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 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.

Di tengah-tengah cabaran dunia yang semakin kompleks dan tidak menentu, krisis kemanusiaan terus menjadi cabaran besar yang memerlukan perhatian dan tindakan segera. Peperangan, konflik bersenjata, bencana alam, wabak penyakit dan pelbagai faktor lain telah menyebabkan kekacauan serta gangguan serius terhadap sistem masyarakat. Keadaan ini mengakibatkan kehilangan nyawa dan harta benda, perpindahan penduduk secara besar-besaran, serta kemusnahan infrastruktur.

Lebih membimbangkan, ia turut menjejaskan akses kepada sumber asas kehidupan seperti air bersih, makanan dan perkhidmatan kesihatan. Semua ini meninggalkan trauma serta kesan mendalam terhadap kelangsungan hidup, keselamatan dan hak asasi golongan yang terjejas.

Dalam menghadapi situasi kritikal ini, peranan negara-negara di seluruh dunia amat penting untuk memastikan bantuan kemanusiaan dapat disalurkan dengan efektif dan berkesan. Semua pihak harus mengakui bahawa krisis kemanusiaan yang berlaku di sesebuah negara itu tidak wajar untuk diabaikan. Sebaliknya, ia adalah situasi yang perlu dihadapi bersama oleh seluruh dunia demi membela dan menegakkan keadilan sosial bagi komuniti yang terpinggir.

Perlu diingat, krisis dan bencana bukan sekadar menguji ketahanan masyarakat setempat, tetapi turut menjadi kayu ukur terhadap komitmen global dalam membantu komuniti yang terkesan akibat konflik.

Negara-negara yang sedang bergolak seperti Gaza, Sudan dan Syria sering memaparkan wajah-wajah mereka yang mengalami penderitaan. Mereka memerlukan sokongan dan bantuan tanpa henti daripada negara luar agar semangat mereka untuk terus berjuang meneruskan kehidupan tidak terpadam.

Pada saat-saat genting seperti inilah, negara-negara antarabangsa perlu bijak memilih dalam memainkan peranan sama ada hendak mendiamkan diri dan mengabaikan saja atau sama-sama bangkit meniupkan semangat dan harapan perjuangan di kala krisis kemanusiaan berlaku.

Solidariti: Tali Penghubung Antarabangsa

Apabila konflik tercetus, sokongan rentas sempadan menjadi tali penghubung penting yang bukan sahaja mengukuhkan hubungan diplomatik, malah turut membantu memulihkan keamanan serta menyuntik harapan kepada komuniti yang terjejas.

Bantuan yang disalurkan meliputi keperluan asas seperti makanan, rawatan perubatan, tempat perlindungan sementara, dan juga sokongan psikososial demi memastikan kesejahteraan fizikal dan kesihatan mental mereka terus terpelihara.

Pada era globalisasi masa kini, bentuk solidariti tidak lagi terbatas kepada bantuan fizikal semata-mata. Kehadiran platform digital seperti media sosial telah membuka ruang yang luas untuk orang ramai menunjukkan sokongan mereka hanya di hujung jari.

Melalui perkongsian maklumat, kempen kesedaran, dan tanda pagar (hashtag) bersasar, masyarakat dunia dapat bersatu dalam menyuarakan keprihatinan terhadap isu-isu kemanusiaan secara pantas dan meluas.

Satu contoh yang berjaya untuk menunjukkan solidariti masyarakat secara global adalah kempen #FreePalestine dan #SaveGaza yang semakin tular di seluruh dunia sewaktu Israel rancak mengenakan serangan ke atas Palestin.

Melalui kempen inilah, lebih ramai pengguna media sosial dapat menunjukkan solidariti dan penentangan mereka terhadap tindakan yang tidak berperikemanusiaan dengan memuat naik gambar, video, infografik, dan laporan saksi di lapangan bagi mendedahkan keadaan sebenar rakyat Palestin.

Tindakan kolektif ini telah meningkatkan kesedaran global, memberi tekanan kepada pemimpin dunia, dan menguatkan sokongan awam untuk menuntut keadilan dan menghentikan keganasan.

Sempena Hari Kemanusiaan Sedunia, adalah wajar lebih banyak pendedahan mengenai isu-isu kemanusiaan diketengahkan secara meluas agar kekuatan suara jutaan insan dapat diperkukuh demi membela keadilan mereka yang teraniaya.

