Tima is a 70-year-old survivor of the Srebrenica genocide.

She is a mother to Nedzad and 3 daughters, Hurija, Amela and Inela.

In 1992, her village was attacked, forcing her family to flee. “I had to leave because they set the house on fire. They killed whoever they could. We never returned. Whoever stayed was killed.

I was carrying bags and dragging my children’s clothes [behind us]. I was also carrying my younger children in my arms. It was a battle for survival. The only goal was to stay alive.

When I arrived in Srebrenica, all I wanted was to lay down with my children. I was physically exhausted from carrying my children for 3 months on my back in the snow.

“There was no proper accommodation. The people who were already there did not want to accept us into their own homes, so we had to improvise in the woods by making huts out of plastic and cardboard. The Swedish [NGOs] helped us when they took us into some small houses where the accommodation was much nicer.

“Humanitarian aid started arriving eventually. We received 1kg of flour, and it was supposedly to last us the whole month which is impossible. War is war and it is extremely difficult to survive. Those who received humanitarian aid had a chance of survival, but the ones who did not had no chance. I hope war here never happens again.”

Tima’s husband and son were caught by the Serbian army. Her husband Alija was tragically killed in Kasaba, eastern Bosnia and Herzegovina, while Nedzad was taken to a mass execution site.

All men who were considered to be old enough to fight were taken to the mass execution site. “Nedzad was shot 4 times but, somehow, he survived and managed to make it Tuzla. I remember he was in an extremely poor condition, so bad that he could not even go to the bathroom by himself. I had to help him with everything,” she says.

The 1995 Dayton Peace Agreement ended the Bosnian War, providing people with an opportunity to search for their missing relatives. It was only then that Tima discovered that her husband had died during the fall of Srebrenica in 1995. “I found out when the Red Cross started looking for grave sites after the Dayton Peace Agreement was signed. There was a mass search for missing bodies once the agreement was signed, so that was when they found my husband’s body.”

Tima and 2 of her daughters later received support through Islamic Relief’s Orphan Sponsorship Programme.

“Islamic Relief accepted me and 2 of my children, who were small at the time, into the Orphan Sponsorship Programme. It was good for me as I took a small loan from Islamic Relief which helped me educate my children. I am very grateful to Islamic Relief as I would not have been able to get a loan from anywhere else. I simply wish to thank you a lot and to thank the organisation which sponsored my 2 girls.”

Tima currently splits her time between Tuzla and Srebrenica, where Nedzad lives, though returning there is still hard for her.

“It was not easy for me to return to Srebrenica. When my Nedzad finished his schooling, he was offered a job here. He could not choose the location of the job, which happened to be Srebrenica, so I followed him. I did not want to return.

“It’s nice and for now, it is safe. Once you experience something extremely frightening, even small things shake you up afterwards. I would love to take my son away from Srebrenica, but what can I do? Considering Nedzad is employed here, we must stay here.

“For now, everything is good, my children are doing well thanks to God. I am also healthy even though the years are catching up to me.”

By 1995, the small mining town of Srebrenica, in eastern Bosnia and Herzegovina, had already endured a terrible 3 years of siege amid the Bosnian War.

Before the war began, 73% of the town’s population were Bosniaks and 25% were Bosnian Serbs. But, as the war progressed – and in the wake of Republika Srpska ethnic cleansing campaigns throughout 1992 and 1993 – more and more Bosniak civilians in eastern Bosnia fled to Srebrenica, seeking help in what the United Nations (UN) had declared a designated Safe Area.

The population of Srebrenica swelled from 9,000, to 70,000.

In 1993, General Phillipe Morrillon of the UN visited Srebrenica. After seeing the horrific conditions in the town, and after not being allowed to leave by the desperate public, Morrillon declared to the Bosniak people assembled: “You are now under the protection of the UN forces. I will never abandon you.” 

The presence of UN peacekeepers in the area did nothing to deter Republika Srpska’s desire to take Srebrenica, seeing the town as strategically important to their operations.

In March 1995 the political leader of the Bosnian Serbs, Radovan Karadzic, ordered his forces to, “create an unbearable situation of total insecurity with no hope of further survival or life for the inhabitants of Srebrenica.”

Serb troops blockaded civilians inside the town, allowing no food or water to enter for months. Supplies ran low. Residents began to die of starvation.

Then the Serb troops advanced.

From 6 July 1995, Serb forces intensified their siege. Shelling continued for days, causing panic among the residents and forcing tens of thousands to flee to the nearby town of Potocari where a UN base was located.

Some peacekeepers were taken hostage, while Serb forces demanded that Bosniak soldiers hand over their weapons in exchange for safety.

