Latest news with #Ghada
IOL News
06-08-2025
- General
- IOL News
They once shared recipes, now her family is starving in Gaza
Ghada holds a photo of her uncle and cousins in Gaza. Image: Pete Kiehart/ The Washington Post Danielle Paquette They used to swap TikTok recipes and photos of mouthwatering spreads: crispy falafel, baked chicken, grilled beef kebabs. Now her aunt in Gaza appeared on a WhatsApp video call with sunken eyes. The proud foodie was down to three cups of lentils and her last sack of flour. 'We can make that stretch,' Aunt Fairouz was saying, 'for two more days.' Perched at the marble island in her fully stocked Maryland kitchen, Ghada Tafesh listened and silently did the culinary math. No configuration of those ingredients would nourish a household of six. The youngest, 12-year-old twin boys, had each shed 22 pounds in the last year, a quarter of their body weight. The doctor's diagnosis was all too familiar. Acute malnutrition. The family hadn't eaten meat since early March. 'I pray for you every day,' Ghada replied. Over almost 22 months of war, she had watched from afar as they all shrank: Her 47-year-old aunt with a pent-up flair for hosting; her 21-year-old cousin, Yasmeen, who'd fainted during her volunteer-nurse shifts at the hospital; the twins, Kareem and Ayman, both Cristiano Ronaldo fans who'd lost the energy to play soccer. The Washington Post is identifying them by only their first names because they fear retaliation. No one in their family group chat was surprised when the leading global authority on food crises said last week that the 'worst-case scenario of famine is currently playing out in the Gaza Strip' and predicted 'widespread death.' The emaciated children in images circulating worldwide resembled ones Yasmeen said she saw daily in the emergency room. They all rejected the Israeli prime minister's insistence that there was 'no starvation' in Gaza. They weren't sure what to make of President Donald Trump publicly contradicting him. 'That's real starvation stuff,' Trump had remarked. 'I see it, and you can't fake that.' Ghada, a 30-year-old biologist and newish U.S. citizen, wires cash every other month to her family in the battered enclave, her hometown, despite the transfer fee that fluctuates as high as 60 percent. But the bigger challenge is finding anything edible for sale, and Aunt Fairouz is willing at this point to pluck out the maggots. Ghada prepares dinner in her Maryland home. Image: Pete Kiehart / The Washington Post Thieves loot the aid trucks that manage to roll through Israel's strict blockades, she told Ghada. Otherwise, where were street hawkers getting tomatoes to sell for $20 apiece? She urged her children to avoid supply convoys, fearing stampedes and bullets. Their survival strategy: Stay indoors - though not literally, because strikes had blown out their doors - and wait for those shameful merchants with their bags of questionable produce. Three cups of lentils, for instance, used to cost $2. Now the price tag is closer to $25. They have no choice but to venture out to the water truck, which rumbles down their unpaved road on a frustratingly irregular basis. The twins know to run outside with buckets, shouldering a chore their father used to handle. Sami, who'd worked as a Palestinian Authority police officer, died in January 2024 from a heart attack. There had been no doctors around with the right training to treat him. As far as the family knows, he hadn't been included in the Gaza Health Ministry's death toll, which last month passed 60,000. But the Israel-Hamas conflict has crushed access to even basic medical care, so Aunt Fairouz views her government's tally as incomplete. 'I pray that things get better,' Ghada said for what felt like the millionth time. What she was thinking: I am so afraid to lose you. All my fears are about losing you. She blew a kiss to the screen. Another aunt sent Ghada a photo of all the food she could find over one day of searching in Gaza. Image: Pete Kiehart / The Washington Post The last time they'd embraced was in 2021, when Ghada visited Gaza after nine years away. Visa complications, she said, had trapped her in what stung like exile. She'd first visited the United States as a high school exchange student and returned on a college scholarship, eventually earning a doctorate degree in biological sciences from George Washington University. In June 2024, she became a citizen. All the while, Ghada missed her family's cooking. Food was how they kept in touch. Food was how they showed love - 'our pride and joy,' she explained. During that last trip, Aunt Fairouz and her daughters whipped up all the special dishes. There was chicken with caramelized onions, pine nuts and warm pita. There were ducks stuffed with rice, carrots, peas and potatoes. There was strawberry shortcake and pastries laced with sweet cream. The family's doors were still on their hinges. The second floor was still intact. They still had electricity and running water. Ghada's parents and brother still lived nearby; their house hadn't yet collapsed, and they hadn't yet fled to Cairo. The boys still kicked their soccer ball. Kareem wanted to go pro like Ronaldo. Ayman was more into his mother's laptop and styling himself a 'good hacker.' In an extended family of dozens, they are the only twins. 'Mini-celebrities,' Ghada called them, with bright futures. Now? 'I just want things to be normal,' Kareem muttered on WhatsApp behind his mother's shoulder. 'I pray for you every day,' Ghada tells her family. Image: Pete Kiehart / The Washington Post