Usaha ini turut diterjemahkan melalui tindakan di lapangan, seperti yang dilaksanakan oleh Islamic Relief yang menyalurkan bantuan kecemasan berupa makanan, air, ubat-ubatan dan tempat perlindungan kepada komuniti yang terjejas di negara-negara dilanda krisis kemanusiaan.

Seperti yang ditegaskan oleh Ketua Pegawai Eksekutif Islamic Relief Malaysia (IR Malaysia), Siti Fadilah Mohd Hood, Hari Kemanusiaan Sedunia merupakan detik penting untuk merenung kembali komitmen bersama dalam memperjuangkan nilai-nilai kemanusiaan. Di sebalik pelbagai cabaran dan kesukaran, para petugas kemanusiaan terus berani melangkah ke hadapan, membawa harapan dan kelegaan kepada mereka yang paling memerlukan.

“Sebagai sebuah NGO, kami berazam untuk terus memikul mandat dan berperanan aktif dalam memastikan bantuan sampai tepat pada masanya dan memberi impak sebenar kepada kehidupan komuniti yang terpinggir.

“Kita semua mempunyai tanggungjawab bersama untuk menyemai nilai kasih sayang, perpaduan, dan solidariti tanpa sempadan. Oleh itu, saya menyeru kepada semua, marilah kita membina dunia yang lebih adil, aman, dan berperikemanusiaan,” katanya.

Hari Kemanusiaan Sedunia bukan sekadar hari memperingati, tetapi hari untuk bertindak, menyumbang dan menyuarakan. Dalam dunia yang sering berpecah belah oleh konflik, semangat kemanusiaanlah yang mampu menyatukan.

Peranan negara-negara dunia dan gabungan solidariti masyarakat dari seluruh pelosok dunia secara tidak langsung mampu memperkukuh semangat kemanusiaan sejagat dan menyemai harapan kepada mereka yang sedang diuji.

Selagi masih ada penderitaan, selagi itu kita harus terus melangkah. Semoga kesedaran ini terus menyemarakkan usaha kolektif ke arah dunia yang lebih aman dan penyayang.

Nada Abu Taleb has documented Yemen’s silent suffering as Islamic Relief’s Media and Communication Coordinator in the country. Now, she reveals what humanitarian work truly means in one of the world’s most neglected crises.

World Humanitarian Day is a moment to pause, reflect, and remember why we choose to stand together in the face of crises. After nearly 15 years of humanitarian work, I have learned that to #ActForHumanity is not simply a theme; it’s a daily commitment, deeply personal and urgent, especially here in Yemen.

As a Yemeni who has lived and worked through this crisis, I know that suffering is not a distant headline, it confronts us every day. I see it in the strained expressions of my neighbours, hear it in the despair of families struggling to survive. But amid these painful encounters are moments of profound dignity that stay etched in memory.

I recall a mother who had just received a modest cash assistance package. Her hands held her child tightly. They were visibly malnourished, yet her eyes expressed overwhelming gratitude rather than complaint. In that moment, aid became about more than just food or money; it became about dignity, about making people feel seen and valued.

Another defining moment was my encounter with a displaced father living in a makeshift shelter after losing nearly everything: his home, livelihood, and even family members. Despite his burden, his greatest concern was maintaining his children’s sense of normality. “Even when we have nothing,” he said quietly, “I still make sure my children feel safe, clean, and believe things will get better.” This humble, steadfast courage reshaped my understanding of dignity. Humanitarian work is not merely about distributing aid; it’s about honouring people’s resilience, acknowledging their identity, and protecting the fragile sense of hope they still hold.

Education: Yemen’s silent crisis

While the world rightly recognises and responds to immediate crises like hunger and the need for shelter, Yemen’s overlooked crisis is the systematic erosion of our education system. Schools are emptying, teachers haven’t been paid, and children’s dreams are fading. I remember a classroom without doors or windows, children huddled together sharing torn notebooks. When asked about his dreams, one boy replied earnestly, “I want to be a pilot, but I don’t know if I will ever fly a plane. We can barely eat.”

This stark realisation hit me deeply. Education is not a luxury, it’s the promise of a future. Without schooling, children lose more than knowledge; they lose structure, security, and the ability to envision a better tomorrow. Protecting education is protecting hope itself, yet this urgent truth rarely makes international headlines. That’s why Islamic Relief teams in Yemen are working to rebuild classrooms, train teachers, and create safe learning spaces in some of the hardest-hit communities.

Finding strength in small acts

Humanitarian workers frequently grapple with overwhelming despair. I recall one particularly difficult day, consumed by endless stories of families skipping meals, children leaving school, communities crushed by hardship. The scale of suffering was paralysing.

