Yemen has a long history of enduring poverty and famine. Starvation has consistently been a constant companion to tyranny and its cherished legacy, serving as one of its favored tools to etch scars upon the Yemeni people. This legacy of suffering is poignantly captured by the renowned Yemeni poet Abdullah Al-Bardouni: “I recognized him as Yemeni by his fearful glances / and his eyes, a history of blindness and suffering.” This vivid image portrays Yemenis as burdened by layers of fear and blindness that scar their eyes. Yemeni cultural and artistic heritage abounds with representations of such suffering, documenting it as a sensory biography of collective pain.
The apparatus of repression in Yemen has inflicted various forms of torment, with hunger being one of its most arbitrary and harsh practices. The methods of oppression against the Yemeni people could be described as "Kafkaesque," characterized by a surreal relationship that operates outside the boundaries of any legal or ethical principles. This surreal scene is vividly depicted in the story "The Soldier Who Slaughtered the Chicken" by the Yemeni writer Zaid Mutee' Dammaj.
The story begins with the protagonist, "the villager," receiving shocking news: a soldier is in his home demanding that his wife slaughter their only chicken. As he rushes home, the villager suspects that the complaint against him came from “Musleh,” a neighbor with whom he had recently quarreled. However, he soon discovers that the complainant is his kind-hearted neighbor, “Mus'ed,” leaving him puzzled about the reason for the complaint.
At home, his wife suggests that he should borrow two riyals, the soldier's fee, from the village Sheikh to spare them from having to slaughter their only chicken. The conversation takes on a surreal tone, as the soldier would not accept a simple meal of "aseeda" (a traditional porridge) for lunch. When the villager attempts to avoid slaughtering the chicken, explaining that he had promised his son a new garment with the money from its sale, the soldier threatens to slaughter his only cow instead. However, the rural man could not afford to lose his only cow, as without it, he would be left with almost nothing, as it is essential for his livelihood, leaving him with no choice but to yield.
The Soldier: A Tool of Impoverishment
The surreal scene of oppression deepens when the farmer seeks the intervention of Al-Adl, who is akin to the "Mukhtar" in the Levant, to procure qat for the soldier. He faces the exploitation of Al-Adl, who charges him two riyals for the qat, despite the farmer's objection that it is only worth one riyal. However, he reluctantly accepts the situation, borrowing two riyals to pay the soldier’s fee. When he is told that the total amount he has borrowed is five riyals, the citizen, who owns nothing but his submission, finds himself with no option but to succumb to this exploitation.
The story depicts a wide social fabric, albeit condensed into a dark comedy, illustrating the relationship between the government and its citizens. It portrays the citizen as being bound to poverty and hunger under various customary pretexts, making him resemble a tree from which parasites feed.
However, the scene becomes even more brutal during the family’s lunch with the soldier, when they are forced to rise from the table when it is time to eat the chicken, leaving the soldier to eat it alone. While this scene may seem exaggerated, it is deeply rooted in reality. As Gabriel García Márquez once said, "Reality is richer than the imagination," referring to how the magical elements in his works were inspired by the harshness of real life.
“The narrative draws from the same wellspring—the Yemeni reality weighed down by tyranny. This harsh reality has consistently served as a source of artistic expression, whether through Al-Zubairi’s fiery rhetoric, fueled by a revolutionary spirit shaped by the challenges of his era, or in Daamaj’s narrative style, which employs dark comedy and biting satire steeped in tragedy.”
The dystopian reality manifests fantastically in this story, depicting how anything the Yemeni owns, whether meager or substantial, is vulnerable to seizure by oppressive regimes. The dark comedy culminates when the soldier, on his way out, refuses the government-mandated two riyals as his fee, demanding an additional two riyals. He continues to exploit the villager, threatening once again to slaughter the cow.
After much argument, the soldier settles for a slightly lesser amount, an additional two riyals, except for a quarter, which the villager borrows yet again from the village sheikh. However, the sheikh insists that the villager’s total debt is now seven riyals. The nightmarish scene culminates in the poor citizen’s submission to compounded exploitation, further deepening his hunger.