Daily Mail
12-07-2025
- General
- Daily Mail
The disturbing world of child brides: Shocking images show girls young enough to be in pre-school who are married off to older men
Ghada* was 15 when she fell pregnant with her third child. For three years, she had been married to an older man - a man her father had paired her with out of perceived necessity. 'My family is poor,' she explained. Her father 'accepted the first proposal for the marriage that came to him, not only for me but for my sisters, not caring that we were only children'. Child marriage existed in Yemen before the civil war. But years of bitter fighting have exacerbated the issue. Famine looms over the population as the 'fortunate' survive on bread and water. For families like Ghada's, children are an impossible expense. And so, Ghada was married at 12. Within a year, she gave birth to a baby girl. Her husband, who wanted a son, abused her and forbade her from leaving the house. She was only allowed to see her family when she delivered her second child, a boy. Ghada pleaded with her father to let her come home. But the family could not afford to feed more people. She went back to her husband and fell pregnant for a third time. Seeing no way out, Ghada tried to poison herself with pesticide stolen from her husband. She was rescued by her sister-in-law, but still could not return home. It seemed her life had been decided for her. Ghada's story is not unique. Child marriage does not belong only to Yemen, but festers in countries ravaged by war and instability. Around the world, hundreds of millions of girls have their own stories of abuse and neglect, bound to men often much older than themselves as a result of trafficking, cultural norms or, indeed, because there are no clear alternatives for a better life. In the time it takes to read this sentence, another child, somewhere in the world, will have been married. Amlee, a five-year old bride, with her husband, Ashok, 15, during their marriage ritual in Indian desert village Srirampur of northwestern state of Rajasthan on May 14, 1994 Ghada's story may not be unique. But it is relatively rare in finding a happy ending. It was the kindness of a neighbour that saved her. She was taken, with her mother, to a UNFPA-supported safe space and referred for psychiatric care, before a lawyer helped secure custody of her children. In one sense, Ghada was free. But a denied childhood left her at 16 unable to read or write, with no money and no skills. At one of 51 UNFPA safe spaces, Ghada steadily learned to read and write, and was trained how to sew, offering her the chance of economic independence. She completed her training and was awarded a sewing machine and materials, so that she could start over. 'Education helped me to become economically independent so I can have my freedom of choices,' she said. 'I need to get my children an education so they can choose for themselves in their lives.' At the time of the report, in 2021, she had moved back in with her father and was able to provide for her family. Edmund Fitton Brown, the UK's Ambassador to Yemen between 2015 and 2017, told MailOnline that before the war, it was common for young girls, 'often below the age of 10', to be married to men many decades older than them. He said he recalled hearing of girls as young as eight being married. 'Part of the incentive was economic, easing financial burdens on the family. Also for protection and to create a family alliance.' 'All of these drivers have been growing stronger.' Yemen does not have a minimum legal age for marriage. And Houthi ideology, 'violent and aggressive', has only set back rights for women since their 2014 takeover, while limiting the ability of families to object to imposed marriages. Rarely do families fight back and win. In 2020, an outlier made international headlines, as the mother of a 12-year-old girl, Hind, managed to get a court order to cancel a marriage contract binding her daughter to a 30-year-old prison inmate. Her mother was threatened and Hind's siblings were still forced to marriage and made to bear children. Aid groups, like the UNFPA, are in many cases the only lifeline. The impact of child marriage on the children varies case by case, country by country. But girls who marry or cohabit before the age of 18 are, on average, more likely to experience domestic violence, to drop out of school and miss out on developing skills and relationships beyond the home. UNICEF says that child brides are more likely to become infected with HIV/AIDS, more likely to have children while still a child, and more likely to die due to complications during pregnancy and childbirth. There are today more than 650 million women suffering the direct consequences of child marriage. Global figures have declined in recent years, but global instability poses new threats to the lives of children around the world. In times of conflict, families may arrange marriages for girls, believing it will protect their daughters from violence by strangers or armed groups, and to ease financial burdens on the family - as in Ghada's case. In Yemen more than two-thirds of girls are now married under the age of 18. Before the conflict escalated, this was around one in two. It is not only war that creates the conditions for child marriage, then. Poverty and wider insecurity lead parents to part with their children, either in the hopes of giving them a better life or reducing costs. Nor is it the case that legislation necessarily offers a watertight solution. In China, the minimum age for marriage is 22 for men and 20 for women. But UNICEF estimates that there are more than 35 million girls who married before the age of 18. The effects of China's infamous One Child Policy (1979 to 2015) still drives this in part. Selective abortions favouring sons have resulted in widespread gender imbalance. Coupled with reduced population growth, this may have spurred a trend towards allowing children to marry. Poverty squeezes the problem. In vulnerable households, girls can be sold as child brides. Families may also 'buy' foreign brides from neighbouring countries. Aidan McQuade, former director of Anti-Slavery International, wrote in 2018 that he had been told that the most popular age of girls for the China 'market' was between 13 and 16 years old. 