A Saudi Arabia-led coalition of nine Arabs states has been conducting airstrikes in Yemen since the beginning of 2015 in response to the ouster of President Abd Rabbuh Mansur Hadi, whose overthrow during the Arab spring uprising of 2011 sparked a civil war. The UN has declared a humanitarian crisis. According to the UN's High Commissioner for Human Rights almost two-thirds of civilian casualties have been a direct result of airstrikes. Since May 2015, Medecins Sans Frontieres (MSF) has been providing emergency medications and surgical supplies to a number of hospitals in the country, all of which have been receiving large numbers of people wounded in the escalating violence, including more than 5,307 war-wounded at Al Rawdah hospital. MSF has also been blocked from delivering medical supplies to two hospitals in Taiz in southern Yemen. A slightly different version of the story that follows first appeared on middleeasteye.net.
Sana'a, Yemen – In the capital, the warplanes flying overhead are the main threat. They drop their bombs, go away and then come back again. They can stay in the sky for hours, making everyone nervous. All people want is for the planes to empty their deadly cargo and go away so they can continue with their daily lives. Yemenis have learned to live with them, and so did we.
Before an airstrike, there is a whistling noise. The reaction is automatic: find shelter. There were a couple of nights when I rolled under my bed, afraid the windows would be blown in by the blast. The whole house shook. Bombs are being dropped in Yemen on a regular basis and this is how everyone lives.
One day, a compound in front of MSF's main hospital for mothers and children was heavily bombed. Two children died while hospital staff were evacuating patients from the building, not because of the airstrikes, but because of a lack of oxygen.
The impact of this war is not only related to the fighting. Most deaths are a result of the fact the healthcare system is collapsing. Those two unfortunate children were two among many.
In the city of Taiz, however, the main threat are the snipers. Even though you can’t see them, they are always there. When you cross a frontline, they are always on your mind. You become super-sensitive to the sound of gunshots. You learn quickly in this environment the difference between an AK47 and sniper’s gun. You have to. It can be a matter of life or death.
But, no matter how many measures you take, you can still suddenly find yourself in the middle of a gunfight.
One day we were visiting hospitals that MSF supports across Taiz. As we entered no man’s land, we saw two fighters who had just been shot in the head by snipers. Before we knew it, we were caught in the crossfire.
Gunshots were coming from everywhere, landing a few metres from us. We got out of the car and tried to find a place to take shelter. We crouched behind a water tank. One Yemeni colleague managed to squeeze himself into a tiny gap between the water tank and a brick wall. The adrenaline rush to save your life makes you do things you never imagined.
After 20 minutes, a family kindly let us into their house. The father was barefoot, wearing only a Yemeni traditional skirt and a white tank top, and holding a Kalashnikov at the ready. The children looked tired. They had had no sleep for the past several days, as the fighting had been so intense, with wounded fighters screaming in the streets after being shot. It has become more and more obvious that we have to offer psychological support to the Yemeni people as soon as possible.
The gunfight lasted nearly two hours. I’ll never forget the hospitality of that Yemeni family who saved our lives.
Yemenis are incredibly resilient. Travelling around the country, you see how they are adapting to living with this indiscriminate war. The fuel and water crisis affects everyone. Families walk to wells to get water. There are long queues of cars waiting for gasoline, sometimes for days at a time. People ride motorbikes which have been modified to run on natural gas or use horses and donkeys.
The daily business of life simply goes on. The markets are always busy, ice cream sellers ring their bells among the heavily-armed fighters; windows shattered by gunfire are repaired; chickens are sold next to checkpoints. "We can’t just stop because of the war," a Yemeni doctor in one of our hospitals tells me.
I got to meet and work with many Yemenis. They are very welcoming and open to others, so you get involved in their personal lives. Everyone I met has lost a loved one in this war. Their wounds are wide open. I sincerely hope they will get a chance to heal soon.
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