However, the climax of the dark comedy becomes clear at the end of the scene, when the villager asks the soldier about the reason for his neighbor’s complaint. As the soldier is leaving, he casually explains that the chicken pecked the eye of the neighbor’s son, Mus'ed. The villager, incredulous, remarks that his son had gone to summon the Al-Adl and was perfectly fine. Yet the soldier dismissively retorts that this matter is none of his concern.
Al-Zubairi’s Free Spirit
When Al-Zubairi was stationed in the Taiz Governorate, he witnessed the appalling injustices and suffering endured by the people. He expressed this anguish poignantly, saying: “The first pulse of patriotism I felt surging in my heart and boiling in my blood was in the district of Al-Qama’irah, where I saw scenes of injustice, oppression, looting, and plunder that deeply disgust any free and noble soul.”
Al-Zubairi’s free spirit could not tolerate such oppression, driving him to embrace the path of resistance. He devoted his poetry to confronting tyranny. In one of his dramatic poems, titled “The Old Woman and the Soldier,” Al-Zubairi portrays this tragedy through a simple yet profound dialogue between two characters: the victim, the “Old Woman,” and the oppressor, the “Soldier.” This duality reflects a deeply ingrained norm reinforced by Yemen’s oppressive policies, vividly captured in their exchange dialogue.
The old woman laments:
"Oh Lord, how did you create soldiers?
I have no food, no sheep, no wealth for them.
Woe to me, why do I see a beast with his rifle?
Is that the greedy, tyrannical soldier?"
The soldier replies with arrogance:
"Yes, I am the mighty hero who came,
Here to confront an old woman whose nature age has not tamed,"
ending with,
"Where is the chicken? Where is the qat? Hurry,
We are starving, and your neighborhood lacks generosity."
The dialogue progresses as the old woman tries to plead her case, emphasizing her poverty in hopes of evoking the soldier’s sympathy and deterring him from his aggression. Her bewilderment culminates in a desperate question:
"What do they want from my hunger and misery?
I am like the roasted lamb among them.
They demand the land’s taxes, though it holds
Nothing but doves, stones, and rubble."
All her pleas, however, fail to move the soldier’s heart or elicit any sympathy. His cruelty embodies a systematic method of oppression built upon starvation. His final response is chilling: he intends to return and destroy her hut. Here, the hut takes the place of the cow in Zaid Mutee Damaj’s story.
Despite the differing symbols, both narratives draw from the same wellspring—the Yemeni reality weighed down by tyranny. This harsh reality has consistently served as a source of artistic expression, whether through Al-Zubairi’s fiery rhetoric, fueled by a revolutionary spirit shaped by the challenges of his era, or in Daamaj’s narrative style, which employs dark comedy and biting satire steeped in tragedy.
Feeding on the Food of the Poor
Al-Zubairi continues to describe the dire situation:
"Ignorance, diseases, gross injustice,
Fear, famine, and an imam."
Starvation, he asserts, is one of the most defining traits of tyranny, exemplified by a regime that unleashes its army upon its own citizens. He describes the military as an occupying force, adding:
"They plunder and loot as they please, as if
They were the destructive tools of the caliph."
This sentiment is also echoed by Judge Abdulrahman al-Iryani, a prominent figure who joined Al-Zubairi and Mohammed Ahmed Nu’man in the revolution against Imam Yahya and his son Ahmed. Al-Iryani states:
"The tools of destruction in the land,
And soldiers, their executioners of calamity.
Their tyranny burdens the people too much,
Their ‘khittat’ are a catastrophe upon the villages."
“According to Ahmed Mohammed Al-Nu’man, such practices were unprecedented, even during Ottoman rule. He highlights the stark contrast with foreign powers, observing that "they did not deploy soldiers to oppress the populace, but rather to defend them," emphasizing the primitive and brutal behavior towards the Yemenis, designed to degrade them.”
The term “khittat” refers to a local term describing the enforcement of “extended stay” orders, wherein “a soldier or soldiers are billeted in a villager’s home for extended periods until the authorities’ demands are met” (The War of Aseed, p. 418).
The motives behind the “khittat” vary; it may be for "arbitrary taxes," judicial orders against a citizen, or a form of punishment against a village or a tribe. During this process, the soldiers who carry out the orders invade the homes of the people, occupy their private rooms, rummage through their belongings, and eat their food.
