I am writing this in secrecy. Not because I want to be mysterious, but because in Yemen, telling the truth about your beliefs can cost you your life. I live in hiding, and even now, as I share my story, I know the risk is enormous.
I am not only hunted for my ideas—I am weakened physically as well. My body has suffered from years of isolation, stress, and the constant fear that follows me everywhere. I am not the strong, defiant figure people imagine when they think of political dissidents. I am tired. I am vulnerable. And yet, I must speak.
In early 2025, the walls began to close in. My rejection of religious extremism and my open support for secular thought had already alienated me from my community. But in Yemen, where political Islam dominates both the government and armed factions, being secular is seen as treachery against both God and country.
My family, influential and deeply connected to tribal and political powers, turned against me. Then, in mid-2025, the targeting became personal and direct. My mother’s phone was hacked—not for money, but to find me. I knew the signs: strange system changes, messages sent without her knowledge, unfamiliar activity. It was a manhunt disguised as technology.
After the hack, my digital life was erased. Every account I had—email, social media, even backups—was destroyed. This was no accident. It was a warning: We can erase you from the internet, and then from the world.
Since then, I have been living as a shadow. I avoid people. I avoid places. Even the thought of crossing a checkpoint fills me with dread. My body has grown weaker, my energy drained by years of constant fear and the weight of isolation. The society I live in does not simply disagree with me—it wants me gone.
The danger is real, but so is my need to be heard. That is why I share this now, quietly, to anyone in the world who will listen. If my story reaches you, know that it comes from someone who may not survive long enough to tell it twice.
