Bantuan Kecemasan Sudan Selamatkan Ribuan Mangsa Konflik

Editor’s note: This article contains details of the Bosnian War that some may find disturbing.

Between 1992 and 1995, the country of Bosnia and Herzegovina was devastated by a brutal war that killed 100,000 people and displaced more than 2 million.

It was a conflict defined by ethnic cleansing. Armed forces deliberately targeted Bosniak Muslims – killing, raping, torturing, looting and pillaging, and violently forcing Bosniak populations from their homes.

More than 30 years later, Bosnia is still scarred by the conflict.

The list of atrocities committed during the Bosnian conflict is long, but the events of Srebrenica stand out as a moment that finally captured the attention of the world.

On 11 July 1995, Bosnian Serb soldiers captured Srebrenica in eastern Bosnia and over the next few days, systematically murdered more than 8,000 Bosniak Muslim men and boys.

It was the largest massacre carried out on European soil since World War II and was recognised as a genocide by the United Nations.

 

 

 

Today, Srebrenica is a quiet town that feels frozen in time.

From a pre-war population of 10,000 people, now only 2,000 remain. There are very few jobs available and those who still live there are surrounded by reminders of the violence.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Scattered throughout Srebrenica are abandoned homes, walls studded with bullet holes. No one knows who owns them, so they have remained derelict and empty for more than 30 years.

 

 

 

 

 

The town is surrounded by forests which acted as cover for a huge group of 10,000 Bosniak men and boys who fled the events of the genocide, trying to reach the free city of Tuzla more than 60 miles away. Just 3,000 people survived the perilous journey that has since become known as the ‘death march’.

 

Located outside of Srebrenica is the Srebrenica Genocide Memorial which stands as a monument to the 8,732 victims of the genocide. The figure of those murdered is not final. There are spaces left in the centre as every year, new graves are unearthed and new victims found.

 

Many of the victims of the genocide came from towns like Bratunac. Before the war, Bosniak Muslims made up some 64% of the population. Now, in 2026, they make up just 34%.

 

 

While it is known as the Srebrenica Genocide, the killings took place across eastern Bosnia. Republika Srpska forces transported Bosniak men and boys (aged from 12 to 77) out of Srebrenica by bus and took them for so-called ‘interrogations’.

Pictured is the Kravice warehouse, one of dozens of sites across eastern Bosnia where victims were murdered in the thousands. It is estimated that between 1,000 and 1,500 men were killed at Kravice.

 

 

 

There are so many locations like Kravice across Bosnia and Herzegovina, they blend into the countryside. Locals pass by them every day, sometimes they even live next door to them.

Mass graves are dotted across eastern Bosnia, often in the most unassuming locations. The Srebrenica Memorial Centre reports that remains of those murdered at Srebrenica have so far been found in 94 mass graves.

Pictured is the grave located at Cerska, 17 miles from Srebrenica. The grave was exhumed in 1995 and contained 150 remains of victims estimated to range from age 14 to 50 years at the time of their deaths.

On the outskirts of the town of Vlasenica, another mass grave is hidden by forest.

Over a period of 8 years, 54 victims were found buried here. Among that number were 11 children aged from 4 to 12 years old.

Decades later, memories of the war remain unavoidable in Bosnia. There are reminders everywhere, the very land itself is scarred.

An entire generation of Bosnians only know their parents from photographs and home videos. Whether they lost fathers to the Srebrenica Genocide, or mothers, brothers and sisters in the conflict, many people live every day feeling the losses of war.

 

To learn more about the Srebrenica Genocide, the events of the Bosnian War and how Islamic Relief have stood with the Bosnian community for more than 30 years, you can read the full collection of stories here.

Maksud Sedekah: Pengertian, Dalil dan Bagaimana Ia Membawa Perubahan

Sedekah merupakan salah satu amalan mulia yang sangat dianjurkan dalam Islam. Ia bukan hanya pemberian dalam bentuk harta, tetapi satu bentuk keikhlasan hati dan usaha untuk mendekatkan diri kepada Allah SWT.