11 July

On 11 July, the Bosnian Serb military leader Ratko Mladic walked into Srebrenica and, in a statement recorded on film by a Serb journalist stated:

“We give this town to the Serb nation. The time has come to take revenge on the Muslims.”

By now, there were up to 25,000 Bosniak civilians congregated around the UN base in Potocari, all desperately trying to reach safety. Conditions were horrendous, with very little food or water available, and no protection from the oppressive July heat.

Serb soldiers began mingling with the crowd, causing more panic. In later testimonies, the UN peacekeepers described it as “a chaotic situation”, with witnesses reporting seeing Serb soldiers terrorising Bosniak civilians. 

As night fell, the horror continued. Soldiers would pick people out at random from the crowd. Some would return, others never did. Throughout the night, they raped women and girls and murdered dozens of men and boys.

That night, a huge group of 10,000 Bosniak men and boys fled through the forests around Srebrenica, trying to reach the free city of Tuzla – more than 60 miles away.

Soldiers pursued and captured thousands of these men – some were killed in the forest, others were forcibly moved elsewhere. In some instances, soldiers would force fathers to call out for to their sons, knowing their child would be in grave danger if they emerged from the trees.’

12 – 13 July

On 12 July, the buses started to arrive.

As UN peacekeepers watched, soldiers began to separate women, girls and boys under 12 from the others and forcing them onto buses.

The buses were described as overcrowded and unbearably hot. Those on board had no idea where they were being taken.

Over the next 2 days, more than 20,000 women and children were sent to Bosniak-held territory, eventually arriving in Tuzla, where a camp had been established. 

Those left behind – men and boys aged 12 to 77 and so considered of age to fight – were taken for so-called ‘interrogations’.

Some were killed on the spot. Most were forced onto buses and transported to holding sites and concentration camps.

By the end of 13 July, there were almost no men or boys left. And days later, UN soldiers reported that no Bosniaks at all remained in the town of Srebrenica.

14 July

In what would become the largest massacre on European soil since the atrocities of the Holocaust, the soldiers began their mass executions of the men held in Bratunac.  

Thousands were murdered. Some individually, others in groups. Their bodies were then pushed by bulldozers into mass graves near the killing sites. There are horrifying reports of some being buried alive, while remains found later recovered show signs of torture.

Months after the massacre, soldiers attempted to cover up their crimes by scattering the remains across different mass graves. The Srebrenica Memorial Centre reports that remains of those murdered at Srebrenica have so far been found in 94 mass graves across eastern Bosnia.

In court proceedings that took 24 years to complete, the International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia that the mass murder that took place at Srebrenica was beyond all reasonable doubt a genocide. The trial, which ran from 1993 until 2017, saw 161 people indicted for their involvement in the genocide.

At the time of writing, we know 8,372 Bosniak men and boys were executed from 13 July to 19 July 1995. It is estimated that more than 1,000 more remain unaccounted for. 

What would you do if your child needed urgent medical care, but the nearest clinic was an exhausting hour-and-a-half’s walk away? Would you risk the journey in the rain, through snow, harsh mountain winds or scorching sun? Would you carry a sick child in your arms in the hopes of getting there safely?

In Lailour Pain village, a remote part of Yakawlang district in Afghanistan’s Bamyan province, these questions were once part of everyday life. For Khadija and many other mothers, accessing healthcare was an uphill battle. But all that is changing now.

Living with uncertainty

Khadija, 45, has spent her entire life in Lailour Pain, a village her family has called home for generations. Together with her husband, Abdullah, she cares for a large family of 14: 3 sons, 4 daughters, 2 daughters-in-law, and 3 grandchildren.

“My husband is 58 and works as a farmer. Our income comes from the crops we grow on our farm. If the crops grow well and there is enough water, we manage. But if there’s a drought, we have nothing. It becomes very difficult to survive.”

The family’s modest 4-room mud house provides shelter but lacks the comfort and warmth of a proper home. They struggle with poor harvests year after year, leaving them with no choice but to purchase food from Yakawlang city, around 20 kilometers away — a journey that is both expensive and physically demanding. Access to clean drinking water remains limited, with the family relying on a shared community well from which they must draw water each day by hand. While Khadija’s daughters are continuing their education at a nearby primary school, access to even the most basic health services has always been out of reach for the family.

A new beginning for the community

In September 2024, with support from the Health and Livelihoods Promotion (HeLP) project, Islamic Relief built a clinic in Khadija’s village. Every day, the facility serves around 100 patients, not only from Lailour Pain but also from several neighbouring villages who previously had no access to nearby healthcare.

For family’s like Khadija’s, the new clinic has been life-changing.

