Olive trees and their fruit are central not only to the everyday lives of Palestinians, but also as a symbol of Palestinian resistance and resilience.

Here, we break down the significance of the olive tree to Palestinians.

A deeply rooted history

Olive trees are among the oldest cultivated trees on Earth. With an average lifespan of some 300-600 years, the trees can support families and communities for generations.

Some olive trees have been reported as living for thousands of years, with the world’s oldest believed to be between 2,000 and 4,000 years old.

The long lives of olive trees reflect the history of Palestinian communities on their land, where the trees have been a constant amid hundreds of years of political change and upheaval.

The presence of the trees also challenges the idea that Palestine was ‘a land without people’, as claimed by settler movements in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries.

An economic lifeline

Olives are the primary or secondary source of income for some 80,000-100,000 Palestinian families. Before October 2023, they accounted for 70% of fruit production in the Occupied Palestinian Territory (OPT). Most of the annual olive harvest (93%) is used to produce olive oil, while the rest is used for soap, table olives and pickled olives.

Most of the OPT’s olive products are consumed locally, but exports to the region and internationally are increasingly common.

A cultural emblem

Harvest season, traditionally October-November, has long been a time for families to come together and pick olives from their trees, often singing and sharing stories while they work. Universities and schools even give students time off for the harvest.

Most of the olives are pressed for oil, which is used in cooking – from making zaatar to stews and pastries – but olives are also present in some medicines and cosmetics, as well as soap.

Some olive oil even serves a religious purpose, with Muslims and Christians considering it a blessed or symbolic substance and using it in their rites.

Beyond seeing olive trees solely as a source of income, many Palestinians have a strong emotional connection to their trees, which they care for over years and decades, almost as they would a family member.

Olive trees and their fruit feature prominently in art from the OPT, with many painters and poets such as Mahmoud Darwish and Tawfiq Zayyad drawing on their powerful symbolism.

Olive trees and Gaza

Olive trees have been yet another casualty of Israel’s devastating bombardment of Gaza. As cultivated land has been destroyed by military attacks, many families have been forced to take an axe to their own trees for firewood amid crippling fuel shortages.

In a November 2024 blog, written to mark the International Day of Solidarity with the Palestinian People, an Islamic Relief aid worker recounted this experience:

“I cannot forget that olive trees provided us with wood and leaves to burn for heat and cooking when there was no fuel. We keep taking, and they keep giving. Even their extended branches sheltered us when there was no shelter.”

Forced to flee to a nearby country where they are now safe with their family, but longing for home and peace, our colleague wrote:

“I wish I’d had the chance to hug my own trees goodbye. It’s a feeling so many of us share… We have a profound bond with these trees and the land they grow on. They are an integral part of our heritage, food and even our proverbs – a heritage accumulated through centuries of connection. As the Palestinian poet Mahmoud Darwish said, ‘Here we remain, as long as thyme and olives remain.’

“The olive trees and the people bonded to them can only live and thrive on this land, just as other types of trees flourish where they too belong.”

A symbol of resistance

Olive trees are drought-resistant and can grow even in poor soil conditions. These characteristics have made the trees symbolic of Palestinians’ attachment to their land.

Beyond symbolism, olive trees play a material role in the resistance of Palestinians to illegal occupation and land seizures. Planting and cultivating these trees are acts of defiance amid occupation, while the presence of the trees makes it more difficult to claim land is uninhabited or unused.

However, many farmers have been cut off from their trees, with access to land hugely restricted by Israeli controls. An inconsistently implemented permit system severely hampers farmers’ ability to cultivate their trees. Permits are granted to individuals, meaning families can often not work together to care for their trees – resulting in smaller harvests. Farmers must also often pass through checkpoints to reach their land. These checkpoints are only open at certain times of day, which restricts the time farmers can spend working their land and so also limits the harvest.

While olive trees can survive without constant cultivation, meaning they can still be a valuable source of income for families despite the hefty access challenges, the impact of separating farmers from their land and trees is significant.

Olive trees under attack

Sadly, olive trees – and the farmers who cultivate them – have become a target for attacks, particularly just before and during harvest season.

This is especially the case in the West Bank, where trees have been uprooted, burned and hacked apart by settlers. In 2025, United Nations agency OCHA reported the highest level of damage due to settler attacks since 2020, with over 4,000 trees attacked in 126 incidents recorded across 70 towns and villages.

Such attacks have been condemned by international non-governmental organisations, as well as some Jewish groups, who point out that the Torah prohibits the destruction of trees, including during wartime.

The destruction of trees in conflict also violates the Geneva Convention, specifically Articles 54 and 55.

Local communities and civil society groups have taken steps to protect trees and farmers during harvest season, as well as to replace trees that have been destroyed, but OCHA figures suggest the problem is getting worse.

Islamic Relief is supporting Palestinians in need

Over the years, Islamic Relief has provided families with olive trees, which they can use to boost their income and improve their diet.

This work helps ensure Palestinians have enough food in the future, makes communities better able to handle challenge, protects the environment, and keeps cultural traditions alive

Providing olive trees is just one of the ways Islamic Relief is supporting Palestinians in desperate need.

Find out more and donate to our Palestine Appeal here.

As the world marks the 78^th anniversary of Nakba Day, four humanitarian workers from Islamic Relief Palestine share what ‘home’ means to them.

A memory suspended between what once was but is no longer

For me, ‘home’ is no longer just walls and a roof. It has become a memory suspended between what once was but is no longer. Whenever I hear the word, small details rush to mind – details that once shaped my life; an apartment I finished with care and love a year before the war began, furnished with the most beautiful pieces, and warmth in every corner. There was my daughter’s room, decorated with Cinderella drawings, where she laughed and dreamed. There was my son’s room, with the Spider-Man designs, reflecting his innocence and passion. I didn’t have enough time to truly enjoy it all. It was as if time itself was rushing me towards loss.

On my last visit to the house after our 10^th displacement, I found it damaged – cracked walls, crooked doors, windows without any glass. Yet, it still held something unseen; a hidden warmth, memories and hope. That was when I realised that a home is not what a building’s walls contain, but what that place leaves within us. I tried to recreate that feeling in the places we were displaced to, but something was always missing. Nothing resembled the smell of home, the laughter of my children in its corners, or the greetings of neighbours that once began my day.

