Impact of Conflict on Yemeni Children

May God take revenge on them. May God paralyze them in their beds and warmth, among

their children. May He burn their hearts as they burned my heart over a piece of

my heart.

My first joy in life.

A mother whose first joy was taken from her by the Saudi enemy.

Her eldest daughter, Atheer Samir Al-Ameri.

My heart aches. My heart is weary. My precious child is gone.

Fourteen-year-old Atheer, a student in the

seventh grade at Hunaysh School in Shu'ub District. Her mother

recounts a story of waiting with no return, when

Saudi enemy missiles came between her and her daughter,

targeting the schoolgirls' bus on its way back home

in Al-Ishah, in Siwan, Bani Hushaysh District, in

Sana'a Governorate.

The teacher called me and said, "Your daughter's bus didn't come."

"Your daughter's bus didn't come for her." I said, "All right, tell her to walk."

She said, "She's going back beside the school, she won't walk anymore. She sat

waiting for you." She told me the girl was terrified, with the

other girls. There were two of them.

And she left.

I sat worrying about her, and at exactly twelve, she did not come.

I called the bus driver, “Where is my daughter?” He said, “Why do you want to find her?”

“Like that, sister? I’m stuck right now, and I’m moving.”

I told him, “I’m worried, worried. My heart is on fire. I kept telling her that, I swear.

My heart was on fire.”

Before she could reach her mother, the Saudi enemy

was closer to Atheer with its missiles than her mother,

who did not know one morning that it would be her last

time with her daughter, and their final farewell. The mother’s

feelings here spoke to her of that.

She even remembers the first strike.

It was somewhat light, but the second strike was strong, and everyone

was saying the strike was at the Atiyah station. At that time, I felt it. I was saying,

“At this time, how far along would my daughter be there?” I mean, I

called the bus driver. “How far along would my daughter be by now?” I kept calling

the bus driver, calling and calling, but he didn’t answer.

She did not finish her exams, which were nearly over.

Atheer had been waiting for a free day to celebrate

the vacation. But the killer of childhood, the Saudi enemy,

had saved its planes not merely to deprive her of that joy,

But also to take away her right to live.

I kept calling, maybe 15 times.

Then someone from the hospital answered, not the bus driver.

I asked him, "Where's the bus driver?" He said, "He's coming to Nablus."

I asked him, "Did anything happen to my daughter?" He kept saying, "He's coming to Nablus," and I couldn't say

a word. "He's coming to Nablus." My innocent daughter was studying, and I was terrified.

When she'd come home, I'd ask her, "How was your test, my daughter, today? How was the test? How

did you do on your test today, Atheer?"

She only had today left.

Every day, she'd tell me all the questions they were asked and what

she did, what she got right. I was terrified until she arrived.

God is sufficient for me, and He is the best Disposer of affairs. I would say, "Praise be to God."

O God, I do not object to Your judgment. But she was a piece of my heart.

A piece of my heart, she was my first joy.

God is sufficient for me, and He is the best Disposer of affairs.

Here, at Atheer's school, where she was with her friends,

studying and playing, Atheer became an eternal martyr

outside its walls, and her friends were left without Atheer,

except for a photo hanging on the school's walls.

And the memory of history stands as a martyr and witness to

the criminality of an aggression that crossed every boundary and violated

every sanctity.

Athir in particular, the student we knew and whom we taught and educated

at Hunaish School. She was a well-mannered, polite

and diligent student.

On the last day of exams, she told her teacher.

The teacher told her, “God willing,” not knowing it was the last day of her life.

The first thing that saddened us was her loss.

Secondly, she is a martyr, which is the best thing. What a status we

wish to attain, to become martyrs like this.

God willing, the Lord will avenge us. God willing, He will bomb them, God willing.

Yemen will prevail, God willing.

And you will continue your education, right?

God willing, even if they strike any place, even if they strike the school, we will continue

our education.

Athir is not the only victim of this bloody

Saudi aggression. An entire people have suffered the injustice

and tyranny of the kingdom of Satan. Here, the families

of the martyr demand vengeance for the pure blood

and innocent souls.

We say to the criminal Saudi enemy

The treacherous coward. These crimes he commits

against our children

and women will not destroy us or weaken our resolve

to support our army, fighters, and missile forces.

We tell the criminal enemy, my

sister's rights

will be taken by our own hands.

He will pay for my daughter's blood and for every oppressed person in this

country, and for the children.

One story among thousands, one crime in the records

of crimes committed by the Saudi enemy and those behind it

against Yemen for 12 years. It is time for Yemen

today to stand up for its oppressed people. It is time for the

innocent blood to sweep away the kingdom of tyranny and aggression.

And to God belongs the final outcome. Sharaf al-Din al-Mushki.

Al-Masirah, Sana'a.