Sana'a, Yemen

Shyma, 43, teacher and family manager

What do you see when you look out the window?
A lonely road of sand and gravel and a few dense trees that are covering the houses behind them, and I see a few cars parked on both sides of the road. There used to be lots of children playing out here, I could hear their shouting and laughter. Today there is only silence.

What do you miss the most?
Being at my parents' house to help them with their daily chores.

What did you have for breakfast today?
Warm, home made flat bread, beans that I baked with tomatoes, onions, garlic and olive oil, and red tea.

What has become your most important item?
My sunscreen. I use it to protect my skin from the heat that comes from baking bread in the kitchen. 

Yemen, so it has been said for years, is the scene of the world's worst humanitarian disaster, far off the radar of any international attention. Over 100,000 people have been killed in the war that broke out in the spring of 2015, around two million have been displaced from their villages, many of them live crammed together in refugee camps. 80 percent of the population, 24 million people, depend on humanitarian aid, 14 million have no access to basic medical care. Around half of the country's hospitals are closed or destroyed by bombs, diseases such as cholera and diphtheria are spreading unimpeded. And yet, despite the suffering of the civilian population, nothing has changed for the better, none of the warring parties have shown any political will to initiate a sustainable peace process. The Houthi rebels, supported by the Iranian Al-Quds Brigades as well as by the Hezbollah, and the international military coalition under Saudi leadership are hopelessly wedged together; the rebels’ power gains seem too lucrative to get them to accept any conditions that could bring peace; in the South of the country various tribal militias are fighting each other and separatists from the Southern Transitional Council oppose President Hadi's troops in their struggle for an independent state South-Yemen. And on top of all that, Western governments still deliver arms worth billions of US Dollars to the Saudi kingdom.

"I don't know what is worse”, says Shyma, “the war or this new, invisible enemy.”

For a long time there was hope that at least the Corona virus would spare Yemen as long as possible. The country is situated far away on the Southern edge of the Arabian Peninsula, to access it was difficult even before the war. Now it is almost sealed off completely, the airport of Sana’a, the capital in the North, is closed. But on the 10th of April 2020, the first Covid-19-infection was confirmed in the province of Hadramaut. On the 7th of July official figures reported 1297 corona cases and 348 deaths, but these figures hardly show the real picture. Tests are rare and after years of war the immune system of large parts of the population is so weakened that the virus won’t have any difficulties spreading. The UN fears that Yemen could even face of one of the world's worst outbreaks.  "I don't know what is worse”, says Shyma, “the war or this new, invisible enemy.”

“When I look out of the window”, says Shyma, “I see a lonely road.”

Shyma lives with her family in Sana’a, a city with over three million people, and the number of inhabitants is rising. Shyma and her husband belong to the scarce middle class, they both studied English, married out of love and have five children, four daughters and one son. The boy was born three years ago in the turmoils of war. "It's a war-baby," Shyma had said proudly just few days after she had come home from the hospital where she had given birth. For many years her husband had been employed by an international company, she had worked as a teacher. She had taught adult women to read and write, her classroom was situated in a basement. Shyma has always been passionate about her job, thus she had continued teaching during the war even though she hasn’t received her salary any longer since the Central Bank had been transferred from Sana'a to Aden. But at some point her students refused to come to the classroom, walking to school had become too dangerous for them - and in the end also for their teacher. 

She had taught adult women to read and write, her classroom was situated in a basement.

Currently the situation in Sana'a is more or less under control but Shyma hardly leaves the house, she doesn’t want to take any risks. Especially not now, since the virus has put a lock on her door. "We're living in a double lockdown," she says. And as she is saying this there is neither anger nor resignation echoing in her voice. There is just calmness.
And while she gives us rare glimpses of her world she remains as calm, I would even say: almost serene.

“I have just made Sabaya for my neighbour whose husband died of Covid-19 last week. Sabaya is a Yemeni sweet dish which is made of dough that is baked in multiple layers, then sprinkled with black cumin and served with honey. I have called for one of the widow’s kids to come by to pick it up. 

Freshly baked Sabaya for the widow of one Shyma’s neighbours who recently died of Covid-19.

Every day we hear of people who have been infected with the virus and we hear about people who have died from it. But while picking up this sad news we hardly receive any information form the Ministry of Health. It’s awfully silent about the pandemic. Instead we get our updates from social media. Meanwhile people have even started to document the death of their relatives, friends and acquaintances on Facebook and they also use this space to mourn their loved ones. As weird as it might sound, Facebook has become our virtual graveyard.
Yesterday I learned that some of my relatives got sick from the virus. Well, at least they assume it’s Corona, they have all the symptoms. However they will never know for sure, there are no test kits in our hospital, there is nothing. A lot of nurses don't even come to work anymore because they fear to get infected. Seriously ill patients suspected to have caught the virus are often simply sent back home to die. The Ministry of Health doesn’t do anything to ease the situation. It conceals the numbers of infections while leaving shops, markets and mosques open, whereas schools and universities have been closed for weeks. This makes me angry. Why of all places are the mosques left open, even though it’s well known that large numbers of people gather there to pray which helps the virus to spread quickly?

A lot of nurses don't even come to work anymore because they fear to get infected. Seriously ill patients suspected to have caught the virus are often simply sent back home to die.