The news of our home’s complete destruction reached me on the morning of Eid al-Adha 2025, at 9 o’clock. ‘May God compensate you with blessings, your house is gone.’ The news struck like lightening, yet I didn’t feel the pain immediately. I simply said, “Alhamdulillah.” I was like a football player who doesn’t feel an injury until the wound cools.

My real pain began when I returned to my family – the news had already reached them, and I saw the tears in my wife and children’s eyes. Only then did I realise that I hadn’t just lost 4 walls, I had lost a part of my soul. The longing for every detail, even for the sounds of the neighbours, grew stronger. For me, returning home is no longer a question of returning to a place, but to an entire life… one I am still searching for everywhere.

Home is a feeling of being understood

When I think about home, I do not really see a place or a building. It is more of a feeling, like something settling inside me. Home is in the things like how the sunlight hits the same corner of the room every afternoon, the familiar creak of a door, or the smell of food drifting in before I’d even stepped into the kitchen – and stolen some from behind my mother’s back, just to taste it, before she’d yell at me, “lunch is ready, don’t fill your stomach!” Home is not just where I am, it is a place where I don’t have to think about who I am.

Most of the memories I hold onto are not big or dramatic, they are just little moments. I remember sitting around a table where no one cared that everyone was talking at once. I remember hearing laughter carry from one room to another. Even the silence felt different. It was comfortable, not empty. I remember evenings that stretched out long enough for stories to be told again and again but still feel worth listening to. On their own, those moments do not seem like much. But together, they form something solid.

I have also realised that home is not always tied to a place, sometimes home is people. Home is in the way someone says my name or how they just know my habits, likes and dislikes without asking. Home shows up in meals, nothing fancy, just familiar dishes. One bite of something I have eaten a hundred times can bring back so many memories. Even small traditions matter. They do not have to be big celebrations planned for weeks, just little things that quietly remind me that this is us and this is my home.

The last time I felt at home somewhere nothing big had happened. No emotional reunion, no significant moment. It was just easy – I slipped back into things without thinking. I did not feel like a guest, I did not feel like I had to explain myself. I felt understood, and this is what home comes down to for me, that feeling of being understood.

In the end, home is not really about walls or a specific place, home is about connection. It is about my family members and loved ones. Home is wherever I can be myself, and whomever I can be myself with, without having to explain. It is what I go back to in life, or even just in my mind, when I need to feel like myself again – feel safe again – with all my family members and loved ones gathered together. That is my home.

Home is a place that carries us as much as we carry it

When I hear the word ‘home’, the first things that come to mind are safety, peace and warmth. I imagine the house we worked so hard to turn into exactly what we’d once dreamt of.

It was a simple home, but it was full of us. It had only 3 rooms – a room for my wife and I, a room for our only daughter, and a large room that held the laughter and dreams of our 4 sons. Even the kitchen had a special spirit. It had been designed carefully by my wife and every corner carried her personal touch.

We used to visit our house every Friday while it was still being built, following every small detail step by step and waiting with excitement for it to be ready. Although it was bought through a bank loan over 85 months, what we felt was not the weight of debt, but the joy of a dream turning into reality.

The most beautiful days of our lives were spent in that home. Our children grew up there, in the Tel Al-Hawa neighbourhood of southern Gaza. They made their first friends there and got involved with the nearby kindergartens, schools and playgrounds. We used to walk to the sea together, and it was as if even the road there formed part of our daily happiness. Life around us felt simple and close; our neighbours became like an extended family. We often gathered on our balcony, grilled meat and chicken, laughed and shared our lives – as if we’d never run out of time. Every corner of that house held a memory. We built it step by step, leaving a part of ourselves in every part of it.

But our happiness did not last. Our home was destroyed during a period of conflict, and we lost not only the building itself, but everything inside it: furniture, clothes, appliances, the children’s toys, books and schoolbooks. We lost so many memories at once. It was as if a part of our life suddenly went out.

Today, we live in a rented house, where we’re trying to recreate that feeling of ‘home’, but something always feels missing. I have come to understand that a true home is not just a place we live in, but something that carries us as much as we carry it.

Despite the pain, the memories remain warm in our hearts – a mixture of longing, sorrow, and hope. The house may no longer exist as it once was, but it still lives within us, and the dream it represents remains alive, as if we are waiting for the day we’ll rebuild it again – not only with stones, but with everything we lost.

Home is no longer a place, but an ache within us

When the word ‘home’ is spoken, I do not see a door or a stretch of wall. The picture that forms in my mind instead is something vividly alive, a scene woven from delicate details that the eye might overlook, yet the soul faithfully remembers. It is there that memory quietly recreates itself, time and again.

Home, in the truest sense, is not merely a space we inhabit. It is a small homeland where our dreams reside, where memories endure, untouched by the erosion of time. It is the first scent that greets me before I cross the threshold, the soft light filtering through a window I know by heart, the familiar voice that gently dissolves the estrangement of the passing days.

It is the one place where I owe no explanations, where I don’t need to justify what I feel. It is my mirror to life, in which I exist exactly as I am, without masks or defences. Within it, my memories gather in the simplest of forms – a fleeting laugh, a long conversation on a quiet night. Even a silence that soothes, rather than burdens. It is also where my journey into motherhood first began to take shape.

The beauty of home is that it is not confined to a place. Rather, it is a feeling that travels with us. Sometimes all it takes is a familiar taste to recall my children’s early years, or an old melody that carries me back to my youth, and, for a fleeting moment, I am home again. Yet, the longing persists. Some details cannot be recreated; the warmth of family, the order of things as they once were. Even the small, meaningful chaos we once lived within.

On 30 October, I left my home. I carried nothing but the Qur’an and a few belongings, leaving behind a lifetime suspended within its walls. Since that day, home is no longer a place. It has become an ache that dwells within us, wherever we go.

In the new place where war has forced me to live, I try to cultivate fragments of that feeling. I arrange my belongings with care. I hold tightly to tangible memories. I create small rituals to restore a sense of familiarity. Yet, there remains a part of home that cannot be carried with us, only longed for. And, if one day, dreams reclaim their place in reality, if I return to myself, to the home that once was, it will not merely be a journey from one place to another. It will be a return to a lighter self. A moment of pure belonging, where everything within me gently finds its balance again.

