Action Against Hunger leads the global movement to end hunger. We innovate solutions, advocate for change, and reach 28 million people every year with proven hunger prevention and treatment programs. As a nonprofit that works across 55 countries, our 8,900 dedicated staff members partner with communities to address the root causes of hunger, including climate change, conflict, inequity, and emergencies. We strive to create a world free from hunger, for everyone, for good.
- Population: 32 million
- People in Need: 23.4 million
- People Helped Last Year: 334,859
- Our Team: 125 employees
- Program Start: 2012
Action Against Hunger’s Communications Officer in Yemen, Nada al-Saqaf, shares her story of what life has been in Yemen, before and during the seven-year conflict.
Growing up in Lahj, in the village of Alwaht, was filled with joy and fun. My older brother, sister, and I used to go with our grandmother to the green fields of Lahj every harvest season to play and watch people and help relatives gather their fruits and vegetables. It was like a festival, with everyone happy and enjoying their time.
My older brother used to wake up early in the morning, and say to me: “Nada, would you like to go for a bicycle ride to the local market?” and, even if I was sleepy, my answer would always be yes.
I would wash my face and put on my favorite Barbie long-sleeved shirt. We would ride the bicycle together, with me in the back, hanging tightly onto his shirt and closing my eyes to feel the sweet morning breezes hitting my face, and enjoying the smell of fresh bread coming from the market. We would buy some [bread] for breakfast, and it was always fun to eat some on our way home.
I was 7 years old then, my brothers were 9 and 4 and my sister was 11.
My parents are both science teachers: my mom teaches chemistry at the high school in the village, and my father works at the medical school, teaching college biology. They met and fell in love while they studied in college.
They didn’t want to live in a village, it was just temporary until they could find a decent place to live in the capital city, Aden. When I was 8, we moved there. I was so excited for school – and I was good at it. I met three friends, who are still my best friends today.
Life was good. It had a smooth rhythm: after school, I would take my brother and my scooter to play in the neighborhood before going home to do my homework.
Then the war began.
Everyone around us was escaping the city, but we could not. The airport was closed, and the only way to flee was by road. We couldn’t – it would have been so difficult for [my little brother, who was ill and disabled]. My mum said we will be strong together and we will survive.
It is hard to describe what it’s like to live in a war. There were food shortages. The air was filled with booming and shooting all the time. We felt airplane attacks that rocked the whole building and heard the sound of our neighbors’ children crying in fear.
There is so much disappointment and despair. My favorite restaurant, my hang out spots with my friends, my beloved school – they are all ashes now. My childhood friends joined the army. Many have died. My beautiful village is burning and the gardens are deserts. I used to draw and read a lot, but I stopped. I felt like I had to erase my beautiful memories and they were replaced with emptiness, fear, depression.
You never know if it will ever end. You are not just scared to die: you fear severe injuries, or not being able to reach a hospital in time to help yourself or a loved one.
We used to sleep in the room in the middle of our house, but was so scary to hear the booming nearby. You sleep with all of your senses awake, awaiting horrible things. When you wake up, the first thing you do is turn on the TV and search for hope between the horrible news.
Every day is the same day, if not worse. You question everything about the future: Am I going to get my degree? Am I going to have a job? Am I going to fall in love?
Am I going to live?
When the war broke out, I had one semester left in college. I waited and waited for the school to reopen so I could finish my degree. It finally did, and I graduated and was hired to be an instructor.
Then I met him – the love of my life.
He came to me asking for design advice, and we worked together to make t-shirts. We were partners and friends, and then our relationship grew into love. He proposed a year later, and I didn’t hesitate to say “yes.”
We have been married now for two years. I have never regretted it – not once!
He supports me in every step I take. With him by my side, I became better person, a stronger woman, knowing that I have a solid shoulder to lean on. He let me be the person I want to be and never tried to change a single thing about me. I felt like I was falling in love with myself again.
I worked as a designer for Oxfam and ADRA, and now I work with Action Against Hunger as a Communications Officer.
In my work, I meet people who suffer deeply as a result of the war. It breaks my heart. Most of them are displaced, living in tents or rented houses that they can’t afford. They have no money, and are trapped by their debts. Their children are malnourished. Being part of Action Against Hunger gives me the chance to share their stories with the world.
Yemen is the world’s largest humanitarian crisis. Whenever Yemen is in the news, the world only sees stereotypical images of starving children and destruction. It is painful and numbing at the same time.
For all the people whose children are malnourished, whose homes have been destroyed, those who have broken dreams and lost loved ones, everyday life is a living hell.
Seeing my country like this tortures me. I know how good the Yemeni people are. They – we – deserve a decent life. I am pregnant with my first child, and this worries me all the time. What kind of a life he is going to have? If he get sick, how can I trust an under resourced health system?
Living in Yemen means you worry about everything, from electricity to water to gas to money. Nothing around you is stable. You forget your dreams because real life is so harsh. You can barely make it through the week without getting insane. Every day, living requires so much mental strength.
I wonder: what will I teach my child about his country? How will I make him feel proud that he is Yemeni, when all that surrounds him is destruction?
But nothing stays the same forever, and I still hope that something will change for the better. I don’t know how or when, but I know that I will do all I can, with all I have, to serve people in need and to stay positive and hopeful.
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