'These girls typically fetch between $2,000 and $3,000 for 'three years and a baby'.' After delivering a child and staying with a Chinese man for three years, he relayed, she may then be sold on to other men in China for 'similar usage'. Absolute figures distort the scale. India, with an estimated 216.65 million child brides, has a population of 1.4 billion people. China has slightly less. By proportion, child marriage is most prevalent in central Africa, stretching from the coast of Mauritania, in the West, through Mali, Niger, Chad, Sudan, Ethiopia and Eritrea and ending up at Somalia, in the East. All are experiencing - or have experienced in living memory - internal instability, conflict or insurrection. According to UNICEF's global database (2020), Niger has the world's highest prevalence: 76 per cent of women were married or in a union before 18. The Central African Republic and Chad both report 61 per cent, Mali, 54. Prevalence across Asia is much lower, with notable exceptions. In Bangladesh, 51 per cent of girls are married before the age of 18. Nepal reports 35 per cent and Laos reports 33 per cent. Afghanistan reports 29 per cent, just ahead of Iraq on 28. Afghanistan and Iraq emerged from the War on Terror with very different political systems, but neither have rid themselves of child marriage. In Afghanistan, it was reported this week that a six-year-old girl had been forced to marry a 45-year-old man. The marriage was allegedly set to take place on Friday in Helmand province before the Taliban stepped in and arrested the father and the bridegroom. Local media reported that the Taliban had said the latter needed to wait until she was nine. UN Women reported last year that there has been a 25 per cent rise in child marriages in Afghanistan after the Taliban banned girls' education in 2021. They also said there has been a 45 per cent increase in child bearing across the country. Earlier this year, Iraq also amended its personal status law to effectively legalise marriage for girls as young as nine. The amendments gave Islamic courts increased authority over family matters, including marriage, divorce and inheritance, allowing clerics to rule according to their interpretation of Islamic law. Some of these interpretations allow the marriage of girls under the Ja'afari school of Islamic law followed by many Shiite religious authorities in Iraq. Proponents of the changes, which were advocated by primarily conservative Shiite lawmakers, defend them as a means to align the law with Islamic principles and reduce Western influence on Iraqi culture. The West is not entirely exempt. Romania, which is a member of the European Union and the 35th largest economy globally by GDP (PPP), reports one per cent of girls are married by the age of 15. Seven per cent marry before the age of 18. The legal age for marriage is 18 years, though people can marry at 16 with parental consent. Poverty, limited education and narrow employment prospects are cited among the reasons for child marriage, especially among Romani girls. India, 'the world's largest democracy', has a similar problem. The legal age for men to marry is 21, and for women, 18. The legal age for marriage is 21 for men and 18 for women, but poverty, tradition and weak enforcement keep child marriage common. UNICEF estimates that at least 1.5 million girls under 18 get married in India every years. Nearly 16 per cent of adolescent girls between 15 and 19 were married at the time data was gathered. Rates have declined in recent years, which the UN agency attributes to the increased literacy of mothers, better access to education for girls, stronger legislation and migration to urban centres. Both UNICEF and UNFPA have been working together on a Global Programme to Accelerate Action to End Child Marriage, to help address persisting norms and bring together strategies on improving health, education and nutrition to change the lives and opportunities in front of young people. The groups leading the charge acknowledge that there is no one-size-fits-all solution to ending the problem. Issues like war, poverty and famine cannot simply be undone by donations, but money does help charities and agencies on the ground to reach and help girls like Ghada. 'Current funding is nowhere near enough to match the scale of child marriage worldwide,' Girls Not Bridges acknowledges. Beyond making peace, creating jobs and providing food, action from international governments is needed to create a firm basis of law - and the means to enforce it. Still, the immaterial roots in culture call for a much greater commitment to education before the suffering imposed on children can be properly identified, understood and allayed. * Name changed to protect her identity.