Likewise, in a column for the Egyptian newspaper Al-Shura, Ahmed Abdulrahman Al-Muallimi, one of the leaders of the 1948 revolution that led to Imam Yahya’s assassination, described khittat as follows:
"The imam’s soldiers reside in the homes of the people, lie on their beds, and demand food far beyond what the residents can afford." He also exposed additional violations inflicted upon households, including the soldiers entering women’s quarters without permission, violating the sanctity of their homes.
According to Ahmed Mohammed Al-Nu’man, such practices were unprecedented, even during Ottoman rule. He highlights the stark contrast with foreign powers, observing that "they did not deploy soldiers to oppress the populace, but rather to defend them," emphasizing the primitive and brutal behavior towards the Yemenis, designed to degrade them and the humiliation it entailed.
This sentiment was vividly captured by the daughter of a tribal leader from the city of Ibb, in a conversation recounted by Tunisian traveler Abdelaziz Al-Tha’alibi during his visit to Yemen in 1924. One evening, when he settled for the night in one of the villages of Al-Sayani, Ibb Governorate, Al-Tha’alibi had an intriguing dialogue with some local women, particularly with a girl he described as the daughter of “Hajj Mohsen.”
The young woman asked him if the Turks would ever return to save them from the imam’s tyranny, explaining that “ the lands once cultivated have now turned barren due to the tax assessors’ excessive estimations of tithes,” often demanding amounts far greater than the land's yield. (The Yemeni Journey, Al-Tha’alibi, pp. 58-59.)
Emigration: A Deadly Adventure
Many Yemenis abandoned their lands, causing them to become barren and desolate, as the girl told Al-Tha’alibi. She explained that whenever they cultivated the land, it brought them misery due to arbitrary tax collections. These injustices led citizens to lose their property and sink further into poverty.
The Yemeni poet Mohammed Anam Ghalib portrays this suffering in his poem “The Stranger”:
"The tax collectors pursued him, and
He sold half of his wealth
To pay the zakat."
He ends the poem with the poignant question, “When will they return?” referring to the migrants who build and prosper in foreign lands while their own homeland remains desolate and lies in ruin.
In his autobiography, the revolutionary businessman Abdulghani Mutahar Al-Ariqi reflects on the motivations behind this mass migration in his memoirs:
"Who can deny today that a sweeping tide of migration has engulfed men, children, and youth, driven by the pangs of hunger and the lash of oppression that disperses and expels them?"
In general, Yemenis emigrated to work in any field, including enlisting as soldiers in foreign armies. Many joined the Italians, the British, and the French during World War II. The poet Mohammed Anam Ghalib again captures this painful journey, describing Yemenis scattered across military barracks around the globe:
"I fought, not to defend a homeland,
I fought for a loaf of bread.
Alongside the Fascists,
In the dark nights, amidst blood and fire,
I saw comrades... they were Yemenis,
On the opposing side.
I fought them, and they fought me."
“Al-Sahami is the third Yemeni to be reported killed in the Ukraine war. However, his diplomatic status and background left a profound impact on Yemenis. Fleeing death by starvation, Al-Sahami chose another form of death—dying in a war that was not his own—in a desperate bid and hope of securing survival for his family, clinging to a hope of survival that never came.”
The same elements of Yemen's recurring tragedy appear again as if predestined for them. This pattern resurfaced recently when, in June, Yemenis were shaken by the news of the death of a Yemeni diplomat in Ukraine fighting alongside the Russian army. Ahmed Al-Sahami, a diplomat who had served at the Yemeni embassy in Russia, was laid off in 2017, losing his livelihood. This forced him to join the Russian army, where he ultimately met his fate.
Al-Sahami is the third Yemeni to be reported killed in the Ukraine war. However, his diplomatic status left a profound impact on Yemenis. Fleeing death by starvation, Al-Sahami chose another form of death—dying in a war that was not his own—in a desperate bid and hope of securing survival for his family, clinging to a hope of survival that never came. Such circumstances are the byproduct of war, where individuals are forced into unimaginable decisions. This tragic narrative parallels the journey recounted in "Rafat’s Journey," a short novel by Yemeni writer Saqr Al-Sunaydi. The story follows a young Yemeni man who undertakes the perilous task of escaping across borders. Braving military patrols, his adventure nearly ends in failure when he is captured by a patrol after crossing the Turkish-Bulgarian border. His life hangs by a thread as one of his companions, hailing from another Arab country, succumbs to death.
