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

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

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

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

What happens when every right disappears

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

For women and girls, the conflict has been devastating.

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

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

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

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

A true community kitchen

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

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

Before Islamic Relief’s support, conditions were harsh.

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

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

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

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

When the world looks away

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

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

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

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

The work that cannot wait

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The daily calculation

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

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

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

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

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

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

 What keeps her going

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

“Even then, it’s hard.” She adds.

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

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

The ripple effects

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

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

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

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

A different kind of violence

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

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

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

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

But her deeper hopes go further.

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

The strength to continue

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A turning point

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

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

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

From student to business owner

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

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

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

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

The power of belief

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

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

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

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

Building community, not just business

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

This social dimension matters profoundly.

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

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

Looking forward with hope

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

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

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

 What real support looks like

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

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

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

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