In Wartime Yemen, Children Find Solace in Music

Pupils study in a classroom at a school in the Yemeni city of Taiz. (AFP)
Pupils study in a classroom at a school in the Yemeni city of Taiz. (AFP)
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In Wartime Yemen, Children Find Solace in Music

Pupils study in a classroom at a school in the Yemeni city of Taiz. (AFP)
Pupils study in a classroom at a school in the Yemeni city of Taiz. (AFP)

The sound of music fills the halls at a school in Yemen's Taiz, where little Nazira al-Jaafari sits at a keyboard as a teacher takes her through the notes.

"I love music," said Jaafari, a pupil at the Al-Nawras school where tutors are trying to help students temporarily forget the ongoing war, said an AFP report Sunday.

"Whenever I feel sad or uncomfortable, I play music."

She has built up an eclectic repertoire, including happy birthday and cult songs by Arab icons Fairuz and Umm Kalthoum.

"I just hope that Yemen will win this war," she said before exhaling deeply, then smiling and adding: "And that we can live a new life."

Taiz, a city in the southwestern Yemeni highlands, was once known for its coffee beans, grown at high elevation and exported through the famed port of Mokha.

Today, the city is home to some of the most intense fighting in a war between the legitimate government forces and Iran-backed Houthi militias.

The United Nations has urged both parties to open humanitarian corridors to besieged Taiz, where state troops are embedded inside city limits.

The walls of the three-storey Al-Nawras school are pockmarked with bullet holes, but educators decided to expand the music program, making it part of the core curriculum alongside maths and Arabic, with the hope that it would restore joy to their students' days.

"The psychological state of the students was very difficult when we reopened here, after all the shelling and bombing and fighting," said principal Shehabeddine al-Sharabi according to AFP.

The head of a university in neighboring Mokha recommended music, loaning instruments to Al-Nawras free of charge.

"Music is not an extra-curricular activity here. We can see how it impacts our students, how they are more responsive through music. It yields purely positive revenue," Sharabi said.

While the lessons are not part of a formal mental health program, music therapy has been used around the world to support those who have experienced trauma.

And in the humble classrooms of Al-Nawras, dozens of boys and girls find daily, albeit temporary, reprieve from atrocities in a country the UN says is home to the world's worst humanitarian crisis.

Smiling and tapping on their desks, a class of bright-eyed students sing, in English, "My face, my face, this is my nose".

In a class later in the day, slightly older children sing "Education is a weapon".

But around two million Yemeni children are missing out on school, with half a million dropping out since 2015, according to UN figures published last March.

In Taiz, teacher Abir al-Sharabi takes the time to help students -- like Jaafari -- learn to play the tunes themselves.

"There's a sense that students feel more comfortable here than in their other classes," Sharabi told AFP. "Their energy in this class is different.

"And some students even have experience in singing! All their voices are beautiful. Singing helps the psyche," she told AFP.

"War is the cause of so much pain, and sometimes it's easier to express that through song."



Damascus: ‘Pandora’s Box’ Opens for Its People and the World

Damascenes’ vitality quickly returns to the heart of Damascus (Asharq Al-Awsat)
Damascenes’ vitality quickly returns to the heart of Damascus (Asharq Al-Awsat)
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Damascus: ‘Pandora’s Box’ Opens for Its People and the World

Damascenes’ vitality quickly returns to the heart of Damascus (Asharq Al-Awsat)
Damascenes’ vitality quickly returns to the heart of Damascus (Asharq Al-Awsat)

Visitors to Damascus today can’t miss the city’s busy, fast-paced rhythm. Traffic jams clog the main entrances, intersections, and markets, while schoolchildren dart around their parents, backpacks in hand, at the end of the school day. These scenes bring a sense of normalcy, showing that daily life continues despite the challenges.

Cars with license plates from across Syria—Raqqa, Homs, and Idlib—mix with Damascus vehicles at intersections and working traffic lights. “This is new for us,” said a local. “We didn't see cars from these areas before.”

Amid the congestion, as drivers jostled for space, the man joked: “An Idlib plate now means ‘government car’—we’d better make way.”

With traffic police largely absent, a few members of Hayat Tahrir al-Sham have stepped in at key intersections to direct the flow. Still, residents seem to manage on their own, relying on self-organization.

As night fell, parks, cafes, and the bustling Shaalan Street in Damascus filled with families and young people. Crowds moved between juice stands, sandwich shops, and shisha cafes, many with foreign or English-inspired names.

The famed adaptability of locals is evident in small but significant changes. People quickly adjusted to using foreign and Arab currencies, garbage collection resumed swiftly, and even rules for non-Syrians buying SIM cards were amended.

Previously, foreigners had to register with an entry stamp and local address. Now, with Syrian border controls relaxed and monitoring left to the Lebanese side, new measures ensure SIM cards remain traceable without complicating the process.

The “revolution flag” now covers private cars, taxis, and shop entrances in Damascus. Many stores are offering discounts on clothing and shoes to celebrate “victory,” while street vendors eagerly sell the new flag, urging people to buy it with cheers and congratulations.

It’s unclear who genuinely supports the change and who is simply going along to stay safe, especially among small business owners. What is certain, however, is that public spaces have moved on.

From the Lebanese border to the heart of Damascus, slogans praising Assad and the “eternity” he symbolized have been wiped away.

Posters and billboards have appeared across Damascus, especially in Umayyad Square, with messages like “Syria is for all Syrians” and “Time to build a better future.” The slogans call for unity and a shared future for all citizens.

It’s unclear if this is part of an organized campaign by Hayat Tahrir al-Sham or just political improvisation.

Umayyad Square, now a “revolutionary site,” draws crowds day and night, eager to take photos near the historic monument and the abandoned statue of Hafez al-Assad. The scene speaks volumes about untold stories.

Once a key landmark of Damascus, the square is now Syria’s gateway to the world. Syrians from inside and outside the country flood social media with joyful images, while journalists and TV teams from around the globe report in multiple languages.

The atmosphere feels like the opening of “Pandora’s Box,” revealing both the good and the bad.

Journalists in the square, whom you later find in small local restaurants and hotel lobbies, bring to mind post-2003 Baghdad—another capital at a historic turning point, filled with people and emotions.

Like Baghdad, hotel lobbies here are full of contradictions, with journalists playing just a small role.

In these grand spaces, diplomats, UN staff, and translators sit alongside businessmen and contractors eager to capitalize on economic opportunities. While Damascus itself hasn't changed much, its need for basic services, especially electricity, is huge. Entire neighborhoods have been destroyed, with forced displacement, hunger, and fear almost touching the city's hotels and restaurants.

In these hotels, which have become a microcosm of Syrian society, Damascenes are meeting for the first time faction leaders and fighters from the north. Many of them, due to their circumstances, had never seen the capital or entered a hotel.

Their sense of victory is clear, but so is the confusion in their eyes and actions. For example, one might hesitate in an elevator, unsure whether to step out or stay, then greet you politely while avoiding eye contact.

In their military uniforms, with visible weapons and long beards, the fighters stand out in these historic hotels, with their elegant decor and refined staff.

This contrasts sharply with the ordinary Damascenes who visit hotel cafes and restaurants simply for peace and privacy. The fighters bridge the gap with their serious, guarded demeanor, though it softens with a joke from a friend.

Locals feel their “bubble” has burst, and their way of life has changed forever. Yet, most agree that nothing will be worse or last longer than what they’ve already experienced.