Home is where I began, and the refuge I return to whenever distance grows too heavy. It is a presence that does not vanish, even in absence – a place that lives deeply within me, as I have lived deeply within it. Memory overflows and so does the heart. From the fabric of our daily lives emerges the simple beauty of Palestinian musakhan. It was never just a meal; it was always a story of home and warmth. The scent of bread, the echo of our laughter, the taste of olive oil and olives all carry us back. They reopen the door to the home we all left behind. The rising smoke of onions and sumac feels like a guide, leading us back to moments of safety we once knew. Each bite becomes a memory. The dish becomes a small embrace, one we cling to, trying to conceal the ache of separation.

We tell ourselves that houses can be rebuilt, so long as the taste of home lives within us. But the truth remains: leaving home is unbearably painful. It fractures something deep within, and our hearts continue to carry that wound.

In the end, home transcends walls and geography. It becomes a state of warmth and belonging that lives within us. We may lose our houses and maps may be redrawn, but our true home remains, like a hidden secret within our hearts. And, perhaps, in a rare moment of truth, we come to realise that returning home was never about a place. It was always about finding a way back to ourselves.

These are the stories of Islamic Relief Palestine staff in their own words. Many of our colleagues, like the 4 above, have become displaced since October 2023, and are striving to support communities in need while also rebuilding their own lives. Please help them to continue being a lifeline to vulnerable people in Gaza. Donate to our Palestine Appeal today.

May 15 is Nakba Day, an annual day of commemoration that continues to hold additional meaning this year as Palestinians endure mass displacement, occupation and crippling hunger. Here, we look at the origins and significance of the day. 

What is Nakba Day?

Nakba Day is commemorated annually on May 15. It marks the beginning of the destruction of the Palestinian homeland, and the mass displacement in 1948 of the majority of the Palestinian population. 

Nakba means ‘catastrophe’ in Arabic and is the word used by Palestinians and others to refer to this historic moment. For some, the term is also used to describe the subsequent and ongoing persecution of Palestinians and their loss of territory.   

In 1998, Nakba Day was officially inaugurated by Palestinian leader Yasser Arafat, though the date had been marked since 1949. Since 2023 it has been formally commemorated at the UN General Assembly.

What happened in May 1948?

May 1948 saw the start of a mass displacement in which over 700,000 Palestinians were forced from their homes.  

Over the course of the 1948 Palestine War, which lasted until January 1949, Israeli forces destroyed more than 530 Palestinian villages and carried out several massacres, killing some 15,000 people, according to researcher Salman Abu Sitta.

78% of Palestine’s historic territory was captured and used to establish what is now Israel. The remaining land was divided into today’s Occupied Palestinian Territory – the West Bank, including East Jerusalem, and the Gaza Strip. 

Following Israeli victory in the war, abandoned homes were given to new settlers. The descendants of many of the Palestinians who fled in 1948 remain displaced to this day, both within Palestine and around the world. There are now more than 6 million Palestine refugees worldwide, according to the United Nations (UN).

What led up to the Nakba?

From 1920 until May 1948, the United Kingdom ruled over a territory called Mandatory Palestine under an agreement by the League of Nations – a precursor to the UN. 

Following the end of World War II and the horror of the Holocaust, the British announced their intention to end the mandate, and the newly created UN began seeking to redraw the boundaries of Palestine to allow for the creation of a Jewish state.  

None of the various partition plans suggested received support from the Palestinians or The Arab League (a body established after World War II to foster political, economic and social ties between Arab nations in the Middle East and North Africa). However, when the mandate ended, the establishment of the state of Israel was declared, triggering the 1948 Palestine War, also known as the 1948 Arab-Israeli War. 

What happened after the Nakba?

In the 78 years since the Nakba, the Israeli state has continued to encroach into Palestinian territory, displacing families and violating international law in the process.  

Among the major instances of this was the Six Day War of 1967, which saw Israeli forces occupy all of historic Palestine, including Gaza and the West Bank, expelling 300,000 people from their homes. 

In the decades since, tensions in the region have remained high, with frequent flare ups. However, the scale of the escalation that began in October 2023 is truly unprecedented. In Gaza over 72,700 people have been killed; and many more forced from their homes, often repeatedly. Among the displaced are Palestinians who moved to Gaza from elsewhere in Palestine after the Nakba, and their descendants.

What are the long-term consequences of the Nakba?

The Nakba resulted in the world’s longest running unresolved refugee crisis, with over 6 million Palestine refugees worldwide at present. Most live in neighbouring countries, including Jordan, Lebanon and Syria. In some cases, Palestinian refugees in the Middle East have endured war and further displacement in their host countries.  

The enormous loss of territory which began with the Nakba continues to affect the everyday lives of Palestinians. Many valuable resources are in land now claimed by Israel, preventing Palestinians from accessing them and potentially growing their economy. 

The Israeli occupation, which has been ruled illegal under international law, affects every aspect of Palestinians’ lives. It denies their basic human rights, undermines their dignity and entrenches poverty. It restricts movement, trade and access to water, services, farmland, markets and religious sites. It cuts Palestinians in Gaza, East Jerusalem and the West Bank off from each other, separating families and friends.

Gaza has been under Israeli blockade since 2007. The blockade restricts the movement of goods and people in and out of the Strip, devastating the economy and people’s futures and disrupting humanitarian efforts. For years, thousands of essential items have been restricted from entering Gaza because Israel considers them to have a ‘dual use’, meaning items could potentially be used for both civilian and military purposes. In practice, this can include almost anything that people need. Items including fuel, water filters, solar pumps and surgical scissors have been refused entry.

Since October 2023 Israel has tightened the blockade even further, restricting food, medicine, fuel and other vital items from entering. Following the November 2025 ceasefire agreement, some aid and commercial supplies are allowed to enter but nowhere near enough to meet the huge needs.

How is Nakba Day commemorated?

For many, Nakba Day is an opportunity to draw attention to the historic persecution of Palestinians and their expulsion from their land, and highlight that it is still very much ongoing, particularly now, amid the unprecedented crisis.