RTÉ News
06-07-2025
- RTÉ News
People in Gaza living in 'cycle of trauma', says student
Student Ghada Ashour has lived her whole life in Gaza, but she dreams of living and studying somewhere else, somewhere safer. Her parents are both teachers and they worked in Saudi Arabia for 15 years, where they saved money before returning home to build their home in Khan Younis before Ghada was born. "I have been displaced for months by now and I don't know if my home is still standing," Ghada said. The last update she received was that it had been partially destroyed. The 24-year-old currently lives in a sprawling tented camp where she shares her tent with nine more family members. "During the night, all you can hear is bombing here and bombing there, bombing here and bombing there," she explained, describing this as "very normal" for Gazans. "If you can hear the bombing then your are lucky because you are not the one that is being targeted at this moment," she said. Sitting in a makeshift tent, that seems to be operating almost like an internet cafe, Ghada moved the camera on her phone around to show her surroundings and we could see a few people sitting on chairs around her. "If you speak to all the people who are here right now, you are going to realise that each and every one of them has lost at least one family member, at least, and of course I am one of them," she said. Her brother Mohammed was killed in March last year. He was missing for a month before his family recovered his body. Ghada said they weren't able to recognise him but they "managed to find his ID" and that's how they knew it was him. "No photo or no video would tell you how painful it is that I already lost my brother, I can't find the words to tell you how painful it is," she said. She tells me that Mohammed left behind three children, the youngest, a boy called Ali is now aged four, and his two sisters who are eight and ten. Ghada said that her aunt, three of her cousins as well as a number of their children had also been killed during the 21 months of conflict. "Living here in Gaza feels like you are trapped in a cycle of trauma. Trauma and loss," she said. And yet life goes on, though not easily. Over the last couple of weeks Ghada has been documenting just what that looks like for her. "So here actually we are trying to build a fire so we can drink tea," she explained in one video. "Yesterday we tried to collect some wood, and teanswe have tried to collect some plastic bags from the streets, to collect something to be burned, but plastic as you can see is hazardous to breath in, but we have to use it as we have no other option," Ghada explained. She describes how expensive the very limited amount of available food has become. "We normally tend to buy the cheapest products in the market" she said "most of the time we eat either lentils of Palestinian za'atar because they are the cheapest". "One kilogramme of flour costs not less than 30 US dollar" Ghada explained, adding that sugar costs "not less than 100 US dollar for one kilogramme" which is why she says no longer has it in her tea. And "because food here is really expensive we only have one meal a day," she said. Ghada is also currently studying remotely, taking online courses offered by the American University in Cairo as well as one-on-one English lessons. "I literally study in the streets, I take exams in the streets, I take English courses and digital marketing courses in the streets," she said. To do this, she explained how she needed to regularly go to what she called a "set-up tent" where people can recharge their phones at solar-powered stations. There, they can also buy little slips of paper printed with a code, which gives limited internet access if the service is working, and there have been rolling blackouts recently. "Right now I am between tents", she explained as we spoke via Zoom, "a few months ago I was (studying) between damaged houses". "You have to study and be very well educated", she said, "here the choice for any girl is you either get married or you travel abroad and continue your education". Her older sister did the latter, travelling to Europe before the war started. She is currently in Ireland on a scholarship, completing a master's in Artificial Intelligence. It is clear that Ghada has long dreamed of following in her sister's footsteps. She had saved and fundraised to try and make it happen, but the war has seen the borders closed to all but the sickest or most terribly injured, and so for now, her education is confined to her online classes. "I am trying to cling to the smallest hope that things will get better one day," she said.