Melalui sedekah, seseorang berpeluang berkongsi rezeki, membantu mereka yang memerlukan serta menyumbang kepada perubahan kehidupan golongan yang kurang berkemampuan.

Dalam dunia hari ini, sedekah juga boleh dilakukan dengan lebih mudah melalui platform dalam talian seperti MySedekah Islamic Relief Malaysia, yang membuka peluang kepada masyarakat untuk menyalurkan sumbangan bagi membantu komuniti rentan di dalam dan luar negara.

Apa Maksud Sedekah?

Perkataan sedekah berasal daripada bahasa Arab iaitu صَدَقَةٌ (sadaqah). Dari segi bahasa, sedekah membawa maksud kebenaran atau pemberian yang dilakukan dengan penuh keikhlasan daripada hati yang bersih.

Dari segi istilah pula, para ulama mentakrifkan sedekah sebagai pemberian yang dilakukan semata-mata untuk mendekatkan diri kepada Allah SWT dan mendapatkan keredhaan-Nya.

Sedekah juga bermaksud pemberian yang dilakukan dengan mengharapkan ganjaran pahala daripada Allah SWT tanpa mengharapkan balasan daripada manusia.

Menurut Ibn Manzur dalam Lisan al-‘Arab, sedekah merujuk kepada pemberian yang diniatkan kerana Allah SWT kepada golongan fakir dan mereka yang memerlukan.

Secara ringkasnya, sedekah ialah pemberian secara ikhlas ketika seseorang masih hidup dengan niat mendekatkan diri kepada Allah SWT serta membantu pihak yang memerlukan.

(Rujukan: Maksud Perkataan Sedekah, Dr Zulkifli Al-Bakri)

Dalil Tentang Sedekah Dalam Islam

Allah SWT menjanjikan ganjaran yang besar kepada mereka yang bersedekah dengan penuh keikhlasan.

Firman Allah SWT:

إِنَّ الْمُصَّدِّقِينَ وَالْمُصَّدِّقَاتِ وَأَقْرَضُوا اللَّهَ قَرْضاً حَسَناً يُضَاعَفُ لَهُمْ وَلَهُمْ أَجْرٌ كَرِيمٌ

Maksudnya:

“Sesungguhnya orang-orang lelaki yang bersedekah dan orang-orang perempuan yang bersedekah, serta mereka memberikan pinjaman kepada Allah, sebagai pinjaman yang baik (ikhlas), akan digandakan balasannya (dengan berganda-ganda banyaknya), dan mereka pula akan beroleh pahala yang mulia.”

(Surah al-Hadid: 18)

Ayat ini menunjukkan bahawa setiap pemberian yang dilakukan dengan niat yang ikhlas kerana Allah SWT mempunyai nilai yang besar di sisi-Nya.

Mengapa Bersedekah Penting?

Sedekah bukan sahaja memberi manfaat kepada penerima, malah membentuk nilai kemanusiaan dalam diri pemberi.

Antara kepentingan bersedekah ialah:

1. Membantu golongan yang memerlukan

Sedekah menjadi salah satu cara untuk membantu keluarga miskin, mangsa bencana, pelarian dan komuniti yang berdepan cabaran kehidupan.

Melalui sumbangan yang diberikan, keperluan asas seperti makanan, tempat perlindungan, pendidikan dan penjagaan kesihatan dapat disediakan.

2. Mengukuhkan hubungan sesama manusia

Amalan bersedekah memupuk rasa prihatin dan tanggungjawab terhadap masyarakat.

Ia mengingatkan kita bahawa rezeki yang dimiliki bukan hanya untuk diri sendiri, tetapi juga boleh dikongsi bersama mereka yang memerlukan.

3. Memberi peluang melakukan kebaikan secara berterusan

Pada masa kini, masyarakat boleh melakukan sedekah dengan lebih mudah melalui pelbagai platform digital yang dipercayai.

Ini membolehkan lebih ramai orang menyumbang mengikut kemampuan masing-masing pada bila-bila masa.