Nakba Day is also a time to celebrate Palestine’s rich culture and history outside of a narrative of suffering, which for many defines the territory and its people. Palestinians are not only resilient, they are talented writers and dancers, gifted embroiderers, leading academics and scientists, and generous hosts.  

In 2023, for the first time in history, the United Nations marked Nakba Day. The global body held an event to ‘serve as a reminder of the historic injustice suffered by the Palestinian people,’ as well as to highlight the ongoing refugee crisis. The event included speeches, music, photos and personal testimonies. 

Why is Islamic Relief talking about Nakba Day?

Islamic Relief has been working in the Occupied Palestinian Territory since 1997, supporting Palestinians in need through emergency response efforts and development programming. Despite immense challenges, throughout the current crisis we have delivered lifesaving aid including water supplies, hygiene kits, psychosocial support for children and millions of hot meals.

We are also providing healthcare to expectant mothers and their newborns, running education activities for children living in displacement camps, and expanding our orphan sponsorship programme

This support is a lifeline for thousands of families in a time of desperate need.

Many of our staff and local partners have become displaced since October 2023 and are facing the same challenges as the communities we support. Our office in Gaza is among the almost 900,000 buildings destroyed or damaged by Israel’s bombing campaign. 

On Nakba Day we commemorate the ongoing suffering and injustice facing the Palestinian people, and their continued expulsion from their land. Their suffering is not consigned to the history books: it is a deepening and devastating humanitarian crisis unfolding before the eyes of the world. More than 6 months since the ceasefire announcement, Israel continues to block humanitarian aid and Palestinians continue to suffer daily attacks, severe humanitarian deprivation, and mass displacement.  

We are calling on international governments to protect Palestinians’ right to stay on their land and live in safety and dignity. World leaders must demand full adherence to the ceasefire agreement, an end to the Israeli occupation, protection of civilians and full unimpeded humanitarian access.

This is the present-day reality for everyone in Gaza, but whether it remains their future too depends on the decisions made by world leaders and international bodies today.   

Please help Islamic Relief to continue supporting families in desperate need in Gaza. Donate to Palestine Appeal now.  

Sana Basim, Head of Programmes for Islamic Relief Lebanon looks back on the country’s ‘Black Wednesday’ – the deadliest day of bombing in many years.

Lebanon carries many dates etched into its memory, days of loss, pain, and survival. But 8 April will remain one of the ugliest scars, a date marked by inhumanity, injustice, and brutal violence that cannot be forgotten.

Despite the 2024 ceasefire, Israeli violations never truly ceased. Attacks on southern Lebanon continued, relentless and normalised. Then came the escalation following the US‑Israel‑Iran war, triggering mass displacement across the country. Nearly 20% of Lebanon’s population was forced from their homes. Once again, civilians paid the highest price.

Islamic Relief Lebanon has been among the frontline responders, working tirelessly to support conflict‑affected communities. In the days following this deadliest hour, I spoke with several displaced people. What struck me most was not their words but their silence. They didn’t know what to say. Yet one fear, unspoken but unavoidable, was written clearly on their faces:

Are we going to become another Gaza?

Will the world let that happen to us, the way it let it happen to Palestinians in Gaza?

Their silence was deafening. So were the questions in their eyes.

As a humanitarian worker, someone who speaks about humanitarian principles, international humanitarian law, and justice, I found myself utterly speechless. In moments like this, those concepts felt hollow. For the people of Lebanon, they had become words on paper, stripped of meaning, value, and protection.

A day like any other

April 8 began like any other day of crisis. My team was distributing water in one of the shelters in Beirut, while I was preparing situation reports and drafting emergency response plans. Since the war began, Islamic Relief Lebanon has been operating in a hybrid modality: staff living outside Beirut working remotely or coming in when needed, while Beirut‑based staff continued to report to the office. That Wednesday was no different.

Then I heard a loud sound.

At first, I thought it was Israeli jets breaking the sound barrier, something they often do, which terrorises the population. But then came another blast. And another.

We gathered in one room where we could see thick grey smoke rising into the sky. Panic set in. Phones started ringing with non-stop calls, messages, alerts. Shock, fear, disbelief filled the space. HR immediately launched a headcount poll on our staff WhatsApp group to make sure everyone was safe. The security focal point rushed to contact the distribution team.

One of the airstrikes had landed just 3 kilometres away from Islamic Relief distributions but all staff remained safe.

The team reported chaos at the shelter. Children were crying and screaming. The sound of the strikes was overwhelming. Smoke filled the air. The smell of explosives was strong and suffocating. Fear was everywhere.

Soon after, videos began flooding our phones. They felt unreal like scenes from a movie, except this was real life. Bombs dropping everywhere. People crying and running. Ambulance sirens cutting through the air. People honking on the roads as panic spread. Many abandoned their cars in the middle of the street and ran, desperate to escape.

Within minutes, Beirut, the city of life, movement, and resilience—turned into a horror scene.

Later, media reported that over 100 airstrikes were carried out in just 10 minutes, without any prior warning. Residential and commercial buildings were hit. People went missing. More than 300 casualties were reported, with hundreds more injured.

That hour changed everything.

And for many, survival itself became an act of resistance.

A fragile, temporary, peace

Last night, a 10-day ceasefire was announced – a welcome piece of news but one which is being met with some scepticism in Lebanon.

The agreement applies only to the part of the country lying north of the Litani river and, more worryingly, only to air-based attacks and not Israel’s ground invasion.

People remain fearful that fighting will break out again after the 10-day pause, if it even lasts that long.

Islamic Relief hopes the ceasefire holds and urges international government with leverage and all parties involved to ensure that it is fully respected.

Islamic Relief is working to support vulnerable communities in Lebanon throughout this crisis. Please help us to continue this life-saving work. Donate to our International Emergency Appeal today.

In a crisis that has stripped millions of their basic rights, Khatmala’s community kitchen proves that humanity survives even when systems collapse.

In Gedaref’s internally displaced persons camps, Khatmala runs a ‘takaaya’ – a community kitchen – where she provides and shares food and drink, that have become lifelines for those who have lost everything.

“I fetch water, get the ice ready, and then people start coming,” she says. “My joy never fades. I just keep talking with people, I don’t like to sit idle.”