In the short novel, published last year, the the terrifying image of the journey intersects with the personal statement of Ra'fat, the story's protagonist. Yemen emerges as a backdrop of longing and a past burdened by the barbed wire of war, death, and fragmented memories of childhood and family. This sense of nostalgia clings to him throughout his self-imposed exile, a path chosen by hundreds of thousands of Yemeni youth. They flee a collective tragedy, only to find themselves grappling with personal despair, haunted by the specter of perpetual hunger that stares back at them with “eyes that are a history of blindness,” as depicted by the poet Abdullah Al-Bardouni. This same theme is explored in Khaled Ba azab’s novel "On the Walls of Poland," which traces the migration dream of a young Yemeni man. The war had blocked all avenues before him, pushing him toward the arduous path of migration. This journey, fraught with hardship, led him to the barbed-wire fences of Eastern Europe, far from the life of comfort and prosperity in the West he had envisioned and once dreamed.
Songs Documenting the Struggle
The Yemeni songs have not stood apart from chronicling the nation’s suffering, capturing the alliance of hunger and tyranny in a tragic tableau followed by escape—from torment to longing. The song "Al-Balah," written by the late Yemeni poet Mutahar Al-Iryani, vividly portrays the tragic reality of Yemen. It resonates as a human voice describing the anguish of exile, filled with sorrow-laden nostalgia.
"Tonight is Eid, and I am far from my homeland,
My heart cannot hold any more of this flood of grief."
These lyrics reflect the pain of separation, recounting the dense moments of the story of his departure. He recalls:
"I left my homeland in the time of doom,
When they said the plague season had arrived,
My family perished, and by cruel fate, I survived."
The Yemenis have endured successive crises, and these have relentlessly pursued them. Epidemics, for instance, caused the death of many lives. Al-Balah captures this, recalling the plague as an example of such devastating events. Historically, the Yemenis would name the years after these calamities, such as "The Year of Hunger" or "The Year of the Plague," or any significant memory, if the disasters like famines, deadly epidemics, droughts, and pests that destroy crops did not occur. And when a year brought abundant blessings to the land, disaster often struck in the form of oppressive soldiers or excessive taxation.
The song ‘Al-Balah’, one of the most famous works by the late Yemeni singer Ali Al-Semah, does not overlook depicting such scenes. It recalls the story of a brother:
"I remembered my brother, a merchant spreading his wares wherever he went,
The soldiers of the regime came and seized all his goods, including his bundles
At dawn, I asked him, ‘Where are you going?’ He said, ‘To the land of Abyssinia.’
And he left… Today, they say he is a rich man.
I followed him in migration, but success is a rare prize."
Through its sorrowful lyrics, the song encapsulates the relentless cycles of hardship, migration, and loss that have plagued Yemeni lives for generations. It becomes a testament to the struggle of those forced to flee their homeland, often trading one form of suffering for another.
The song borrows a series of symbols to depict scenes of oppression and suffering, with migration emerging as a solution for Yemenis seeking to escape their dire realities. As the narrator in the song recounts, his brother eventually found a better life abroad. The markers of starvation and tyranny impose a bitter alienation upon Yemenis within their own homeland, making migration not just an escape but a glimmer of hope for survival.
Stories and Tales of Hunger
Migration in Yemen was never tied to a single or specific period; it remained a constant solution even after the fall of the Imamate regime. Many of the oppressive practices previously mentioned persisted, albeit in less overtly brutal forms. Injustices and burdens, such as the soldier’s wage and arbitrary rule, continued to weigh on citizens. These factors contributed to the current fractured state, marked by crises, fragmentation, and further starvation.
The song "Al-Balah" is just one example among many others. Perhaps the song "Al-Jou' Kafir" (Hunger is Unbeliever) by Mohammed Abdu Zaydi presents a poignant and realistic image in two aspects: one is a critique of reality, and the other is a lament for it. The song balances between critique and lament:
"Hunger is a blasphemer, fearing not God.