Apa Itu MySedekah Islamic Relief Malaysia?

MySedekah merupakan salah satu inisiatif penjanaan dana utama oleh Islamic Relief Malaysia yang bertujuan membuka peluang kepada masyarakat untuk bersedekah serta menyalurkan bantuan kepada insan yang memerlukan.

Melalui MySedekah, dana yang dikumpulkan digunakan bagi menyokong pelbagai program bantuan kecemasan dan pembangunan, sama ada di Malaysia mahupun luar negara.

Kempen ini memberi peluang kepada orang ramai untuk menjadikan sedekah sebagai amalan berterusan yang membawa manfaat kepada komuniti rentan.

Bagaimana Dana MySedekah Disalurkan?

Dana MySedekah memberikan fleksibiliti kepada Islamic Relief Malaysia untuk menyalurkan bantuan berdasarkan keperluan dan keutamaan semasa.

Pendekatan ini membolehkan bantuan diberikan kepada komuniti yang paling memerlukan, terutama ketika berlaku krisis kemanusiaan atau bencana.

Bantuan disalurkan melalui beberapa sektor utama seperti:

• Bantuan kecemasan
• Kehidupan mampan
• Pendidikan
• Kesihatan
• Bantuan makanan dan keperluan asas

Ke Mana Bantuan MySedekah Disalurkan?

Selain membantu komuniti di Malaysia, dana MySedekah turut menyokong operasi kemanusiaan Islamic Relief di pelbagai negara termasuk:

• Syria
• Palestin
• Sudan
• Somalia
• Indonesia
• Bosnia & Herzegovina
• Dan negara lain yang memerlukan bantuan

Melalui rangkaian operasi Islamic Relief, bantuan dapat disalurkan kepada komuniti yang terjejas akibat konflik, kemiskinan, bencana alam dan krisis kemanusiaan dengan lebih cepat, tersusun dan berkesan.

Bagaimana Untuk Bersedekah Melalui MySedekah?

Bersedekah kini lebih mudah melalui MySedekah Islamic Relief Malaysia.

Dengan satu sumbangan, anda berpeluang menyokong usaha kemanusiaan yang membantu keluarga miskin, mangsa bencana dan komuniti rentan di seluruh dunia.

Walaupun jumlah sumbangan kecil, ia tetap membawa makna besar kepada mereka yang memerlukan.

Hulurkan sedekah anda hari ini melalui MySedekah dan bersama-sama membantu mencipta perubahan bermakna.

Bantuan Kecemasan Banjir Filipina Ringankan Beban 770 Keluarga di La Paz

Hujan lebat berterusan akibat fenomena garisan ricih (shear line) yang melanda La Paz, Agusan del Sur di wilayah CARAGA, Mindanao, Filipina pada Februari 2026 telah mencetuskan banjir kilat dan tanah runtuh yang memberi kesan besar kepada ribuan keluarga.

Bencana ini bukan sahaja memusnahkan kediaman, malah menjejaskan sumber pendapatan, bekalan makanan serta kehidupan harian masyarakat yang bergantung kepada sektor pertanian.

Melalui projek Shearline Flood Response in La Paz, Agusan del Sur, Islamic Relief Malaysia menyalurkan bantuan kecemasan bagi membantu keluarga-keluarga yang terkesan.

Lebih Sejuta Penduduk Terjejas Akibat Banjir

Fenomena cuaca ekstrem yang melanda beberapa kawasan di Filipina telah menyebabkan kemusnahan yang meluas. Secara keseluruhan:

• 260,339 keluarga atau lebih 1.08 juta penduduk terjejas.
• 7,757 keluarga terpaksa dipindahkan ke pusat perlindungan sementara.
• 115 buah rumah mengalami kerosakan.
• 8 nyawa dilaporkan terkorban.

Selain kehilangan tempat tinggal, ramai keluarga kehilangan mata pencarian apabila kawasan pertanian dan ladang ditenggelami banjir. Bekalan makanan turut berkurangan, sekali gus meningkatkan risiko ketidakjaminan makanan, terutama kepada golongan rentan seperti wanita, kanak-kanak dan individu kurang upaya.

