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.

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

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

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

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

Are we going to become another Gaza?

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

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

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

A day like any other

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

Then I heard a loud sound.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That hour changed everything.

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

A fragile, temporary, peace

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What happens when every right disappears

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

For women and girls, the conflict has been devastating.

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

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

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

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

A true community kitchen

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

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

Before Islamic Relief’s support, conditions were harsh.

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

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

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

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

When the world looks away

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

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

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

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

The work that cannot wait

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The daily calculation

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

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

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

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

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

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

 What keeps her going

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

“Even then, it’s hard.” She adds.

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

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

The ripple effects

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

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

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

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

A different kind of violence

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

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

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

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

But her deeper hopes go further.

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

The strength to continue

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A turning point

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

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

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

From student to business owner

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

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

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

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

The power of belief

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

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

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

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

Building community, not just business

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

This social dimension matters profoundly.

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

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

Looking forward with hope

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

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

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

 What real support looks like

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

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

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

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