“My eldest daughter, who is 25, has kidney problems and needs regular medical attention. Before, it was a long journey to get her help,” Khadjia says. “We had to walk for an hour and a half to reach the nearest health centre.

“It was very tiring. I have back pain myself, and making that journey was hard.”

Many villagers, especially mothers and elderly people, were unable to make the long trip. Even when they did, there was no guarantee that the clinic would have the medicine they needed. Illnesses, particularly among children, went untreated. Health education was non-existent.

“There were times we had to cut back on food just to afford a trip to the city for medical treatment. It was painful, especially in winter,” Khadija recalls.

The new clinic offers a wide range of services: outpatient consultations, antenatal and postnatal care, psychosocial support, and nutrition programmes. Children who need specialised care are referred for treatment, and families receive counselling on hygiene and wellbeing.

For months, Khadija lived with chronic back pain. Even simple chores like cleaning and cooking became a struggle for her. After visiting the clinic, she received pain relief medication and advice on how to manage her condition at home.

“It changed our lives,” Khadija says quietly. “Now, when we’re sick, we go to the clinic nearby. We receive medicine, guidance, and care. I feel better, and I can do my daily chores without pain.”

Women in the village, who once hesitated to seek care, now feel safe and confident visiting the clinic. Health awareness has also improved, and with it, the overall quality of life has improved.

Khadija emphasises the importance of expanding the services. “We need delivery care. Complications during childbirth are common, and these services would save lives.”

A mother’s wish

For Khadija, the clinic is more than a health centre—it’s a promise of a brighter future.

“I want my children to be healthy. I want them to study, grow, and have better lives than we had. This clinic gives me hope that it’s possible.”

She sits quietly, her dark green and black shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders, her voice soft but steady. “We are thankful to Islamic Relief. What you’ve done here has changed our lives.”

Across Afghanistan, countless families like Khadija’s continue to face major challenges in accessing basic healthcare. Long distances, poverty, and a lack of local services put lives at risk, especially for women and children. With your support, Islamic Relief is working to change that by building clinics, training staff, and delivering life-saving care to some of the most remote communities.

Please help Islamic Relief continue to deliver life-saving health services and hope to families like Khadija’s in Afghanistan and around the world. Donate now.

On World Refugee Day, a mother and her children reveal the crushing reality of displacement: where every day is a battle for water, food, and hope.

The night the bombs came, Neda’a did not have time to gather shoes. She woke her 7 children in the dark, shouting over the explosions, and they ran barefoot, through streets strewn with broken glass and rubble, the younger ones crying as their feet bled. Her eldest son, Ahmed, carried his 7-year-old brother Elyas on his back. By dawn, they reached a UN school-turned-shelter. It was the last time Ahmed would see his family.

The next day, he went to buy shoes for his siblings. He never returned.

Now, Neda’a sits on the floor of a crowded classroom that has become their shelter, recounting the moment she learned Ahmed was gone. “We lost our backbone,” she says.

Around her, the walls are cracked from shelling. There is no running water, no privacy, no space to grieve. This is life for Gaza’s displaced, a relentless cycle of survival where death is routine, and the idea of home is reduced to a single question: How do we make it through today?

Fighting for water

This World Refugee Day, over 122 million people are forcibly displaced worldwide, the highest ever recorded. But displacement is not just a statistic. it’s often a sudden, devastating rupture that overturns entire lives, leaving families scrambling to rebuild amidst chaos.

In Gaza, at least 1.9 million people, about 90% of the population have been forcibly displaced, many of them multiple times. People have fled to try and escape bombs or have been ordered to leave by the Israeli military. Families sleep in tents, in the skeletons of bombed-out buildings, in hospital corridors where the smell of antiseptic cannot mask the stench of overcrowding.

For Neda’a and her children, displacement means waking before sunrise to join the scramble for water. Mousa, her 12-year-old son, describes the daily ritual: the long walk to the well, the fights that break out when the water runs low, the weight of the buckets cutting into his hands as he carries them back. “Before the war, we turned on a tap,” he says. “Now we fight for every drop.”

We have nothing left

Displacement does not end with losing a home. It seeps into every part of life, twisting the ordinary into the unbearable.

For Neda’a’s daughters, it means giving up school to scavenge for firewood, their hands hardened from gathering scraps to burn for cooking. The smoke fills their shelter, making the younger children cough, but there is no gas, no electricity, no other way to eat. For Mousa, it means bearing the burdens of an adult, hauling water, comforting his siblings when the bombs start again, trying to fill the space left by his older brother.

And for Neda’a, it means waking each morning to the same crushing reality: no money, no safe place, no way to protect her children from the war outside or the despair creeping in. “I just want to wake up to news that this is over,” she says. “But even if it ends tomorrow, what then? We have nothing left.”