Di daerah La Paz, seramai 10,304 keluarga atau 42,016 penduduk di 15 buah kampung merupakan antara komuniti yang paling terkesan akibat bencana ini.

Bantuan Tunai Membantu Keluarga Memenuhi Keperluan Segera

Bagi membantu komuniti yang terjejas, Islamic Relief Malaysia melalui Islamic Relief Philippines melaksanakan program bantuan kecemasan berasaskan tunai bagi membantu penduduk terjejas.

Melalui projek ini:

• 770 keluarga menerima bantuan.
• Setiap keluarga menerima PHP3,000 (sekitar RM198).

Penerima bantuan terdiri daripada:

• Petani dan buruh ladang.
• Keluarga yang terjejas akibat banjir.
• Keluarga yang mengalami kerosakan rumah.
• Keluarga yang tinggal di kawasan berisiko tinggi.
• Keluarga yang belum menerima bantuan daripada pihak lain.

Pendekatan bantuan tunai ini memberi fleksibiliti kepada penerima untuk mendapatkan makanan, ubat-ubatan, keperluan harian dan barangan penting yang diperlukan mengikut situasi masing-masing.

Membantu Keluarga Teruskan Kehidupan Selepas Bencana

Bantuan yang disalurkan bukan sekadar memenuhi keperluan segera, malah membantu mempercepatkan proses pemulihan kehidupan keluarga yang terjejas.

Antara impak utama bantuan ini ialah:

• Mengurangkan risiko ketidakjaminan makanan.
• Membantu keluarga mendapatkan keperluan asas dengan segera.
• Menyokong pemulihan ekonomi harian selepas kehilangan sumber pendapatan.
• Memastikan bantuan sampai kepada keluarga yang paling memerlukan.

Setiap sumbangan memberi harapan kepada mereka untuk meneruskan kehidupan dengan lebih bermaruah selepas berdepan bencana.

“Bantuan yang kami terima membantu kami memenuhi keperluan segera seperti makanan dan perbelanjaan asas harian. Sebelum menerima bantuan ini, kami hanya bergantung kepada pendapatan daripada hasil pertanian yang tidak menentu, sekali gus menyukarkan kami untuk menampung keperluan harian keluarga serta menyokong pendidikan anak perempuan kami.

“Kepada para penderma dan penyokong Islamic Relief, kami ingin merakamkan setinggi-tinggi penghargaan atas bantuan dan keprihatinan yang anda hulurkan. Sokongan anda memberikan harapan kepada keluarga seperti kami serta memberi kekuatan untuk kami terus melangkah ke hadapan walaupun berdepan pelbagai cabaran.” – Angelie Padrones, penerima manfaat

Teruskan Menjadi Harapan Buat Penduduk Terjejas Bencana

Apabila bencana berlaku, keluarga yang terjejas memerlukan sokongan segera bagi mendapatkan makanan, tempat perlindungan dan keperluan asas untuk meneruskan kehidupan.

Melalui kempen MySedekah Islamic Relief Malaysia, anda boleh membantu memastikan lebih ramai keluarga yang dilanda bencana menerima bantuan tepat pada masanya.

Hulurkan sumbangan anda hari ini melalui kempen MySedekah dan bersama-sama kita membawa sinar harapan kepada mereka yang memerlukan.

Sempena Hari Pelarian Sedunia, kami berkongsi kisah dua wanita Sudan yang terpaksa meninggalkan kehidupan yang telah mereka bina apabila perang melanda negara mereka.

Setiap pagi, Ikhlas bangun seawal jam 3.30 pagi. Dia menyediakan doh untuk membuat kisra, sejenis roti nipis yang menjadi makanan ruji masyarakat Sudan, sebelum menjualnya satu demi satu kepada keluarga yang tinggal di deretan khemah yang kini menjadi tempat perlindungannya.

