Our village, like many others, is nestled in a valley known as “Sharar,” situated within the district of Al-Qabeta, which ...

Upon our return from Aden to our village, Sharar in Qabeyta, we were burdened by sorrow and the weight of long separation. We ...

The experience of thwarting death’s grasp, of preventing it from snatching your child away, is a visceral sensation that ...

“Hashem” is a name that weighs heavily upon my shoulders. It is the fourth name in my identity, yet it has become a ...

In Their era, the face of vitality has darkened with gloom. Our days are twisted by despair and regret. The spirit bleeds, ...

A fragment of my early childhood in Aden is etched in my memory; some recollections come easily, while others elude me.

Such contempt springs from individuals consumed by emptiness and bravado—those who thrive on pillaging and corruption and ...

A grievous blow has struck us, yet a compounded tragedy has befallen my father. A family’s tragedy as the provider loses his meager income, while another family in the village suffers from poverty and ...

What we endure is fragmentation, hunger, and loss. Our sighs and groans break our spirits as we lament: We once had Yemen; we ...

On the margins of death, loss, and profound sorrow, I find myself today reflecting with a curious intellect: Why, O God, must ...

Time passes, dear Father, as we struggle against formidable adversities. After a long period of quietude, decades have slipped away. Souls that once found solace have emerged anew from the rubble—like ...

As my father’s age began to wane like a setting sun, trailing its pale red remnants, the mountain sighed with its sorrows and memories, heavy with longing, pain, and reproach.