After I watched my friend lose his
There are places in this world where you expect grief – war-torn cities, deserts, heartbreaks, its one of those emotions that is like a stray dog refusing to leave and if you’re like me, you almost in a sick way like to sit with it.
But I did not expect to land in Yemen and have a group of men, yes, Yemeni men, the same ones Western media loves to slate help me heal.
Background
Three days before arriving, I was in Algeria, living through one of the worst days I have ever had and hopefully ever will. I lost my friend, something still to painful to really sit with details.
I’ve travelled with death before, but I always thought I handled grief quite well. Too well. In fact, I would say after a while even expecting it, when you live amongst something for so long it becomes normalised. This time was different because here’s the thing, death doesn’t affect the dead.
It affects the rest of us. It awkwardly, unevenly, forces us to play roles. Mine became logistics and embassies, police reports, checking everyone else was okay, and then dragging myself out of the country to make sure I wasn’t next.
It wasn’t until the plane left the ground that what had happened really sunk in. Something about being suspended in the air made me realise, I am leaving my friend behind and there is no going back and unlike me they wont be leaving here. Could I have changed anything? Rationally, no. Emotionally, my brain was running laps screaming, “WHAT IF?!”.
My ticket was to Yemen, a place I’d always wanted to go.
Yemen in September 2025
Or the month the whole world suddenly remembered Yemen exists
If you ever wanted Yemen to hit global headlines, September 2025 was jackpot. The Houthis yes, those Houthis decided to insert themselves into the Gaza war. And while they’re largely hated both inside and outside the country, their stance on Palestine got them some… positive press? They watched as most of the world condemned Israel and they decided to do something about it.
If I have learned anything about armed groups, it’s that they are idiots but they aren’t as dumb as we think. They have networks, radical ideas, no moral compass or HR department. They saw an opportunity and propaganda’d the hell out of it.
Naturally, Israel responded by bombing the hell out of them, but they still fought. Yemen was suddenly “hot news,” and somehow the Houthis became the face of the entire nation. They were a “political party” of angry, violent, unpredictable men with guns.
So of course, I decided this was an excellent week to go. I mean when you hit rock bottom why not go to the lava and see how low you can really go. But honestly, given the emotional implosion I was living through, the timing felt… correct. If I wanted to be hit by an airstrike it was now or never.
I Walked In Confused
But Yemeni Men Did Something Better
When I landed in Seiyun, I immediately told my two local minders what had happened. I didn’t want them thinking I didn’t like them, or worse, I was scared of them (can’t give anyone that power). If I seemed quiet, it was grief, which I knew they understood, I mean it’s Yemen… I almost felt guilty for it.
They didn’t pry which I appreciated, they just said “We will do your job. You sit. You’re our guest. We will protect you.” Normally, I roll my eyes at sentences like that particularly from men (I’m not sexist I swear, just experienced) but this time I believed them. Better, I was sober because no alcohol in Yemen.
They rearranged the entire schedule so it was just us three. Especially in the car…. Our car. The secret-smoker, cut-eating, music-blasting, scream-therapy, confessional booth disguised as a Hilux. I’ve never done therapy and have no medical experience, however, I do highly recommend before you sign up to the expensive western stuff you try this first.
After a few days, I felt myself feeling more energetic. One afternoon, our fixer brought his (really attractive) brother along. He wouldn’t even look at me, nothing but side-eye, it seemed as my presence made him uncomfortable. I though ah maybe its because I am a woman and here I am “Haram” on legs. I asked “Does he hate me?” And my fixers burst out laughing. “No, no. Girls like you don’t exist here. You’re one of the fucking crazy ones.” I can’t say I have never heard this before, but in that moment, it was the best compliment I could have ever received. Not because they romanticised me, but because they saw me and I was kind-of back and I felt being humorous and crazy almost made me special.
We Talk a Lot About “Bad Men”
And we rarely talk about the good ones
In the West conversations about Yemeni men follow a predictable script = Houthis, Terrorist, Extremism. Men are threats and Women as victims. And I, as a Western woman, a walking kidnapping, sexual opportunity.
Please, If I wanted to be subjected to cruelty by a man, I didn’t need to leave Sydney or Sydney prepared me, regardless being a woman was a condition I would never let stop me. Instead, in Yemen of all places, I found the complete opposite, men with values who you’d almost want to show off to your mum.
Men who were protectors not because they carried guns (they did), but because they were gentle in ways that blindsided me. Men who recognised, instinctively, that it didn’t matter about my gender, religion, etc, I was a human holding grief.
They didn’t collapse my boundaries which I really ought to work on, they collapsed the stereotypes. Every day they told me they prayed for my friend and while I don’t hold a faith, that act alone, strangers honouring someone they’d never met felt I don’t know the word…. Magic? Profound? I really can’t find it but I just thought about my friend and what a way to leave this world, appreciated(?) by people they never got to meet.
Grief Travels With You
But it teaches you
Somewhere in the middle of fucking Yemen, while parts of the country were being blown up I met my heroes. Not because they saved my life but because they showed me a softer side, they were just there to heal.
They showed me tenderness in a place that headlines insist is only brutality, they taught me what men can be. And unlike many Western men, they did not respond to my pain by saying “Well, my entire family was shot,” (which, by the way, ACTUALLY happened to one of them and is a very valid point). They understood contrast without invalidation. I can’t explain it but they just really, really cared about me.
There are many places where you wouldn’t expect to find the best in men but in Yemen held some of the best I’ve ever known.
So there you go. Grief, war zones, unexpected healing, and Yemeni men who put me back together when I didn’t even know that was possible.
PARIS HAILWOOD 
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