Hanya dua tahun lalu, Ikhlas bekerja dalam sektor kesihatan awam di El Fasher, sebuah bandar di barat Sudan. Tugasnya membawa beliau dari rumah ke rumah untuk berkongsi maklumat kesihatan, memberi nasihat dan membantu penduduk mendapatkan sokongan yang diperlukan. Suaminya pula bekerja di Kementerian Kehakiman manakala anak-anak mereka sedang melanjutkan pelajaran di sekolah dan universiti. Kehidupan mereka tidak mewah, tetapi stabil dan mencukupi.

Sari, yang tinggal beberapa baris khemah dari Ikhlas di kem penempatan sementara di Port Sudan, mempunyai kisah yang hampir sama. Beberapa tahun lalu, beliau merupakan kakitangan di Kementerian Kewangan Sudan, manakala suaminya mengusahakan perniagaan perdagangan yang berjaya. Bersama-sama mereka membesarkan tujuh orang anak.

“Sebelum perang, alhamdulillah, kami mempunyai kehidupan yang baik,” katanya. “Kami memiliki apa yang kami perlukan, malah lebih daripada itu.”

Inilah realiti krisis Sudan yang sering tenggelam di sebalik tajuk berita dan statistik. Lebih 9 juta orang telah kehilangan tempat tinggal sejak April 2023. Kebanyakan mereka bukanlah golongan yang hidup dalam kemiskinan sebelum perang berlaku. Mereka ialah guru, penjawat awam, peniaga, jururawat dan akauntan. Mereka mempunyai kerjaya, simpanan dan perancangan masa depan. Namun perang tidak memilih mangsa. Ia merampas segala-galanya daripada semua orang.

Rumah Ditinggalkan, Perjalanan Penuh Cabaran

Ikhlas meninggalkan El Fasher bersama ibunya yang berusia 85 tahun dan dua orang anak perempuan selepas kehilangan empat ahli keluarga pada minggu-minggu awal peperangan. Kakaknya terbunuh bersama suami dan dua orang anak mereka. Seorang jiran berusia 35 tahun pula ditembak mati di luar rumah abangnya.

Ikhlas dan keluarganya berjalan kaki dan merentas beberapa sekatan jalan selama hampir dua minggu sebelum tiba di Port Sudan. Dia meninggalkan rumahnya dalam keadaan tidak berkunci dengan semua barang masih berada di tempat asal.

Dia meninggalkan emas, simpanan wang yang tidak lagi dapat diakses serta gaji kerajaan yang masih terkumpul di tempat yang tidak lagi mampu dicapainya. Tiga orang anak lelakinya terpaksa ditinggalkan bersama bapa mereka kerana kos perjalanan terlalu tinggi. Suaminya yang mempunyai masalah fizikal akhirnya berjaya menyusul dengan menaiki kereta sorong melalui kawasan terbuka selama 12 hari. Anak-anak lelaki mereka kemudian menyertai keluarga di kem tersebut.

Perjalanan Sari juga tidak kurang mencabar. Sekatan jalan yang banyak menyebabkan ketidakpastian sepanjang perjalanan.

“Ada perkara yang masih sukar untuk saya ceritakan sepenuhnya,” katanya.

Beliau tiba di Port Sudan lapan bulan lalu bersama anak-anaknya. Suaminya yang tidak lagi dapat meneruskan perniagaan kini menghasilkan dan menjual kemenyan di pasar. Kehidupan mereka jauh berbeza berbanding dahulu, namun sekurang-kurangnya masih ada sedikit pendapatan.

Apabila Segala Yang Dibina Musnah

Kehilangan tempat tinggal bukan sahaja menyebabkan individu seperti Sari dan Ikhlas kehilangan sumber pendapatan. Mereka juga kehilangan keseluruhan sistem kehidupan yang selama ini menyokong keluarga mereka.

Kelayakan akademik mereka tidak lagi dapat dimanfaatkan. Rangkaian hubungan yang membantu kerjaya mereka juga terputus. Rutin harian yang membina masa depan keluarga terpaksa dimulakan semula dari kosong.