India Today
05-07-2025
- General
- India Today
Voices from Gaza: The unwavering courage of journalist Ghada Al Kurd
In the dim glow of her screen, Palestinian journalist Ghada Al Kurd continues her work, even as her own body bears witness to the suffering she documents. After 21 months of conflict in Gaza, her commitment to telling the story of her people comes at a devastating personal cost—one that speaks to both the power of journalism and the human price of bearing witness. advertisement "Maybe you can't see on my face this is not my face I'm losing too much weight I lost for now almost 10 kilos and even my bones my muscles I cannot sometimes carry anything because I don't have enough food to continue to do my work," Ghada shares, her words carrying the weight of both physical exhaustion and unwavering determination. This stark confession reveals more than statistics ever could about the humanitarian crisis unfolding in Gaza. Here is a professional journalist, trained to observe and report, becoming part of the very story she's trying to tell—not by choice, but by the cruel arithmetic of survival in a war Between StoriesThe reality of Ghada's daily existence challenges every assumption about what it means to practice journalism. While reporters in other conflict zones might retreat to safe hotels or press centers, Ghada's newsroom is a landscape of destruction where basic human needs become luxuries."Sometimes I sleep uh I'm hungry sometimes i don't know i don't know i don't know i don't have uh this kind of food because I'm i feel my stomach is refusing this kind of food which is unhealthy so i sometimes I sleep without eating i just drinking some water to stay alive," she explains, her repetition of "I don't know" capturing the disorientation that comes with prolonged journalist who once might have grabbed coffee between interviews now faces a different reality: "We are depending sometimes on rice and some kind of lentils and we have some popular uh food uh here called falafel uh it's made from uh from beans and all the time we are eating beans... we don't have sugar or sweets we don't have chocolate or even like we don't have any kind of juice."The Mission ContinuesDespite these overwhelming challenges, Ghada remains clear about her purpose. "The mission or the duty of the journalist is to transfer the message of the Palestinian people here this is the most uh important thing that's annoying the community of Israel that annoying Israel that people here still are journalists uh professional journalists they still they are still working from here."Her words illuminate why journalism matters—not just as a profession, but as an act of resistance against erasure. In a place where "everything is being targeted," where safety depends on "luck," the simple act of continuing to report becomes both heroic and Plea for ActionHer message to world leaders carries the urgency of someone who understands that time is measured differently when survival is at stake: "Our message is to put more pressure on both sides, Israelis and Hamas, to stop this killing, stop the starvation as soon as possible. We are dying. Two million people are dying here."The simplicity of her words—"We are dying"—cuts through political complexity to reach the most fundamental human Al Kurd's story is ultimately one of courage—not the dramatic courage of a single heroic act, but the quiet, persistent courage of showing up, day after day, to bear witness when the world would rather forget. In her words, we hear not just the voice of a journalist, but the voice of a people refusing to be silenced, even as they face what she calls "two weapons now against us it's the killing and the starvation."Her sacrifice—measured in lost weight, in sleepless nights, in the constant proximity to death—ensures that Gaza's story continues to be told. And in that telling, there remains hope that the world will finally listen.- EndsTune InMust Watch
Saudi Gazette
08-05-2025
- Saudi Gazette
The Edge of the World: A majestic desert landmark near Riyadh
Saudi Gazette report RIYADH — At the far end of the famous Tuwaiq Mountain range, which stretches for 800 kilometers, lies one of the most prominent natural landmarks in Saudi Arabia — the "Edge of the World." It stands at an elevation of approximately 1,131 meters and is located about 100 kilometers from the capital, Riyadh. The "Edge of the World" is one of the most prominent destinations that attracts mountain climbing enthusiasts and hiking lovers, offering a unique experience that combines physical challenge with the joy of interacting with a breathtaking desert environment. From the top, the panoramic view reveals a deep valley and a vast desert stretching endlessly into the horizon. It serves as a living example of unique geological formations, with the mountains appearing as if sculpted by erosion over thousands of years. The natural landscape is diverse light soil covers the streams and valleys, where Samar and Talh trees grow. In the areas of stable sand dunes, Ghada trees and the Qutb plant dominate. What makes the site geologically remarkable is the presence of fossilized shells and marine organisms, dating back to a time when the area was submerged under water — indicating that this location was once part of an ancient seabed. Sunrise and sunset are among the most beautiful times to enjoy the scenic view offered by the Edge of the World, as the sky transforms into stunning gradients of color that enhance the site's charm. Winter is considered a particularly special season to visit, thanks to the cool weather and the possibility of rainfall, which adds even more vibrancy to the area. The "Edge of the World" offers a rare opportunity to discover the beauty of Saudi nature in its distinctive desert character. It stands as a prime example of the environmental and geographical diversity that Saudi Arabia is rich in.
