Editor’s note: Yemen Country Director Giorgio Trombatore recently completed his first year managing the International Medical Corps team in Yemen. Based in Sana’a, he is responsible for a country team of more than 150 staff members and for programmes we operate in Aden, Taizz and Sana’a – funded by the European Union - that provide humanitarian assistance to those in need. Below are his reflections of the challenges he has faced to direct International Medical efforts to support tens of thousands of civilians caught up in a civil war that seems to have no visible end in sight.

Following months of relative quiet, the bombing has resumed in and around Sana’a.

17 months after it first began, the war in Yemen is far from over.

When I first arrived here a year ago, it was common to have the night disturbed by buildings shaking from bombs being dropped all around us. Today, everyone seems to agree the conflict here is entering in a new phase.

I have lived among conflict before, and in my daily routine with the International Medical Corps it is sometimes easy to forget the context in which I am living. It is a very human reaction to adapt to the realities in which you live. The brain seems to be able to adapt even to the unpleasant situations. I find I no longer notice things that would shock any visitor; like old wallpaper or background noise, they have become part of my life here.

When I travel to a meeting, I know I will see destroyed buildings, that I will pass through check-points manned by armed children barely in their teens. I’m no longer concerned when I am told that the frontline is getting closer to Sana’a, no longer shocked about the toll of air strikes or ground operations taking place in the country.

Often everything is so quiet, so strangely quiet. When the weekend comes, this place is especially quiet. Only the noise from our generator breaks the peace of the Fajatan suburb. When I look over the rooftops to the town below, I see kids playing in the streets and the deserted park, full of cats searching for food in the debris.

As I went on my routine visit to the central prison of Sana’a recently, I found myself thinking about what it is like living in a country at war – that events can unfold and change by the hour, but lives can feel almost brought to a halt.

Once inside the main gates, in the area where prisoners affected with mental illness were gathered, I noticed it was full of prisoners of war from the south. They were standing in the open in the block, not in the typical cells - many just idling, others sitting bored, others smoking. They all seemed to be waiting for something to happen. Each gave me the impression of restlessness, the impression of people trying to kill time.

It was the same in Rwanda in 1995 – I remember prisoners there waiting, at a full stop until the authorities decided what to do with them, where to put the difficult human cost of the ongoing conflict.

I have to confess I struggle to understand the political situation, even after a year here it remains a mystery. For those not living within the borders it must be impenetrable. How else can it be that Yemen’s third largest city - a city larger than Bradford and twice the size of Verona – can simply be cut off from the world in this day and age? Taizz has been walled up for more than a year, and it has been impossible for us to get to the people there with food, medication or other humanitarian assistance.

The closest I managed to get to it was earlier this year, when I reached the de-facto wall made of sand-bags separating it from the surrounding areas. The formidable barrier was bordered on one side by restaurants, taxis, markets – the bustle of busy streets, on the other there was nothing. Silence—a city, alone, seemingly forgotten, abandoned to its fate.

I have seen it with my own eyes, and it is still difficult to comprehend this.

One of my roles as a Country Director is to provide guidance for the team and make sure we stay focused. How do they view what’s happening in Taizz—one part in the frontline of a long war that goes largely unnoticed in the West?

Certainly none want this war to continue. They are concerned about their futures, and those of their children. They follow the developments around the Kuwait peace talks, but they do not put much hope in them. They seem prepared for their lives to remain a grinding battle for survival, where even the simple things like buying a propane gas bottle for their kitchen becomes a massive endeavour.

They seem prepared for more air strikes, more suicide bomb attacks - more violence around them – but most of all they seem resigned to the sense of isolation that is so strong in this country.

Most airlines have suspended services to Yemen, with only a few UN and Yemenia Airlines flights still in and out of Sana’a. Travelling inside the country is a massive organisational nightmare, with a three day wait for permits which often do not satisfy the nervous among militia forces close to the frontline. Murders and targeted killings are common in the South – one of our mobile teams there was recently fired upon because they failed to include a specific village on its route.

What is truly exceptional is that Yemen remains a land of smiling and beautiful people. I have never faced any true anger or hate toward me - only hospitality and smiles. People seem to love life here in a way I never experienced at home in Italy. This allows me to see the place in a different light; Sana’a is starved of colour, everything is debris and plastic and paper flap in the wind everywhere. But when I sit with talented young artists here in Sana’a I enjoy seeing a different reality, their perspectives and their senses.

This is real artistic expression – in a country with little food and no medicines, where people struggle to live, these people still use their creative expression to convey their feelings. These projects bring splashes of colour to impromptu galleries where they are found – including inside the prison and in our compound. That this part of life has not been lost is a sign of the Yemenis’ resilience.

I wish there was greater international understanding about what’s going on in Yemen. At one time Taizz would have been just a name on a map to me, much as it is for so many who live outside the region today.

But not for me now.

Now I am here. Now I am part of this, I eat with these people, I see them struggling and I cannot help but sympathize with their plight. It is human. It is natural to feel that way. After all, it is a very human reaction to adapt to the realities in which you live.

International Medical Corps has maintained a permanent presence in Yemen since 2012. With support from the European Commission (ECHO), International Medical Corps is providing primary and secondary healthcare, as well as emergency nutrition and water, hygiene and sanitation interventions for vulnerable people in the country.