Sari mempunyai enam orang anak yang sepatutnya berada di sekolah, namun jalan untuk mereka kembali belajar penuh dengan cabaran. Anak perempuan Ikhlas pula menduduki peperiksaan kebangsaan Sudan sebagai pelajar yang kehilangan tempat tinggal, mengulang kaji pelajaran di dalam khemah. Seorang lagi anaknya berusaha meneruskan pengajian universiti dari kem tersebut.

Salah seorang anak lelaki mereka pula terpaksa menangguhkan pendidikannya untuk membantu ibunya menjual kisra setiap pagi.

“Ini bukan keputusan yang kekal,” kata Ikhlas. “Ia hanyalah apa yang perlu kami lakukan buat masa ini.”

Air Bersih Mengubah Segalanya

Bagi kebanyakan orang, air adalah sesuatu yang dianggap biasa. Namun bagi keluarga yang tinggal di kem penempatan sementara di Sudan, mendapatkan air bersih yang mencukupi dan mampu dibayar merupakan cabaran harian yang sangat membebankan.

Sebelum Islamic Relief melaksanakan projek penghantaran air ke kem mereka, Sari membelanjakan sekitar 5,000 hingga 7,000 pound Sudan sehari untuk mendapatkan bekalan air. Dengan keluarga seramai tujuh orang dan tanpa pendapatan tetap, jumlah itu boleh mencecah lebih USD60 sebulan hanya untuk air.

Ikhlas pula membelanjakan jumlah yang hampir sama setiap hari bagi keluarganya yang terdiri daripada enam hingga tujuh orang.

“Setiap hidangan, setiap cucian dan setiap gelas air mempunyai kosnya,” kata Sari. “Ia benar-benar membebankan.”

Projek Islamic Relief telah mengurangkan kos tersebut hampir sepenuhnya. Wang yang sebelum ini digunakan untuk membeli air kini boleh digunakan untuk membeli makanan, ubat-ubatan dan keperluan asas lain.

Namun impaknya bukan sekadar kewangan.

Kedua-dua wanita itu menggambarkan kelegaan apabila mereka tidak lagi perlu memikirkan setiap titisan air yang digunakan. Beban mental akibat ketidakpastian bekalan air adalah sesuatu yang sukar diukur tetapi dirasai setiap hari.

“Air adalah asas kehidupan,” kata Sari. “Apabila keperluan itu dipenuhi, segala-galanya menjadi sedikit lebih mudah.”

Rumah Masih Menjadi Harapan

Apabila memikirkan masa depan, baik Sari mahupun Ikhlas tidak melihat kem penempatan sementara sebagai destinasi terakhir mereka. Mereka masih mengimpikan untuk pulang ke tanah air.

“Saya mahu El Fasher kembali aman,” kata Ikhlas. “Saya mahu pulang dan menyambung tugas yang saya tinggalkan. Saya mahu melihat anak-anak saya menamatkan pengajian.”

Beliau juga berharap dapat menunaikan ibadah haji suatu hari nanti.

Sari pula berkata:

“Apabila keamanan dan kestabilan kembali, segala-galanya akan mengikutinya. Kita boleh kembali bekerja, anak-anak boleh kembali ke sekolah dan kehidupan boleh diteruskan semula. Mungkin kehidupan itu akan menjadi lebih baik daripada sebelumnya.”

Sempena Hari Pelarian Sedunia, Islamic Relief menyeru masyarakat antarabangsa untuk meningkatkan sokongan kepada keluarga yang kehilangan tempat tinggal akibat konflik di Sudan dan mengingati bahawa di sebalik setiap angka statistik terdapat insan yang pernah membina kehidupan mereka sendiri dan berhak diberikan peluang untuk membinanya semula.

Bantu Islamic Relief terus menyokong mereka yang terkesan akibat konflik di Sudan. Hulurkan sumbangan anda kepada Rayuan Kecemasan Antarabangsa hari ini.

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.