Children brave snipers and mortars to go to school near Yemen front line
In rare access to Taiz, the BBC World Service speaks to children, teachers and families affected by the war.
Children risk snipers and mortars to attend school near Yemen front line
Rafeef says the trip to school frightens her, but she is determined to continue
Every morning at 6am, 10-year-old Rafeef and her younger brother prepare for school, dressing in their cream and brown uniforms.
She always looks forward to seeing her friends and studying everything from maths to Arabic and Islamic studies. She cannot wait to begin English next year.
But for Rafeef, getting to school carries far greater dangers than crossing roads or missing the bus.
Her school in Taiz, south-western Yemen, sits on a mountain at the edge of a valley known as no-man's land - a heavily contested front line in the civil war between forces backing Yemen's internationally recognised government, supported by Saudi Arabia, and the Iran-backed Houthis.
Government-held territory lies on one side of the school, while Houthi sniper positions are on the other.
Rafeef's home is further down the mountain.
Each time she goes to school, she must walk uphill with her back facing the snipers. "I'm afraid," she says.
According to Unicef, about 3.2 million children in Yemen were already out of school even before the war escalated last month.
It says thousands of children have been killed or maimed since the war started in 2014, while thousands more have been recruited by armed groups on both sides.
Even so, Rafeef says she does not want to stop going because she loves seeing her friends and it is her only chance to be with them. She starts listing the children in her classroom.
School is the only time Rafeef's parents allow her to go outside. They say they want her to get an education and have the chance of a better life. Rafeef hopes to become a doctor.
Rafeef's family moved to Taiz from the coastal city of Hudaydah nine years ago, looking for safety when Houthis took control there.
But Taiz has also seen fighting.
Rafeef says that two years ago there was a mortar attack outside her new home.
"Everyone was out except for me and my brother. Then a mortar came out of nowhere… shrapnel blew through the door and into the house." Her arm was broken and she still has a scar where she was hit.
And in recent days the conflict has grown more intense. On Sunday the Houthis cut off a crucial supply route linking Taiz to Aden, allowing them to effectively encircle Taiz. Control of that route has repeatedly shifted.
Residents have told the BBC they fear the Houthis could take the city at any moment.
Government forces have made gains elsewhere this week, they say, retaking strategic points on the Bab al-Mandab Strait - a key shipping chokepoint - and launching an offensive to try to regain control of the capital, Sanaa.
Homes in Taiz are mostly spread across the slopes, but many have been abandoned by families fleeing the fighting.
Twice, we try to visit the neighbourhood where Rafeef and her family live, but a community leader tells us it is too dangerous.
On the first attempt, residents of the neighbourhood say three people have been shot by snipers. On the second, we are told of another shooting.
At Rafeef's school, one of the teachers, Abdel Raqeeb al-Obaidi, 45, takes us up to the rooftop to show us what he says are Houthi military camps, barracks and sniper positions in the mountains.
While standing on the rooftop, a Yemeni security adviser accompanying us suddenly tells us to go back inside. He says we are visible from those positions and could be shot.
Abdel Raqeeb laughs, acknowledging the danger. He says the school has been fired on before.
"The situation may explode at any moment while we are sitting in class or sleeping or we are in school or we are out on the street. We do not know how our future is and how tomorrow is."
For Abdel Raqeeb, the danger has become routine. His ease with it is disturbing.
Taiz has long been a major battleground in the country's devastating civil war. After driving the government out of the capital Sanaa in 2015, the Houthis tried to also seize Taiz but were pushed out of most of the city by local militiamen.
Taking Taiz would give the Houthis full control over the country's north. Now, in their latest offensive, Houthis are making extensive use of drones alongside other weapons.
Sometimes civilians are caught in the crossfire.
Later that evening, we receive a call from a hospital about a five minute drive from the school. Two children have been badly wounded by a mortar strike.
When we arrive at Al-Rawdah Hospital, we see a nurse standing outside the intensive care unit, holding a tiny pair of beige, rubber sandals splattered with blood.
They belonged to Ahmed, a three-year-old boy who we learn was killed when a mortar hit a mechanic's shop in the city.
When I ask about the shoes, the nurse, Ikram Shamsan, begins to cry.
"What did this child or his family ever do wrong?" she asks.
Ahmed was killed when a piece of shrapnel pierced his heart, entering through his back. The boy had been with his father, who was having his motorcycle tyre pumped up at the mechanic's shop. The father was unharmed.
A doctor says the father had planned to leave his son at home, but the boy cried because he wanted to come too.
As he carries his son's body from the hospital, the father asks how he will face the boy's mother.
A simple errand became the worst day of their lives.
Another boy, 11-year-old Amjad, was also at the mechanic's shop. He and his brother worked there with their uncle, sending money to their family in their home village.
Shrapnel has hit Amjad in his lung and abdomen. When we reach him, he is in intensive care, struggling to breathe. No relatives are at his bedside.
His doctor says his condition is critical and fears he could die within hours. He hopes his mother will arrive in time to say goodbye.
Amjad was admitted at about 20:00 that evening. His mother reaches him at around 06:00 the next morning, delayed by the eight-hour journey from the village.
She sits beside his bed and prays, trying to stay composed. Once outside the room, she falls to her knees and breaks down.
Doctors say his heart rate improves during her visit. They decide he is stable enough for another operation.
He has since had that surgery, but remains critically ill.
"We're always terrified. It's devastating to see children killed," says nurse Shamsan. "We want peace and we want to be safe."