SANA’A, YEMEN — I write to you, my children, from a land exhausted by wars — a homeland that could have been a paradise had ignorance not extended its hand and violence not become its language. Had sectarianism not wounded the heart of Yemen, we would not have lost it among flags that vie for the sky.
I write to you because I do not want you to live what we lived, nor to repeat the mistakes that stole our dream, nor to grow up in a homeland that does not understand the meaning of citizenship. When people are judged by their affiliations, not by their humanity, and when loyalty is prioritized over competence, the doors to development remain closed because hearts are closed.
My children, I have seen how ignorance has become a ruler, how wisdom has melted away in the clamor of slogans, and how we retreated, step by step, until Yemen became a mirror of our exhaustion and dispersion. But I believe that the coming generations — the coming mountains — will restore the voice of wisdom, the face of peace, and the pure meaning of citizenship to our homeland.
Your generation will rebuild a homeland where the tribe does not overshadow the state, where the sect does not take precedence over humanity, and where words hold more weight than weapons.
Development is not built by money alone, but by thought, knowledge, and good intentions. A homeland is not nurtured when hearts are divided, but when they unite for a more just tomorrow. One day, teach your children that Yemen is a home for all, and that the sun does not ask the earth about its sect before it rises.
Remember, we lost development because we lost each other. We became so preoccupied with animosity that we forgot the dream. Do not repeat what we have done — do not dispute over ruin as we disputed over ash. Instead, make from differences a source of beauty and from diversity a wealth. Make the homeland a mother that does not differentiate between her children, but values them all.
My children, be the ones who repair the word when it is broken and the bridge when it has fallen. Be the ones who remind people that Allah does not bless a nation that fights in the name of religion, nor a homeland that allows its children to destroy one another. I advise you to listen to the voice of the earth, for it knows its true children: those who come to build, not to possess, and to love, not to divide.
You are the mountains that will rise from the rubble, carrying the flag of knowledge instead of weapons, and planting the seeds of development in soil watered by our tears. Do not make Yemen a battlefield for our conflicts, but a paradise where the spirit returns to the body.
Restore Yemen’s beautiful face and be the wise ones we could not be, the builders who were delayed, and the light that I promised Allah would emerge from you. From our ruins and our mistakes, may you write an anthem of redemption.
And if the world feels narrow around you, remember that your mother prayed for you not to witness more pain, but for a new dawn of wisdom and peace. She believes that peace is an attainable miracle, and that Yemen does not die, but waits for those who will awaken.
Inas Abd Al-Zuwar is a Yemeni writer, poet, and short story author who supports her community as a social worker and researcher in gender and inclusive development. Her literary works include The Moaning of the Sidewalk, a perspective on child labor; Red Ink, a narrative-style exploration of lived experiences; and the short story collection A Sleeping Moon. She lives in Sana’a with her three children.
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