My husband and I have started to pray at home a long time ago, but my father-in-law for example insists of going to the mosque in his neighbourhood four times a day. He cannot concentrate at home, he says. He is also firmly convinced that no illness in the world can harm him. He even believes that the virus doesn't exist at all, that it's nothing but empty talk. Well, he is not the only one to think like that. And that is dangerous. Meanwhile, in Aden, in the South of our country, there isn’t just the Corona virus, there is also an outbreak of the pneumonic plague, a disease much worse than Covid-19. People die of it very quickly, some even within one day.
A couple of days ago I dared to leave the house for the first time in months. The kids and I visited my sister who lives at the other end of the town. It was great. My second sister joined us as well, we were all so happy. But the situation in the streets was crazy. I saw nothing but innumerable cars lining up in queues in front of gas stations. There has been an acute fuel crisis in Sana’a for over a week. If you want to get 30 litres you have to wait for hours - and then you have to wait five days until you can refill your tank.
And you know what was the irony of this all?
In the night after our trip there was a huge fire in one of the areas of the town. It broke out in the house of a man who had stored barrels filled with gas that he wanted to sell on the black market. The fire damaged at least six houses. It’s crazy.
However, apart from visiting my sister I haven’t left the house at all, not even to go shopping, my husband takes care of that. He goes out every day, during Ramadan he even got us all new clothes. I know this may sound strange to you, but it doesn't bother me to be stuck at home, on the contrary: I love it. I am busy around the clock, the daily routines are never finished, and I think that's less a curse than a blessing. They keep me going strong. 

Home made Arabic flat bread. The heat of the oven in the kitchen gets so intense that Shyma uses sunscreen to protect her skin.

I clean the house every morning. We are lucky to have a big house, but it’s lot of work to keep it tidy. Sometimes I have to start all over again as my baby son loves to leave his toys everywhere and when he is eating he often creates a mess by dropping his spoon on the floor. Fortunately we have a water tank on our roof that can be filled with 2000 litres. Water isn’t too expensive nowadays, we can still afford it. Electricity on the other hand, is big trouble. Five years ago we installed solar panels on the roof to make us less dependent on the commercial electricity supply. We use solar energy during the day for the lights, the tv and the batteries of our phones, at night we switch to commercial electricity. But this is not enough, we had to cut down almost all of our electronic devices. I cook with gas. I no longer use the vacuum or the iron, we have switched off the water heater as well as the fridge. As we cannot keep food chilled anymore we buy small amounts every day and eat it immediately. But - I can use the washing machine twice a week. That’s the very good news. We have piles of laundry — never ever could I wash all that by hand. Honestly, the washing machine is the most important thing to me.

In the morning I bake bread in my kitchen, Arabic flat bread. And when I inherited a pasta machine from my mother-in-law I started to make noodles and spaghetti.

Every day I cook chicken with vegetables, porridge and salad for lunch, and almost always I prepare Salta, a traditional dish made from meat broth, potatoes, scrambled eggs, fenugreek and coriander. My husband loves Salta, he could eat it every day. But I have to calculate well - food has become very expensive here. Due to the constant fightings at the port of Hodeidah, through which 90 percent of the goods are imported to Yemen, the prices just skyrocketed. Let me give you an example: Half a chicken costs 1500 Yemeni Rial, about six US Dollars. The markets however, aren’t empty at all. There is food everywhere, but lots of Yemenis have no money to buy their basic meals. Thus many poor families are malnourished or are facing starvation even though there is enough food available. That’s horrible.
We live on savings, from the help of friends and from debts. Fruit we hardly eat anymore. It’s too expensive. Of course, we try to be as self-sufficient as possible. In the morning I bake bread in my kitchen, Arabic flat bread. And when I inherited a pasta machine from my mother-in-law I started to make noodles and spaghetti. I experimented a lot until I finally found the right recipe, which wasn’t that easy. But my pasta was getting better and better, at some point I started to pack it into small bags and give it to neighbours and relatives as a gift. I had even played with the thought to start a small business. But then my back started to hurt from working at the pasta machine, so I had to stop.

A hidden garden on the rooftop - a hideaway for Shyma and her family.

In the afternoon I take my children to the roof. It is a flat roof, surrounded by a wall, nobody can see us. Up there we are free. It is our oasis. We have decorated it with plants and small tea tables, we have created our own hidden garden. During the hours on the roof I try to read. I am just finishing the book "Man's Search for Meaning" by the Austrian psychiatrist and Holocaust survivor Viktor Frankl. And recently I have borrowed Agatha Christie’s "The Pale Horse" from my sister. My daughters however, cling to their mobile phones, spend hours on Facebook and Instagram. I try to motivate them to read or paint, or to study for school, but they don't feel like it. They say they are not in the mood. I fear they are getting affected by the monotony of the lockdown. I hear from all around that young people get depressed. I just can’t understand why the schools are closed, why there are no online lessons like in other countries. The kids have nothing to do, they have no perspectives, they are simply left to themselves. Every day is like the other. Time is ticking away, is running out, is lost for them. That makes me sad and angry at the same time. But I will never ever give up hope or even think of letting myself go. Because I am the mother. And as a mother, it is my duty to push my family to try to do its best, to go ahead. I will do everything in my power to make this happen.

I will never ever give up hope or even think of letting myself go. Because I am the mother. And as a mother, it is my duty to push my family to try to do its best, to go ahead. I will do everything in my power to make this happen.

To distract ourselves we have started to do sports. We practice rope skipping. In our living room. Really! Rope skipping! I had loved rope skipping when I was a child and still do. A long time ago I bought skipping ropes for my daughters and myself. Now I have brought them out again. We download exercises from the internet - and start practicing. However - I am not really satisfied with the amount of practice. I am dying to go to a gym or to swim in the ocean again, swimming is my favourite sport. But I know, those dreams will remain dreams for a long time to come. But anyway - at least we have our skipping ropes.
And I'm getting better and better at it every day!"

Shyma in her Setara, the traditional women’s dress that was once part of the colours of the old town of Sana’a. Nowadays women mostly wear black, grey or beige abayas.