy and childbirth, and then again to learn how to look after the newborns when his wife fell ill.
Al-Azazi gets up at 7 every morning to leave his small house for work. He buys bus tickets, sits in the last row, and puts on his headphones. He listens to a podcast to help him endure the two hours on public transportation. The distance from home to work is around 45 kilometres, including a walk under the blazing hot sun. He does not earn enough to buy a car.
He arrives at his office by 9, where he works for a human rights organisation that provides counselling for victims of abuse. Having fled his home country of Yemen, he does his best to overcome his own worries and help others who have been oppressed .
On his way home from work, al-Azazi often chat on the phone with his family and friends, who he misses but cannot see. He was forced to flee Yemen on 26 May 2015 because of his activism for religious freedom, but he feels that he left his soul behind him.
Al-Azazi first fled Yemen for Sudan, before moving to Kuwait. In Sudan, he was married on 16 August 2015. He had no one to stand beside him at his wedding besides his beloved wife, Fatima. They were engaged in Yemen before the country’s long war broke out. Like him, she was displaced and then fled the country, settling with her family in Sudan. He tried to enjoy his wedding despite his mother’s tears, and the knowledge that he had broken his father’s wish to see his son married.
al-Azazi and Fatima's three children have never met their extended family in Yemen. In that way, the war has impacted them too.
They paid the price of war early, never experiencing the kindness of their grandfather, or the tenderness of their grandmother. They paid the price of their parents' flight from their homeland, a place where their childhood memories are engraved on alleyways. Abdul Razzaq and his wife are now trying to create new memories, but their lives are filled with never-ending misery, inherited pain, and a sadness that never goes away.
The people planning and funding wars, devising aid plans, and trying to negotiate peace all too often fail to talk to the people living at the centre of it all.
Long before Gaza hit the headlines, the term “world’s worst humanitarian crisis” often referred to Yemen. Its devastating war and economic collapse, which began nine years ago, has left hundreds of thousands of people dead from violence, disease, starvation, and a lack of healthcare. Tens of millions more have been caught up in Yemen’s conflict, but its story has mostly been told by journalists, aid groups, and politicians. Until now.
What has it really been like to live through all this? To find out, The Yemen Listening Project asked Yemenis one question: “How has the war impacted your life?”
More than 100 Yemenis – from inside the country and across the world – answered. They sent emails and WhatsApp messages, voice notes, videos, poems, and pictures.
They include testimonies of loss, life in exile, and what it is like to live through bombing and ground battles. But there are also tales of love, family connection, and personal and professional persistence in the face of impossible-seeming obstacles.
When Yemen does make the news, it's too often reduced to faceless narratives. Close this window for a look into the lives behind the headlines, and to listen to Yemenis as they tell their stories, in their own words, in Arabic and English.
*The New Humanitarian cannot independently verify the details of each individual story. They have been edited for style, length, and clarity.
How did The Yemen Listening Project collect stories?
We asked people to submit their stories, in Arabic or English, on an online form, via email, Facebook, or a dedicated WhatsApp number. Once the submissions came in, we asked local journalists to gather stories from some parts of Yemen that were not yet well represented in the submissions.
Why wasn’t every story published?
Unfortunately, we did not have the space to publish every story, but we did read every entry.
Were the stories edited?
Stories were edited for style, length, and clarity. We did add a little context to some stories to help readers who are not familiar with Yemen’s war. Translations between languages are not always word for word.
What’s next for The Yemen Listening Project?
The Yemen Listening Project will be hosting online and in-person events about the project, about Yemen, and about inclusive journalism. Click here to receive updates.
I have an idea for my own listening project. Who should I contact?
Email yemenlistening@thenewhumanitarian.org with the subject line “listening project idea”. If we have enough takers, we will invite you to future workshops about what we have learned in the process of making The Yemen Listening Project, and help connect you with other people who are interested in the same things.Where can I learn more about Yemen?
Houthi rebels, officially called Ansar Allah, took over Yemen’s capital city of Sana’a in late 2014. In March 2015, a Saudi Arabia and United Arab Emirates-led coalition began bombing Houthi-controlled parts of the country, as part of a military campaign to support Yemen’s internationally recognised government.You can find all of The New Humanitarian’s coverage of Yemen’s war and humanitarian crisis here.
What is The New Humanitarian?
The New Humanitarian is a nonprofit newsroom that puts quality, independent journalism at the service of the millions of people affected by humanitarian crises around the world. We report from the heart of conflicts and disasters to inform prevention and response.
| Direction and editing: | Annie Slemrod |
| Project coordination: | Nuha al-Junaid |
| Translation: | Suha al-Junaid and Natakallam |
| Design and web development: | Marc Fehr |
| Audience production: | Whitney Patterson |
| Events: | Matt Crook |