In a nation where more than 12 million have been displaced and over 30 million people need humanitarian assistance, Khatmala’s takaaya has become something extraordinary – the difference between life and starvation for people in Sudan.

What happens when every right disappears

The long running conflict in Sudan has created what the UN calls the world’s worst humanitarian crisis. Over 80% of healthcare facilities are closed, food production has collapsed and there famine-like conditions being reported from multiple regions.

For women and girls, the conflict has been devastating.

More than 12 million live at risk of gender-based violence. Sexual violence has become a systematic weapon of war with widespread and horrific reports of women being forced into sexual slavery, gang rapes and the assault of children.

Simply being female in Sudan, as UN Women puts it, is “a strong predictor of hunger, violence and death.”

The fundamental rights in the Universal Declaration – life, security, food, shelter, freedom from torture – have been obliterated for millions.

This is the context in which Khatmala serves tea each morning.

A true community kitchen

Takaayas in Sudan represent something profound: when institutions fail, communities become the last line of defence.

“Every Friday, I cook breakfast and sometimes lunch,” Khatmala explains. Camp police help when they can. Neighbours contribute what little they have. “Everyone comes and eats. You have to extend your hand to others.”

Before Islamic Relief’s support, conditions were harsh.

“When it rained, I sat there soaking wet,” she remembers. The organisation brought a tent, sheeting, supplies. “Now I’m covered. Now I can do more.”

The support represented more than materials, it was recognition. Her work matters.

“I can’t ignore a hungry person. If I see a neighbour’s child who hasn’t eaten, I share what I have. That’s just God’s mercy.

“I try to give what I can, so I don’t forget the blessings I receive,” she reflects. “When you eat from what God gives, remember those who have less.” 

When the world looks away

Islamic Relief’s first ever intervention was responding to famine in Sudan in 1984 – Over 4 decades later and we are still here. In the past 2 years alone, Islamic Relief has reached more than 1.2 million people with vital humanitarian aid including food, water, medical support, dignity kits, and support for initiatives like Khatmala’s kitchen.

The gap between need and response is catastrophic, however. Without urgent action, Sudan risks total state collapse, a nightmare with massive regional consequences. Without proper funding and without political will to end the conflict, millions more will be pushed past the brink.

When asked what message she would give to people beyond Sudan, Khatmala says: “I just want to tell people: do good. We don’t need to brag – just say, ‘Alhamdulillah, we helped.’ Even a handful of dirt, if given sincerely, is valuable to God.

“Whatever you can give, we accept with open hearts. We just want your kindness, your good words, your prayers.”

The work that cannot wait

Khatmala’s story offers an urgent reminder: human rights aren’t abstract principles. They are fundamentals. They are the difference between life and death.

This Human Rights Day marks the end of 16 Days of Activism Against Gender-Based Violence campaign, we need to celebrate and support community leaders like Khatmala. We need to ensure women’s participation in peace processes and hold perpetrators accountable. Transform pledges into resources that actually reach people.

Crucially we need to view people like Khatmala clearly, not as helpless victims, but as architects of their own survival, deserving partnership and support.

Islamic Relief has been supporting vulnerable communities in Sudan for over 40 years. To support our lifesaving work and help women like Khatmala continue serving their communities, please donate to our International Emergency Appeal today.

Dr Masih Farahimi leaves for work each day fearing arrest simply for being a woman. Yet she continues to show up, knowing that pregnant mothers and newborns depend on her presence. Her story reveals both the crushing weight of gender-based restrictions and the unbreakable spirit of Afghan women refusing to disappear.

“Every day when we leave the house, we despair that we might be arrested for being a woman and not returned back.”

Dr Masih Farahimi speaks these words with quiet intensity. A medical doctor working as a midwife with Islamic Relief’s Hira Project since March 2020, Dr Farahmi embodies a paradox that defines life for countless Afghan women: continuing to serve her community whilst living under restrictions designed to erase her from public life entirely.

As the world marks 16 Days of Activism against Gender-Based Violence, from 25 November to 10 December, Dr Masih’s reality demands our attention. One in 3 women around the world experience violence, but for Afghan women, the violence isn’t just physical. It’s systemic, structural, and suffocating.

The daily calculation

Dr Masih works full time in a maternity ward, focusing on antenatal care, postnatal care, and family planning services. Basic healthcare that saves lives. Yet reaching work requires navigating a maze of restrictions that would break most people.

She is forced to travel with a mahram (a male guardian) almost everywhere; There is a constant dress code to adhere to; Training or meetings outside the province are often forbidden.

Dr Masih has to make the same mental calculation each morning: is the risk worth it?

“We don’t have security,” she explains simply. The understatement masks a profound truth. Since August 2021, Afghanistan has implemented increasingly severe restrictions on women.

In December 2024, authorities banned women from studying medicine, nursing, or midwifery, closing some of their last pathways to professional healthcare roles. Earlier that year, a new law formalised existing restrictions and introduced fresh ones, including prohibiting women from speaking aloud in public.

For female health workers like Dr Masih, these restrictions create impossible situations. Nearly 90% of medical staff in earthquake-affected regions are men. When disasters strike, women and girls comprise over half the casualties but face critical barriers accessing care. Male doctors cannot examine them under strict social codes. Female doctors are vanishingly rare and increasingly restricted.

 What keeps her going

“The need of the people, especially women and children, motivates me,” Dr Masih says. “Many of them depend on our presence for basic healthcare and awareness. Knowing that I can make even a small difference gives me strength to keep going.”

“Even then, it’s hard.” She adds.

The mental and emotional toll of working under such conditions is immense. Female-friendly spaces where women could gather and support each other have closed. Dr Masih copes by staying home when mentally exhausted, spending time with other women, sitting with family, and trying to think positively.

“I believe that the situation will eventually change for the better, inshallah,” she says, her faith evident, despite everything.

The ripple effects

The restrictions don’t only harm female health workers. They devastate the entire healthcare system and the communities it serves. Afghanistan now has 1 of the world’s largest workforce gender gaps. Just 1 in 4 women is working or seeking work, compared to nearly 90% of men.

Dr Masih shares an example: “I know a woman who suffers from haemorrhoids but is not allowed to go to the hospital because there is no female doctor or surgeon available. Her husband also refuses to let a male doctor examine her.”