But what pulled me back was the quiet joy of Eid celebrations. Families smiling because their children had new clothes, or because, for the first time in months, they had meat on their table. I remembered a father weeping quietly with relief as he watched his daughters recover from malnutrition, their laughter a testament to a small triumph. These moments of humanity remind me why this work matters, small gestures can reverberate deeply, sustaining hope amid despair.

Innovating amid challenges

The complexity of Yemen’s crisis which is marked by checkpoints, instability, and dwindling funds, often hampers our physical presence in affected communities. Our office responds creatively, training colleagues in remote areas in photography and storytelling so the voices of the communities we support can be heard. This initiative ensures we can document, communicate, and respond swiftly, preserving transparency and maintaining critical connections even amid logistical nightmares. This adaptive resilience underscores the resourcefulness required to deliver impartial and dignified humanitarian assistance under seemingly impossible circumstances.

Women’s silent strength

Throughout this crisis, I have come to see my fellow Yemeni women quietly shoulder extraordinary burdens. Their courage often lies not in grand gestures, but in daily persistence despite exhaustion, fear, or loss. Witnessing their quiet determination consistently reshapes my understanding of what true bravery looks like.

But some of their strength also comes from Yemen’s extraordinary community solidarity. Where official systems fail, neighbours have stepped forward, sharing limited resources, organising responses, and ensuring no one is abandoned. This local strength profoundly shapes our humanitarian approach, reminding us that true assistance is collaborative, respectful, and humble. Our role is not to lead from above, but to support and amplify the resilience already thriving on the ground.

The world’s shared responsibility

Today, when global attention feels overstretched, and crises rage everywhere, from Gaza to Sudan, solidarity is not a limited resource, it’s our shared responsibility. Acting for humanity means refusing to normalise suffering, no matter how frequent it becomes. It requires compassion, dignity, and fairness, consistently and urgently, even when no one is watching.

Yemen is often misunderstood, painted simplistically as a land of endless conflict and helplessness. In reality, Yemenis are remarkably spirited and resourceful. Our task as humanitarian workers is not to save them, but to stand beside them, preserving dignity, amplifying their voices, and working towards sustainable recovery.

On World Humanitarian Day, let us remember that behind every statistic, there’s a person with a story to tell. That is my job as a communicator. To act for humanity is to remain present, compassionate, and brave, even in the face of immense challenges. This work is not just our choice, but our collective answer to a world that desperately needs humanitarians. May our actions always reflect that calling.

Families in Yemen are fighting for survival every day. With your support, Islamic Relief can deliver life-saving aid to those who need it most. Your donation can help provide food, medicine, and hope to vulnerable communities. Please donate to our International Emergency Appeal today.

Displaced from Gaza and now living in another country in the Middle East, Islamic Relief’s Mariam* continues working tirelessly to support vulnerable people back home in Gaza, including her colleagues, who are facing incredible hardship. This World Humanitarian Day, we pay tribute to humanitarian workers doing all they can to support the people of Gaza.

Mariam carries the weight of 2 wars.

By day, she documents Gaza’s collapse in stark statistics: 90% of the population displaced, often multiple times; 71,000 children under 5 years old acutely malnourished, and critically, over 100 confirmed deaths from malnutrition so far – deaths that include children under 5 and no hospitals in North Gaza functioning as they either have been destroyed or forced to cease operations.

By night, she counts personal losses: How many days since she last heard from her brother in northern Gaza, how long it’s been since her husband – also still in Gaza – last ate, how many nights she’s spent lying awake worrying about her sister and family.

Since Mariam left Gaza 16 months ago, 2 phones are her tether to home. While a work device blinks with constant reports from colleagues, her personal phone holds precious voice notes from her husband.

“This is my reality now, supporting and monitoring food distributions while wondering if my husband ate today,” says Mariam, who has been working for Islamic Relief for 16 years.

“I review reports of infants starving to death in northern Gaza, then make breakfast for my own children.”

When the helpers need help

Now displaced and still supporting Islamic Relief’s response remotely, Mariam embodies both the extraordinary strength and impossible choices facing Palestinian aid workers.

“My colleagues who are still in Gaza work under bombs with no safe place to sleep. All of them have been displaced – most more than once – yet they continue their work. I sit here with a roof and running water, supporting their efforts remotely. But we hold our breath every day until we know they are safe. We try to take as much workload off them as possible, even though we are under pressure ourselves, because we know they are working under unimaginable conditions. They are exhausted, traumatised, yet still show up every single day. How can I not do the same?”

