by Murad Abdo
ADEN, Yemen, April 19 (Xinhua) -- In Yemen, where life has long been shaped by conflict and uncertainty, little remains constant. Cities change, plans are interrupted, and the future often feels fragile.
Yet amid this shifting reality, I have found something unexpected -- a connection to a language and a culture that has taught me not only how to endure, but how to hope. It is a journey that began in turmoil and continues to unfold with steady determination.
In 2011, as Yemen stood on the edge of instability, that journey quietly began.
I still remember walking into the Sanaa bureau of Xinhua, China's state news agency. It was my first real encounter with Chinese colleagues. I was filled with ambition and curiosity about everything around me. At that moment, I felt as if I had stepped into a different rhythm of life -- one shaped by discipline, mutual respect, and a quiet confidence that did not need to be spoken, but could be felt in every gesture.
From that time, I began working for Xinhua from Aden, the southern port city. By then, I had already learned a few Chinese words. They seemed modest, almost insignificant, yet they carried a quiet promise -- as if they belonged to a future I had not yet reached. I believed I would continue, and that this path would unfold naturally.
But history -- and perhaps destiny -- arrived suddenly, and everything changed.
That same year, Yemen entered a period of upheaval. Protests, instability, and later chaos reshaped the country. Universities closed. Opportunities disappeared. As a young journalist, I found myself in the middle of events, documenting change as it unfolded, often at great personal risk.
By 2015, the internal conflict had reached Aden. Like many others, I was internally displaced. In those years, life became a series of urgent decisions. Dreams did not vanish, but were pushed aside, waiting for a quieter time that never seemed to come.
Years passed, and Yemen continued to face mounting challenges, sinking deeper into a prolonged conflict widely regarded as one of the world's worst humanitarian crises. In such circumstances, long-term aspirations often fade into the background.
Yet the connection endured -- the path I had glimpsed remained, and the bridge I had begun to build still stood, waiting.
In 2024, I made a decision that felt both simple and profound: I returned to learning Chinese, committing myself to regular, intensive classes at Aden University.
That year marked the first time Chinese was taught in Aden, a city ravaged by war, not as a formal academic major, but through a series of intermittent, month-long courses.
Classes are held under challenging conditions. Teaching materials remain limited, and access to native Chinese-speaking instructors is almost nonexistent.
We are fortunate to have one dedicated native teacher, a Chinese woman still living in Aden, who carries the responsibility of guiding us all. At times, she is clearly overwhelmed, yet her persistence reflects a quiet commitment that inspires her students to continue.
Around me is a small but determined group of nearly 30 young Yemenis who share the same aspiration.
We study in classrooms that are often stiflingly hot, especially during long hours of electricity outages that Aden regularly endures. At those moments, even the simple act of writing becomes a challenge, as drops of sweat fall onto our notebooks, smudging the Chinese characters we carefully form during dictation exercises.
We study for a short period, then pause for months due to circumstances beyond our control, before resuming again when conditions allow.
The legacy of war continues to shape reality. Much of the educational infrastructure has been affected, and parts of Aden University's main campus still bear the scars of aerial strikes carried out during the 2015 conflict. At times, even securing a classroom is a challenge, as university facilities remain overcrowded with students from other academic disciplines.
Compared with most students, I face a more complicated path. I study in the middle of a life that can change at any instant - balancing my work as a journalist with my lessons, attending classes with my camera always within reach.
I cannot afford to keep my attention fully in one place. I listen not only to my teacher, but also to the distant wail of ambulance sirens after explosions, the sudden vibration of my phone with urgent alerts from the Coast Guard about attacks on ships in the Gulf of Aden or the Red Sea, or brief, unsettling messages from residents reporting fresh strikes elsewhere in Yemen.
To continue my studies during breaks between classes, I have turned to online Chinese courses at personal expense. Even this form of learning is not without difficulty, as unstable internet connections and weak infrastructure frequently disrupt the process.
Against all odds, learning Chinese has become more than a pursuit of knowledge - it has become an act of perseverance. It gives me a way to regain focus, to restore a sense of continuity, and to remind myself that progress is still possible, even in the most uncertain moments.
Each Chinese character demands patience, each tone requires precision. Every word I have learned is hard-earned, every sentence forged through effort. There are moments of frustration, but also quiet breakthroughs that keep me going.
An old Arabic saying goes: "Seek knowledge, even as far as China." To me, the distance it speaks of is less about geography than about resolve -- the determination to continue, even when the journey is difficult.
In this journey, I have discovered something important: language is not only a tool for communication; it is a bridge between civilizations.
Chinese, spoken by over a billion people, connects cultures, histories, and perspectives. It opens doors to understanding a civilization that has endured and evolved over thousands of years. It creates opportunities not only for individuals, but for regions seeking partnerships in a rapidly changing world.
For the Middle East, this connection matters more than ever.
Often defined by conflict, the Middle East is searching for stability, development, and opportunity. It is here that China emerges not just as a partner, but as a direction -- offering a model of long-term vision and steady progress. Its diplomatic approach, grounded in mutual respect, shared benefit, and cooperation without political strings attached, speaks directly to the region's needs after years of disruption.
As Middle Eastern societies focus on rebuilding infrastructure, diversifying their economies, creating jobs, and restoring confidence, the trajectory of development increasingly points toward China as a key friend and partner in shaping what comes next.
Against this backdrop, I dream of one day pursuing higher studies in China, to deepen my understanding of its language and culture and to better grasp the forces behind its development.
This year, I took my first step by applying for a Chinese government scholarship. Now, I wait with hope and quiet determination. Like many students across the Middle East, I hold on to this moment, believing it could open the door to a long-awaited new beginning.
On the eve of United Nations Chinese Language Day, observed annually on April 20, I see it not only as a global celebration, but also as a personal reminder.
A reminder that even in places marked by hardship, learning can continue;
A reminder that engaging with other cultures and civilizations can inspire new perspectives, quietly but meaningfully;
And a reminder that the future is not simply something we wait for, but something we build, step by step, through our own choices.
My journey is still unfolding -- between the echoes of conflict and the cadence of a new language. ■
