In Yemen's Aden, Power Cuts Push Hospitals and Families to the Brink

In Aden, a coastal city in Yemen where hot, humid summers are a fact of life, the unreliable supply of electricity has become far more than an inconvenience. It has become a force that dictates the rhythm of daily existence, from when families sleep to whether hospital patients can receive treatment. Repeated blackouts have turned electricity into something people cannot take for granted, and the consequences ripple through every part of city life.

The power crisis in Yemen did not begin with the current conflict. According to the source material, even before the war, only around 55 percent of the population had access to electricity from any source, one of the lowest rates in the Middle East and North Africa. Since 2015, a combination of damaged infrastructure, fuel shortages, and an ageing generation and distribution network has made the situation even more precarious.

Aden's power stations have continued to suffer repeated shutdowns, leaving residents without electricity for extended periods. Reports also indicate that rising insurance premiums on tankers carrying fuel to the city have deepened the crisis. An assessment published this year by the International Monetary Fund found that Aden was receiving only two to six hours of electricity per day, a figure that reflects both structural weaknesses and persistent fuel shortages.

For hospitals, the stakes could hardly be higher. Operating theatres, intensive care units, laboratories, medical refrigerators, and dialysis machines all require continuous power to function safely. When the grid fails, these services are disrupted in ways that can threaten lives. The World Health Organization has stated that recurring outages disrupt lifesaving health services across Yemen, pushing health facilities to depend on a mix of grid electricity, generators, and solar systems.

In one Aden hospital, kidney patient Zeina Ahmed underwent a dialysis session that depends on uninterrupted electricity. For patients like her, each power cut adds another layer of uncertainty to treatment that cannot simply wait for the lights to return. The same is true for premature infants in incubators, patients on ventilators, and anyone relying on refrigerated medicines or blood supplies.

The WHO's response illustrates the scale of the problem. In 2025, the organisation supplied roughly 4.33 million litres of fuel to 177 health facilities across Yemen to keep generators and essential equipment running. That figure underscores how much of the country's medical care now depends on stopgap measures rather than a functioning national grid.

At home, the blackouts reshape the day in subtler but no less exhausting ways. When the power fails, fans and air conditioners fall silent. Sleep becomes difficult, and students rush to finish homework before darkness sets in. Children spill onto the streets, while young men head toward the sea in search of moving air and cooler water. As the sun sets, homes and businesses slip into darkness, lit only by small battery-powered lights and solar systems. Residents often have no idea how long an outage will last or how long the power will stay on once it returns.

During summer, when temperatures in Aden climb toward 40 degrees Celsius, the consequences are hard to escape. Residents interviewed in the middle of the year described their homes as almost unbearable during prolonged cuts. The heat does not always ease when the sun goes down. One resident explained that sometimes the power returns while the family is asleep, so they wake up to use it. "Our lives have become tied to when electricity comes and goes," she said. For her family, an outage is measured not only in hours but in problems: children unable to sleep, food spoiling in warm refrigerators, and housework that must be postponed.

For some, the sea has become a refuge rather than a place of recreation. Youssef, a resident, said that when electricity is off for hours, staying inside becomes very difficult. Without fans or air conditioning, and with humidity intensifying the heat, he and others head to the coast. Toward the end of the day, young men and families gather along the waterfront, some swimming and others simply sitting by the water waiting for the city to cool. Yet the sea cannot solve Aden's electricity crisis. Hours later, Youssef returns home and sometimes finds the house exactly as he left it. "Sometimes we get back and the power is still out, and we start waiting all over again," he said.

Children experience the crisis differently. For boys like Mohammed, Saeed, and Abdullah, blackouts have changed where childhood happens. When their homes become too hot, they move into the street, running between houses or sitting with friends until late. One of the boys said it gets hot inside, so they come down and play in the street, playing football or sitting with friends because outside is better when the electricity is off. For them, a blackout is not an extraordinary event but simply part of the life they have grown up with. A generation in Aden now knows electricity as something that comes and goes rather than a constant presence.

The effects follow children into the classroom. The United Nations Development Programme has documented more than 7,000 students and teachers struggling in dark, stifling classrooms during power cuts. The installation of solar systems at eight schools and an education office has helped ease the burden, but the problem remains widespread. One teacher reported that some students had fainted because of the heat. At home, preparing for exams can depend on a rechargeable lamp or a small solar system, if a family is fortunate enough to have one.

The humanitarian implications extend well beyond comfort. Health facilities that cannot rely on the grid must juggle generators, solar panels, and fuel deliveries, all of which carry costs and logistical challenges. Fuel is expensive and sometimes difficult to transport, and generator maintenance adds further strain. When fuel runs short, even backup systems fail, leaving patients and medical staff in the dark.

The crisis also reflects the broader fragility of Yemen's infrastructure after years of conflict. Damage to power plants, transmission lines, and distribution networks has never been fully repaired. Fuel shortages, driven in part by economic pressures and supply chain disruptions, have made it difficult to keep existing plants running. The reported increase in insurance premiums for fuel tankers bound for Aden has added another layer of difficulty, making it more costly to bring in the fuel needed to generate electricity.

For ordinary residents, the lack of power is a daily test of patience and ingenuity. Families schedule chores around the moments when electricity arrives. Businesses adapt as best they can, though many struggle to keep perishable goods cold or to operate equipment that requires steady power. The uncertainty is perhaps the hardest part: people cannot plan their days, their work, or their children's study time with any confidence.

International organisations continue to warn that the situation remains critical. The WHO's fuel deliveries and the UNDP's solar installations represent important but partial fixes. Without sustained investment in Yemen's energy infrastructure and a stable supply of fuel, the underlying problems are likely to persist. For now, Aden's residents and its hospitals must continue to cope with a reality in which electricity is a scarce and unpredictable resource, and where every hour of power matters.