Islamic Relief delivers aid in Gaza

While the horror continues, Palestinians have shown incredible resilience. Islamic Relief’s team and local partners in Gaza work tirelessly to provide lifesaving aid, even when they are themselves bombed, displaced and grieving. Over the past 20 months we’ve cooked millions of hot meals and distributed hygiene kits and emergency cash. Right now, we’re providing aid such as maternal care for pregnant women and cleaning shelters for displaced people to prevent deadly diseases spreading.

But the need is overwhelming. “We’re not just fighting hunger,” says Programme Officer Yasmin Al-Ashy. “We’re fighting the slow death of hope.”

For Neda’a, hope is fragile. She looks at Mousa, now too serious for his age; Ritag, whose hands are rough from gathering wood; Elyas, who is restless every night, and wonders what future awaits them. “I don’t know if they will ever recover from this,” she says.

They desperately need international governments and world leaders to demand an immediate ceasefire and pressure Israel to end its siege.

This World Refugee Day, stand with families like Neda’s. Donate to Islamic Relief Malaysia’s Palestine Appeal to provide lifesaving aid and hope to those who have lost everything. And call on your politicians and governments to demand meaningful political action to end the atrocities.

Gadarif state was once a quiet agricultural region. Now, it is a reluctant refuge for thousands of families fleeing Sudan’s spiralling conflict.

Among them is mother-of-5 Rayan, whose life has been reduced to a daily struggle for the most basic necessities: food, shelter and safety.

Her story is a snapshot of the global refugee crisis, one that forces us to confront the human cost of displacement, not as a distant tragedy, but as a relentless reality for millions.

The night everything changed

Rayan’s family once had a home in Khartoum, a modest but stable life. Her husband ran a small business, and her children went to school. “It was not luxury,” she recalls, “but it was ours.”

That changed overnight when fighting reached their neighbourhood last year. With bullets flying and shops ablaze, the family abandoned everything they had known. Joining the endless stream of displaced individuals searching for safety, they drove first to Singa in the Blue Nile region and then on to Gadarif after renewed clashes.

“We left with nothing,” she says. “No money, no belongings, no papers, just the clothes we were wearing.”

Today, the family of 7 live crammed into a host family’s compound. Plastic sheeting covers gaps in the walls; a single jerry can stand in place of household furniture.

Rayan’s husband searches the market each dawn for day labour. On good days, he earns approximately £2.50 (RM14) loading grain sacks and stacking produce carts. On the many bad days, he returns empty‑handed.

The world’s largest displacement crisis

The speed of displacement in Sudan has been staggering: the United Nations estimates that over 11 million Sudanese are now uprooted, the largest internal displacement crisis on record.

Yet Sudan is only one fault‑line in a global pattern. Worldwide, 122.6 million people – three‑quarters of them women and children – live in limbo after fleeing conflict, persecution and disaster.

Displacement triggers a chain reaction of suffering. Children drop out of school, families sell all they have, and illness spreads where healthcare is scarce.

In Gadarif, the hot nights lead to increased health risks for displaced families, including young children who are particularly vulnerable to malaria. Rayan’s 2 -year-old daughter has already fallen ill.

For adolescent girls, the crisis brings an additional layer of anxiety. Sanitary pads are expensive luxuries, and makeshift alternatives raise health risks and keep girls indoors.

Islamic Relief delivers lifesaving aid

Islamic Relief distributed aid to Rayan’s neighbourhood supported by the Humanitarian Emergency Fund (HEF). Each household received a dignity kit, which included 2 mosquito nets, sanitary pads, toothbrushes, soap, blankets and headscarves, plus a cash grant.

“The mosquito net was a small thing that gave us much peace,” Rayan says. Her youngest now sleeps through the night. The cash covered a month’s rent and also stretched to cooking oil and lentils. “For the first time in many weeks,” she adds, “I bought meat.”

Islamic Relief colleagues in Sudan emphasise that cash restores choice and dignity. “It allows families to decide what they need most,” explains Adam Yagoub, Islamic Relief Sudan’s communication officer. “Some buy food, some pay medical bills, some save a little for the journey home, when return is possible.”

A fair chance at survival

Sudan’s conflict shows no sign of abating; humanitarian corridors remain volatile, and funding gaps widen as new crises compete for attention. Islamic Relief’s latest Sudan appeal is only 42% funded.

Rayan understands these numbers translate into rationed assistance. “We do not expect comfort,” she says, “just a fair chance.”

Her wish list is simple: regular food parcels, safe shelter, mosquito spraying across the settlement, and, above all, peace so her children can return to school.

Donate to our International Emergency now to help families like Rayan’s survive with dignity.