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.