If the Lord of the Throne could save us...
If your land were bountiful, oh son of people,
Hunger would not kill your brother."
Was this a bitter elegy, mocking the blasphemy hunger imposes on the land? Not quite. Rather, it is a critique laden with sorrow, branding humanity with the sin of defiling their land under the weight of hunger’s blasphemy. The song reflects the deep pain of a people whose land, once fertile and nurturing, has become a source of despair and death.
“Hunger has woven its way into Yemeni stories, murals, and cultural expressions, crafted from the tears of its people. These narratives reflect a tragedy that intertwines contemporary realities with tales of the past, rooted in a complex relationship shaped by dark comedy. Hunger becomes both a tool and a motivator for those who serve as instruments of oppression, perpetuating plunder, starvation, and violation.”
In Yemen’s poetic and cultural heritage, depictions of hunger are unending. For instance, Imam Mohammed bin Ali Al-Shawkani captures the devastating cruelty of hunger in one of his poems:
"The crops and livestock have withered and complained,
Resources have dwindled, and the affliction has grown severe."
For Yemenis, the calamities have indeed intensified, often as a result of human actions. Even in wartime songs, hunger is a recurring theme, as seen in the lines:
"We remain steadfast despite hunger,
We remain steadfast despite oppression."
In other explanation, these words encapsulate not only the enduring physical hunger but also the resilience of the people in the face of systemic suffering and injustice.
In one of Abdullah Al-Bardouni’s poems, hunger appears as the oppressive cudgel wielded against Yemenis across generations. He writes:
"Those who toyed with the people’s sustenance tore them apart with tyranny,
Seizing positions of power in the dungeons of darkness.
Poverty lays its starving bellies bare without fasting,
While the rulers don the robes of disgrace like ostriches."
Through such lines, hunger emerges as not just a consequence but a deliberate weapon of authoritarianism, symbolizing the suffering inflicted on Yemenis throughout their history.
In reality, hunger has gripped Yemenis in various forms, whether cloaked in the guise of an imam, a president, or a warlord. Over a century before Al-Bardouni, the 19th-century poet Ahmed Al-Qarah penned a poem titled “The Sa'ba Was Lost on the Caliphs”—a biting satire on the oppressive practices of starvation. The term "Al-Sa'bah" in Yemeni dialect refers to the female donkey.
In this poem, Al-Qarah uses the imagery of the lost "sa'bah" to reflect the failure and incompetence of those in power, drawing a parallel to the suffering and hardship imposed on the people. The use of such an image underscores the disconnection between the ruling elite and the people they govern, while also invoking a sense of frustration and defeat.
With scathing irony and sharp humor, Al-Qarah critiques these practices of starvation, writing:
"All the people desired, yet remained deprived,
The people of Qais were burdened with drought.
Every day, a new tax was imposed;
How many times I uttered, 'There is no god but Allah.'
His sarcasm crescendos as he describes the imam:
"Imam Muhsin, a great imam,
Knowledgeable in caliphate and all its rules.
From the fortress of Al-Ghiras, he watches,
Waiting—there is no god but Allah."
Here, calling the imam “Muhsin” (a benefactor) is intentionally ironic, as the ruler passively presides over rampant injustices, cloaking oppression under the guise of daily taxes.
Hunger has woven its way into Yemeni stories, murals, and cultural expressions, crafted from the tears of its people. These narratives reflect a tragedy that intertwines contemporary realities with tales of the past, rooted in a complex relationship shaped by dark comedy. Hunger becomes both a tool and a motivator for those who serve as instruments of oppression, perpetuating plunder, starvation, and violation.
The Yemeni artist Hashim Ali also depicted the signs of hunger in some of his black ink drawings. For instance, one image shows a shepherd, his nearly naked body appearing as skin over bone, bending his back as if reflecting the heavy burdens on his shoulders—the weight of life’s struggles. In the history of hunger in Yemen, we see a figure akin to an oppressor who unlawfully exploits its land without mercy, with such depictions and actions taking on various forms across different eras.
