I won’t go into details about what caused the war in Yemen, mainly because there are many biased opinions. And if you ask me, all sides are heartless. I say this because it takes a dead heart for an individual to rationalize bombing a bus full of children. Or enforcing little boys to go to war. Instead, I will go into the details of how this war affected me personally.
When I came to America, I quickly missed home. What I call home is the small village that I grew up in with a small group of friends. As children, we had nothing to fear other than the fears we created ourselves. We would visit old broken-down houses to find Jin! We would play from Asr time until maghrib and enjoyed each other’s company. But at the time, I did not know just how much I was enjoying myself; that laughter and chasing and hunting was the norm to me. That was until I came to America and soon realized it was not the norm because in America, all I did is sit down and watch anime and barely talk to anyone. Being a Muslim girl who did not speak English left me as an outcast, a loner, feelings I never felt before. I felt like an awkward puzzle that did not fit in.
Because of those feelings, I wanted to go back to Yemen so bad! I realized that a small, poor village had the happiness that no first-world-country could give me; it had the group of people that never made me feel any less of a person. But because of the war and closed airports, we couldn't go. The bombing grew worse; even hospitals were being targeted.
As a senior in high school, I remember talking to a very close cousin, Hind, about how much I wished things will go back to normal. She told me, “Ayesha, it's not the same.” That was around the time the cholera epidemic broke in Yemen. She said there are “many sick people and very little aid.”
A week later, my mom gets a call at 2 am. It was a call from Hind’s brother, Ahmed; he told my mom that Hind has passed away. A 25-year-old died because she could not get treatment for her liver disease. The health care system is extremely horrible to the point where healthcare professionals did not know she had a liver condition! I do not think any death has alarmed our family the way hers did in that manner—a young, gorgeous girl who died because of inadequate healthcare. I remember that was the time I started to take prayer seriously. I had to pray for Hind! I began to take Salah more seriously, and that got me through those tough times.
Every summer, I would see my friends go back to their home countries and wish I had the same privilege! But the war in Yemen did not just destroy buildings, kill many lives, close airports; it also departed our bonded friendships. I could no longer see my relatives and friends. And distance grew us apart. I can’t remember the last time I spoke with a childhood friend.
Now that I can finally visit Yemen, just the thought of it makes me want to cry. I know I am going to have lots of nostalgia. I am looking forward to experiencing those places in that village, but I know it won't be the same.