Salah Al-Deen and Madinat Al-Shaab

Yemeni mp

Ahmed Saif Hashed

Aden, in the district of Salah Al-Deen, was the field of order and discipline, the ground of military parades, of uniforms drenched in sweat, and of endless laps around its dark yard as a form of collective punishment. It often stirred my anger and deepened my sense of lost justice, leaving me overwhelmed by feelings of injustice, suffocation, and melancholy.

The area of Ras Abbas, surrounded by towering cliffs and barren mountains, was the place of gathering and maneuvers. There, we carried our backpacks, helmets, water canteens, and bullet-creased uniforms. Along the road, before reaching our destination, sudden orders would come, simulating airstrikes from an imagined enemy, bringing us closer to the feeling of real war and battle.

The cross-country run took us through the heart of the desert, where the heat and dryness were unbearable. Before reaching the finish line, thirst pressed upon us, exhaustion spread through our limbs, and our heads seemed ready to collapse from our bodies as we struggled to keep pace with our own footsteps. When we finally arrived, after endurance, pain, and stubborn defiance, rest was forbidden. There was no time to breathe before facing the next barriers waiting for us, urging us to cross without hesitation.

The training range in the desert appeared from afar like a mast rising from a vast sea. On its field, the targets looked like soldiers in a distant battle. There we learned how to aim, how to shoot, how to master the skill, and how to strike the heart of the target with the very first bullet. Ammunition was scarce, and each round was precious.

At Ras Imran, guarding the radar base was a duty we all longed for. It was a place where the soul could contemplate the mysteries of existence, wander into the unknown, break the silence of the sky, and gaze upon the stars, the sea, and the endless horizon.

Our military academy in Salah Al-Deen was a place of endurance and effort. We were filled with youth, determination, and ambition to graduate and lead. Every drop of sweat shed there was a small victory, sparing the need for bloodshed on the battlefield. Excellence, leadership, and the unforgettable joy of success were the goals that drove us forward. Yet deep within, rebellious questions arose, doubts and uncertainties about things I could not fully trust.

It was in that academy that I learned discipline, order, and commitment, even as I held onto my own reservations and convictions about what I could not accept. That balance made me, despite my defiance, at peace with myself. I longed for a wider space of freedom so that I could feel the vitality of my existence and uphold my rejection of injustice wherever it appeared and under any name.

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Aden, Madinat Al-Shaab, was where I studied and excelled, and where, in one of its colleges, I fell in love. Yet I failed in love with distinction and excellence. My failure was so profound that it seemed a kind of success in itself. I often felt that my failure in love was unmatched, a triumph of another kind. Madinat Al-Shaab was a place of sincere learning, of love that faltered, and of friends I cherished deeply, friends whose names there is not enough space to recall here.

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