Over 483 aid workers, including 326 UN staff, have been killed in Gaza since October 2023. Mariam recounts an attack on a UN school sheltering displaced families – one of numerous such incidents targeting civilian shelters this year. In July this year, 3 staff members from Human Appeal were killed while doing their job.

“That could have easily been one of us,” Mariam says. “I was working inside Gaza under the same risks, moving between distribution points and shelters, fully aware that any moment could be my last. The only difference between me and those we lost is chance.

“This isn’t collateral damage, it is targeted,” Mariam adds. Among those killed were colleagues she once worked closely with, people she considered friends. One was Aseel Khudr, a nurse who lost her life while treating patients at Al-Sahaba Medical Centre. Another was a healthcare worker at an organisation Islamic Relief partners with, killed while fulfilling their humanitarian duty.

The statistics Mariam monitors tell the story of Gaza’s collapse as a result of Israel’s systematic and deliberate destruction of everything people need for survival. Even after Israel allowed aid into Gaza in July, only 40% of UN-led convoys were completed. The rest were either denied or impeded by Israeli forces or suspended due to insecurity. 2 million people – almost everyone in Gaza – face acute food insecurity. People have been gunned down and bombed while trying to get food, with over 1,239 civilians killed and more than 8,152 wounded while seeking humanitarian assistance since May 2025.

But numbers alone can’t capture what it means to deliver aid when the rules of war are being completely ignored with impunity.

The women keeping Gaza alive

What sustains Mariam are the women of Gaza – the doctors performing surgeries by the light of their phones, the teachers holding lessons in bombed-out buildings, the mothers inventing ways to stretch a cup of flour into 3 meals. She describes colleagues who spend mornings documenting war crimes and afternoons searching for firewood.

“Before this war, we had washing machines, universities, and cinemas,” Mariam  says. “Now, women wash clothes in sewage-contaminated water and teach math in rubble.”

Mariam pushes back against the stereotype that Palestinian women are somehow ‘used to’ hardship – that’s simply not true. “People looking from the outside might think we had lived like this all our lives, but in reality, [since October 2023] we have had to reinvent everything just to survive.”

Mariam  shares the story of Fatema, a graduate of Islamic Relief’s Orphan Sponsorship Programme, who is now an aid worker herself.

“I first met her when she was 12, when I was starting my own career. She was bright, writing poetry despite losing both parents,” Mariam says. “Years later, she joined our team.”

Fatema’s husband and son were killed in an airstrike while she was at work.

“When I saw her on TV crying, holding the toy she just bought for her son, my heart broke into pieces. Later, I learned she went back to work, with even more determination, because somehow, she didn’t let it break her. For me, she is the true meaning of strength and dignity in the middle of so much pain. Whenever I feel like giving in to exhaustion or despair, I think of her, and she reminds me why we keep going.

What acting for humanity really requires

For Mariam, this World Humanitarian Day’s slogan, #ActForHumanity, isn’t just a hashtag, but a daily practice with concrete demands:

First, stop the weapons fuelling this catastrophe. “No more ‘deep concern’ statements while bombs keep falling. We need enforceable arms embargoes now.”

Second, pressure Israel to end its blockade and guarantee unfettered aid access. “Every day our convoys are blocked means more children like Fatema’s son are buried in mass graves.”

Right now, people are starving, drinking polluted water, and dying, not just from bombs but from hunger and preventable diseases. No hashtag can replace trucks filled with food, medicine, and fuel. Nor can it rebuild the homes, schools, and hospitals, reduced to rubble.

Mariam adds that “acting for humanity also means seeing us as people, not numbers. For Gaza, it means listening to communities, respecting their dignity, and ensuring aid reaches the most vulnerable, in a fair and dignified way. It also means holding those who violate humanitarian law accountable, because silence in the face of this suffering is complicity.”

And finally, she says, remember the displaced. “Whether in neighbouring countries or elsewhere, many Palestinians outside of Gaza are living without residency rights, school access, and healthcare. Survival shouldn’t be the endpoint of dignity.” And for those forced to flee Gaza, the right to return must never be forgotten.

On World Humanitarian Day, Mariam hopes her message cuts through the noise: because true solidarity means showing up, not just when it is trending, but when it is terrifying and the world looks away.

Islamic Relief continues delivering lifesaving aid in Gaza against almost-impossible odds. Support our Palestine Appeal today.

*Name has been changed to protect confidentiality