The woman suffers in silence, denied care because of her gender.

It is a story repeated across Afghanistan, where women’s access to healthcare has become increasingly difficult. Fear, mobility restrictions, education bans, and systemic discrimination keep women and girls from getting the care they need.

A different kind of violence

This is gender-based violence. Not always physical, but violence, nonetheless. It is the deliberate erasure of women from education, employment, and public life. The systematic denial of their autonomy, their voice, their right to exist fully in society.

The UN has stated these restrictions may constitute crimes against humanity. Yet women like Dr Masih continue showing up, providing care, refusing to be erased.

Dr Masih’s requests are straightforward: more flexibility around travel restrictions and access to training, safe transportation options for female staff, more community sensitisation and an increase in mental health support.

“These would make a big difference,” she states.

But her deeper hopes go further.

“I hope all these restrictions will be lifted and women will be allowed to make decisions about their own lives. Schools and universities should reopen. We should not be punished further simply because of our gender. I want my rights to be respected as a human being and not to be deprived of my basic freedoms.”

The strength to continue

“I am a very strong woman, alhamdulillah,” Dr Masih says.

This is not bravado. It is survival. It’s the strength of every woman who continues working despite restrictions designed to stop her.

Islamic Relief continues to support healthcare workers like Dr Masih through projects like Hira, providing safe and supportive work environments despite enormous challenges. The organisation tries to create inclusive environments for female staff, ensuring they work with dignity and respect even as the broader context makes this increasingly difficult.

“Despite the current restrictions, I find the Islamic Relief workplace relatively safe and supportive,” she reflects. “My team always ensures we work with dignity and respect.”

In a country where being a woman in public can lead to arrest, where speaking aloud is forbidden, where education and employment are systematically denied, Dr Masih continues to serve. Not because it’s easy. Not because it’s safe. But because lives depend on it.

That’s not just resilience. That’s revolutionary hope in action.

As we mark the 16 Days of Activism, Dr Masih’s story reminds us that solidarity requires more than sympathy. It demands action. Afghan women haven’t given up. Neither should the international community.

Islamic Relief stands with women and girls facing violence and discrimination worldwide. During the 16 Days of Activism and every day, we remain committed to supporting the rights, dignity, and wellbeing of all people. Support our work today and donate.

The morning routine begins early for Iman in Grozny, Chechnya. When most teenagers hit snooze on their alarms, 15-year-old Iman is already awake, performing her upper body exercises before logging into her online classes. Confined to a wheelchair due to spinal trauma, Iman has structured her days around what she can control – her education, her determination, and now, her flourishing career as a nail artist.

“The main challenge I face in my daily life is the inability to walk and be self-reliant in the simplest activities that other people can afford without any efforts,” Iman says. “I am greatly obliged to my parents for their patience and love.”

Yet this young woman from Chechnya is rewriting what independence looks like.

A turning point

A friend had shared information about Islamic Relief’s free vocational training programme for people with disabilities through WhatsApp, Iman saw the opportunity and never looked back.

For a family where the sole breadwinner is Iman’s 21-year-old brother Muslim (who works in airport security) and where medical expenses for Iman’s regular rehabilitation courses and operations constantly strain resources, this felt almost destined.

“I like it very much to draw, that’s why we decided that I should take manicure classes,” Iman explains. Her mother Razet called Islamic Relief for details, and soon they were invited to the first lesson. “It was great!” Iman recalls.

From student to business owner

What Islamic Relief provided went beyond the expected. Iman didn’t just acquire manicure and pedicure skills – she received all the equipment and materials needed to open her own studio. Income from Muslim’s salary, Iman’s disability pension, and her mother’s small carer’s allowance are often not enough to cover monthly costs, this support from Islamic Relief helped transform possibility into reality.

“It is a great thing to be able to work and earn something yourself!” Iman says with pride.

The work demands excellence. Building a client base requires not just technical skill but trust, reliability, and the ability to deliver results that keep customers coming back. For someone who must navigate daily life from a wheelchair, each client appointment represents a small victory – over societal assumptions, over logistical challenges, over the limitations others might impose.

Iman’s first income – 6,900 roubles (approximately RM415) – represents far more than its monetary value. It’s proof of capability, evidence of independence, and validation that her worth isn’t defined by her disability.

The power of belief

“Our teacher is a great person, she inspired us so much and welcomed all our efforts,” Iman remembers. “This made us sure we would succeed”

This belief – from her instructor, from her family and supported by Islamic Relief – has been transformative. In a world where people with disabilities face unemployment rates as high as 80% in some countries and assumptions about capability often precede any assessment of actual ability, Iman’s story challenges every limiting narrative.

She studies online in Year 9, managing her education despite regular interruptions for medical treatment. She maintains morning exercise routines. She builds a business. She does all of this whilst relying entirely on others for basic mobility.

“I saw many people who cannot use their legs, but they use their brain and hands to be useful to the society,” Iman reflects.

Building community, not just business

For Iman, the vocational training programme delivered unexpected gifts alongside the practical skills. “I have gained skills and met many good friends! I have received a lot of good memories!” she says.

This social dimension matters profoundly.

“I don’t like it to be alone, I like people and communication,” Iman explains.

The programme created what all good disability inclusion initiatives should: not a separate space for people with disabilities, but an environment where they could learn, grow, and build community together whilst developing skills.

Looking forward with hope

“Insha’Allah, I will continue to work as a nail master, since I like it very much,” Iman says of her future. Her aspirations are to continue doing the work she loves and to maintain the independence she’s worked so hard to build.

She’s practical about improvements too, suggesting that training facilities could benefit from more spacious rooms and stationary ramp entrances – the kind of accessibility features that demonstrate genuine commitment to inclusion.

Her message to Islamic Relief carries the gratitude of someone who understands exactly what was given: not charity, but opportunity. “I would like to thank people in the Islamic Relief who thought of this kind of project. Such attitude gives people with disabilities a chance to become more skilled and make their dreams come true!”

 What real support looks like

As the world marks International Day of Persons with Disabilities, Iman’s story reminds us that leadership comes in many forms.

