Marib, Yemen - Siraj Jamal Omar Al-Qasimi was just 22 when he left Ethiopia, chasing a dream of a better life across the sea. He imagined Yemen as a brief stopover on the way to Saudi Arabia. But instead of an open road to opportunity, he was stranded, like thousands of others, in a land suffering from war and economic collapse.

But in the harshest of places, Al-Qasimi has found something unexpected: compassion.

"Yemen is a good country, with mercy and goodness," Qasimi tells TRT World. He’s now in his third Ramadan here, far from home but not forgotten.

Each evening during the holy month, as the sun dips behind the dust-choked hills of Marib, refugees and Yemenis gather for mercy tables — communal iftar meals where the spirit of giving transcends desperation. Dates, rice, water, and bread are shared between people who have almost nothing.

Qasimi works part-time at a local radio station and restaurant — a rare fortune in a place where most refugees struggle daily just to eat. “Some people find food, some don’t. Some work one day, then nothing the next,” he says.

According to the UNHCR, Yemen hosts more than 71,500 refugees and asylum seekers, mainly from Somalia (65.6 percent) and Ethiopia (24.5 percent), while women and children account for around 60 percent of this vulnerable population.

In the northeastern governorate of Marib alone, nearly 37,000 African migrants live in makeshift shelters or overcrowded camps. Many fled violence and poverty at home, only to find themselves caught in another storm – Yemen’s unrelenting conflict and economic collapse, with 19.5 million Yemenis requiring humanitarian aid.

Since the April 2022 UN-brokered truce between Saudi-backed coalition forces and the Iran-aligned Houthis, open warfare has paused—but peace remains elusive.

The truce became ever more fragile after the Houthis stepped up attacks on Israel-linked ships passing through the Bab al-Mandab Strait, in retaliation for Israel’s war on Gaza.

Last week, more than 50 people were killed in US strikes on northern Yemen, as tensions flared anew. For refugees already stranded, the path forward — or back — has all but disappeared.

"The road back is difficult. There is no open path, by sea or land. Wars and closed borders make it impossible," he says.

Ramadan in a foreign land

Maher Farhan Hussein, another Ethiopian refugee, is experiencing his first Ramadan in Yemen. It is marked by hunger, but also grace.

"At iftar, we find help at mosques,” he tells TRT World. “But suhoor is harder—sometimes we have nothing. Some of us fast without the essential pre-dawn meal to give us strength. But even if food is scarce, we pray for those who help us. The people of Yemen share what little they have with us."

For Hussein, like many others, survival now depends on a fragile network of charity — from locals, mosques, and aid organisations doing their best, with far too little. 

Humanitarian efforts in Marib are overstretched but crucial. Sultan Nasr Ali Jabbari of the Kafel Humanitarian Development Charitable Foundation says they’re feeding over 1,200 African refugees each evening during Ramadan. But needs continue to outpace resources.

"Yemen’s humanitarian crisis is severe,” says Jabbari who also represents the Kuwaiti Insan Charitable Association. “Refugees and displaced Yemenis alike struggle to meet basic needs,” adds Jabbari, “job opportunities are scarce, so humanitarian aid is essential."

But aid alone is not enough. The region’s worsening conflict has made it more difficult for migrants to move freely or seek better opportunities. In some areas, they face extortion by armed groups. Others fall into the hands of traffickers who promise safe passage to Saudi Arabia but often abandon them or subject them to forced labor.

Despite these dangers, many continue to make the journey.

Shared humanity

In this crisis, volunteers have stepped up to help. Bassem Al-Shamiri, a father from Taiz, delivers iftar meals with his children each evening.

"I believe in charity, especially during these difficult times. I involve my children in this work so they learn about giving," says Al-Shamiri. "We wake up early, prepare meals, and distribute them together. It strengthens our family bonds and instills values of compassion."

He describes how his children ask about the refugees: “Where do they come from, why are they here and I tell them anyone can end up in hardship, it’s our duty to help.”

Yemen’s refugee crisis remains one of the world’s least acknowledged humanitarian emergencies. Trapped by war, exploited by traffickers, and neglected by international attention, thousands remain stuck in a limbo that seems to stretch on without end. 

Some live in tents, exposed to the elements. Others risk abuse or deportation. And still, they arrive — every year, fleeing from what they know into the terrifying unknown, in hopes of something better.

Qasimi explains: "Young people are migrating because of economic and political conditions. Our country [Ethiopia] must improve so we can return. I pray for peace in Ethiopia and Yemen."

For many, that hope is all but extinguished. But during Ramadan, at least, there are moments that rekindle it — the warmth of a shared meal, a prayer said in unison, a stranger offering food with nothing asked in return.

As the sun sets over Marib, Qasimi joins the crowd at Al-Sunnah Mosque. Plates of rice and chicken pass from hand to hand. For a brief, blessed moment, borders dissolve and hunger is eased—not just for food, but for dignity, connection, and hope.

This article is published in collaboration with Egab.