Sometimes it looks like a 15-year-old girl in Grozny, building a business from a wheelchair, proving that determination and opportunity can overcome obstacles that once seemed insurmountable.

Her hands may create beautiful nails, but her story paints an even more beautiful picture – of resilience, of family support, of organisational commitment, and of a young woman refusing to let disability define the boundaries of her life.

This International Day of Persons with Disabilities, Islamic Relief Worldwide celebrates individuals like Iman who lead through their courage, determination, and refusal to accept limitations. Their leadership lights the path towards a truly inclusive and sustainable future for all. Support our work and help us provide opportunities for more people like Iman, donate today.

The scorching sun beats down on Camp-4 in Kutupalong, Bangladesh, home to more than 35,000 Rohingya refugees who fled unspeakable violence in Myanmar. Among them is 36-year-old Nasima, whose story reveals the particular vulnerabilities women face in humanitarian crises.

As we mark 16 Days of Activism Against Gender-Based Violence, we share the story of Nasima, a Rohingya refugee whose journey from persecution to resilience reminds us why safe shelter is a fundamental right for all women and girls.

When home becomes a memory

In December 2017, Nasima’s world collapsed. The Myanmar army’s brutal campaign against the Rohingya forced her family to make an impossible choice: stay and face persecution, or flee into the unknown. Like nearly 1 million others, Nasima chose survival, but it came at a devastating cost.

During their desperate escape, Myanmar soldiers opened fire on Nasima’s family. The bullets found their mark, leaving her with severe injuries that would alter the course of her life. The physical wounds were profound, but the invisible scars ran deeper still. The trauma shattered not only her body but her sense of safety in the world.

Today, Nasima lives with her 6-year-old daughter Yasmin in a refugee camp where nearly 8,000 families grapple with the daily struggle for survival. With no source of income and limited mobility due to her injuries, Nasima embodies the vulnerabilities that women in humanitarian settings face – vulnerabilities that the 16 Days of Activism campaign seeks to address.

The weight of unsafe shelter

For 2 years, Nasima and Yasmin were forced to live in a deteriorating bamboo shelter. The structure, ravaged by weather and termites, offered little more than a symbolic roof over their heads. Damaged tarpaulins provided scant protection against the region’s punishing sun and monsoon rains. The flimsy fencing was no barrier at all.

“I used to live in a small bamboo shelter, and I was always sceptical about its durability,” Nasima recalls. “Whenever there was a strong wind, I feared that the shelter might not withstand it.”

This constant state of fear is something women in crisis settings know well. When your home cannot protect you from the elements, you are vulnerable to everything. For women like Nasima – living with physical disabilities and mental trauma – an unstable shelter exacerbates the daily challenges of camp life and increases exposure to gender-based violence.

The dignity of safe shelter

Hope arrived in January 2023 when Islamic Relief launched the Integrated WASH and Shelter Assistance Project (InSAP) in Camp-4. Through careful assessment, Islamic Relief identified the families most in need – those whose shelters had become dangerous rather than protective. Nasima qualified for the programme, receiving more than just materials.

Islamic Relief built a new shelter for Nasima. Strong bamboo replaced rotting posts. Secure tarpaulins replaced tattered sheets. A proper structure replaced a precarious assemblage. For the first time since fleeing Myanmar, Nasima and Yasmin had a home that could protect them.

“We are incredibly grateful for the support from Islamic Relief Bangladesh,” Nasima says, her voice carrying relief. “This new shelter provides a sense of security and comfort we haven’t experienced in years. It’s a life-changing intervention that we won’t forget.”

Islamic Relief also provided mosquito nets to protect against disease, Qurbani meat during celebrations, winter clothes against the cold, and Ramadan food parcels. But as this year’s 16 Days of Activism campaign reminds us, women’s safety requires sustained investment and commitment.

The transformative power of aid

As we observe the 16 Days of Activism Against Gender-Based Violence, Nasima’s journey from a bullet-riddled escape to a safe shelter reminds us of our collective responsibility. Nearly 1 in 3 women worldwide experiences violence in their lifetime. In humanitarian emergencies, these risks intensify.

Safe shelter is both practical intervention and powerful statement: every woman and girl deserves protection, dignity, and the chance to live without fear. Nasima’s resilience shows us what becomes possible when humanitarian assistance recognises the specific vulnerabilities women face and responds with comprehensive, compassionate support.

Shelter to Nasima and Yasmin represent more than walls and a roof, it symbolises a future where safety for women is not a luxury, but a fundamental right.

This 16 Days of Activism Against Gender-Based Violence, Islamic Relief Worldwide stands with women and girls facing violence, displacement, and insecurity worldwide. Together, we can build a future where every woman has access to safety, dignity, and hope. Donate now to help women and girls like Nasima and Yasmin.

Editor’s note: This article contains descriptions of sexual assault and violence that some may find disturbing.

In Kapoeta North County, South Sudan, Nanyait carries a story that thousands of women know too well – a story of violence sanctioned by culture, trauma compounded by rejection, and survival that demands more courage than most will ever need.

At 34, Nanyait is rebuilding her life a small step at a time. But the journey to where she stands today, as an independent businesswoman and mother, required surviving what no woman should ever endure.

When culture condones violence

Married at just 14 years old, Nanyait spent decades in a marriage marked by abuse and hard labour. As she grew older, her husband grew tired of her. What happened next reveals the brutal reality of harmful practices that masquerade as tradition.

Her husband arranged for 2 men to sexually assault her – a cruel practice in some Toposa communities where older wives are sometimes given to other men. In Nanyait’s case, it wasn’t consensual. It was orchestrated violence.

When Nanyait discovered she was pregnant as a result of the assault, her husband’s response was to cast her out completely – abandoning her while pregnant and denying her access to their 3 children. When she fled, the children followed her, trying to stay with their mother, but her husband threatened her and forced her to stay away from them.

She returned to her family’s home with nothing, carrying not just a child but the weight of a community’s judgment.

“I had lost hope,” Nanyait recalls. “At my age, returning to my family house was really shameful, but I had nowhere to go.

“Worst was my husband refusing me to have access to my kids. I’m even talking to you because you’re not one of the community members. I have become a laughingstock. People call me names.”

In South Sudan’s patriarchal communities and particularly among pastoral groups in Kapoeta, women have no voice. Deep-rooted beliefs that view women as property and sources of wealth fuel forced and early marriages. When violence occurs, women are blamed. When they speak out, they face being cast out.

A space to heal and a chance to rebuild

A neighbour’s referral changed everything. At Islamic Relief South Sudan’s Women and Girls Friendly Space, Nanyait found what her own community had denied her: safety, dignity and support.

The project’s staff provided crucial counselling and connected her with antenatal services. During routine testing, Nanyait discovered she was HIV-positive, another devastating blow, but this time she wasn’t alone. She received ongoing counselling and was enrolled in skills-building classes.

“To everyone I was a laughingstock, but Islamic Relief and this place is the only place I feel comfortable in because we are many women and we share our stories,” Nanyait explains.

“We cry together and laugh together. When I’m here I feel so happy, so I don’t miss any classes.”

At the centre, Nanyait developed practical skills, like knitting bedsheets and creating beadwork. More importantly, she found her voice again. She started to sell her handmade items, then used the income to open a small shop selling cooking oil, salt, onions and other essentials. Today, she supports herself and her young child independently.

Why this work matters more than ever

Nanyait’s story is sadly not unique. Across South Sudan, harmful cultural practices continue to devastate women’s lives. Gender-based violence thrives in communities where men hold absolute power and women are systematically marginalised in decision-making and denied access to resources.

Through the PROGRESS II project, Islamic Relief South Sudan has reached 13,500 individuals across Kapoeta North County and Kapoeta East County communities ravaged by successive droughts and conflicts. The project has provided gender-based violence awareness to more than 1,970 women, and case management services to 150 survivors.

But awareness alone isn’t enough. Real change requires challenging social norms, working with faith and community leaders, and advocating alongside government partners to dismantle the structures that enable violence against women.

“I thank Islamic Relief for loving us and making us feel human again when our own people left us,” Nanyait says.

Women subjected to violence don’t need pity – they need safe spaces, practical support, economic empowerment and communities brave enough to name harmful practices for what they are.

As we mark the 16 Days of Activism against gender-based violence, Nanyait’s transformation from victim to survivor to independent businesswoman reminds us that change is urgent but possible. When women are given the tools, support and space to rebuild their lives, they don’t just survive – they reclaim their power.

Every woman deserves what Nanyait found: a place where her voice matters, her trauma is acknowledged, and her future belongs to her alone.

Islamic Relief’s gender justice work addresses the root causes of violence against women and girls, including harmful practices that are often wrongly attributed to faith. We work in partnership with communities, faith leaders and local authorities to create lasting change. To support our life-saving programmes by donating today.

October marks 2 years of Israel’s relentless assault on Gaza. That we’ve reached this grim milestone is testimony to the complicity of world leaders who have failed to stop the daily war crimes being carried out on Gaza.

More than 66,288 people have been killed – including some 20,000 children – and over 169,165 injured since the onslaught began.

Life in Gaza today is clouded by danger and uncertainty. Children are starving to death in a man-made famine and, each day, more civilians are massacred. The Israeli blockade traps families in a daily struggle to get food, medicine, shelter, water – everything they need to survive.

Uprooted repeatedly

Almost everyone in Gaza has been forced from their homes, often multiple times. 90% of families have been displaced an average of 6 times, while others have been forced to flee many more times – including Islamic Relief’s own staff.

The situation is getting even worse, with Israel intensifying its attack on Gaza City and ordering people to leave.

For some, leaving Gaza City is just not an option. Relocating is extremely expensive, and many say they have nowhere else to go. Others fear if they leave, they’ll never be able to return. With famine declared in Gaza City and the surrounding areas, others are too sick or weak to survive another journey. Those that have left are being forced into increasingly overcrowded camps, where diseases and starvation are rife.

Hundreds of thousands of people are squeezed into tents along the beach, in the wreckage of bombed buildings and along the streets.

Perhaps no one is suffering more than Gaza’s children. Struggling to survive, they are also seeing their hopes for the future being snuffed out. Famine threatens the lives of over 132,000 children, and all children under 5 are at risk of severe malnourishment, which can lead to long-term health issues, even for those who manage to get treatment. An entire generation of children are now in their third year out of school, and we are seeing rising mental health issues due to the extreme suffering and grief.

Your impact, their resilience 

Israel’s illegal blockade continues to restrict humanitarian aid, but amid so much hardship, Islamic Relief continues to be a lifeline to people in desperate need in Gaza.

Thanks to your support, our staff and partners have been delivering life-saving aid. Most recently, we have delivered hot meals to 28,560 right holders and distributed 931 food parcels to displaced families.

In addition, we have expanded our programmes supporting new and expectant mothers and babies. We have carried out almost 400 medical check-ups for pregnant women and supported deliveries, including C-sections.

Over the last 2 years, we have constantly adapted our response in light of the highly fluid situation on the ground, striving to ensure that our staff, partners and the communities we serve are not endangered. Our response has included:

• Distributing fresh fruit and vegetables to families living in temporary shelters
• Providing hot meals and hygiene kits to displaced people
• Distributing ready-to-eat meals, food packs and qurbani meat
• Providing psychosocial care to children experiencing trauma
• Trucking in clean drinking water
• Delivering medical supplies to hospitals and healthcare centres
• Setting up medical points and supporting these with medications and supplies
• Providing lipid-based nutritional supplements in partnership with the World Food Programme
• Cleaning shelters
• Providing multi-purpose cash assistance so families can buy what they need most
• Expanding our Orphan Sponsorship Programme to reach more than 21,000 children

Speaking up for Gaza

These efforts are helping to ease suffering, but the people of Gaza need more than aid.

Palestinians have shown incredible resilience, but there is a limit to what humans can endure. World leaders must finally act to demand a ceasefire and pressure Israel to fully reopen all land crossings so that sufficient supplies can arrive before it’s too late for those struggling for survival.

More paltry words of condemnation will not make any difference now. To save lives, governments must apply meaningful economic and diplomatic pressure, such as ending all arms sales, suspending trade agreements, and banning trade and investment with illegal Israeli settlements.

While we continue to call for action, help Islamic Relief to continue supporting people in desperate need in Gaza. Donate to our Palestine Appeal today.