Who is this woman?

On November 6, 1991, Kuwait breathed a sigh of relief—not because summer had ended, for our summers do not recognize calendars—but because the last burning oil well had been extinguished. As the Iraqi invasion army fled Kuwait in panic, it left behind an unprecedented farewell gift in the history of neighborly relations: 737 burning oil wells!

This was not a gift that required a congratulatory card. The flames rose dozens of meters into the air, and the smoke blanketed the sky, forcing us to search for the sun in broad daylight, as if it had submitted a request for an open-ended leave from the Kuwaiti skies!

The scene resembled a doomsday movie, but with one difference: a film ends after two hours, whereas ours lasted for months. The spectators could not leave the theater, because the theater was all of Kuwait.

Some experts estimated that extinguishing these fires would take years, but they did not fully understand the nature of the Kuwaiti people. While Kuwaitis may prolong discussions over choosing a dinner restaurant, when it comes to their country, they transform into a mass of determination and resolve.

Thus began the battle to extinguish the wells, involving thousands of workers and experts from Kuwait and around the world, in a race against time. On November 6, 1991, the late Emir Sheikh Jaber Al-Ahmad Al-Jaber Al-Sabah, may God have mercy on him, witnessed the extinguishing of the last burning well in the Burgan field. In that moment, it was not just the fire that went out; a chapter of aggression was extinguished with it. Kuwait began to reclaim the color of its sky and the scent of its air, after the black smoke had become an unwelcome, heavy guest who knew neither the etiquette of visiting nor the time to depart.

The unjust Iraqi invasion revealed the true character of this people. While individuals may differ in politics and sports, when their homeland was threatened, they unanimously agreed on one non-negotiable principle: Kuwait first.

In those days, no one asked their neighbor about their sect, tribe, or family name. Instead, they asked if he needed food, medicine, or assistance. The Kuwaiti home became like a small charitable institution, operating twenty-four hours a day, without an approved budget, a board of directors, meeting minutes, or even attendance allowances.

Kuwaiti women played great roles in caring for families, securing their needs, and supporting the resistance, while young men raced to offer help. It was as if all of Kuwait had transformed into a single volunteer association, with love of the country as its president, conscience as its secretary-general, and mutual solidarity as its treasurer.

I will never forget, as long as I live, that courageous Kuwaiti woman I encountered on my way back from Al-Sabah Hospital during the occupation days. She drove from the Howaili area, hid near the road, and then emerged to warn passersby, including myself, of an Iraqi military checkpoint under the Al-Riyadh Street bridge, where occupying soldiers were stopping Kuwaiti young men and leading them away. She risked her freedom, and perhaps her life, to save young men whose names and families she did not know. She carried no weapon and was not a member of a regular army; rather, she carried something stronger than all of that: the heart of a Kuwaiti woman who refused to see her country’s sons led into the unknown. I do not know her name to this day, but I know she represented thousands of Kuwaiti women who wrote their bravery in silence, without cameras, medals, or expectation of thanks. Perhaps she did not realize that a passing warning on the road would remain etched in the memory of a Kuwaiti doctor for more than thirty-five years!

Among the most profound revelations of that ordeal was that Kuwaitis were closer to one another than they had ever imagined; the neighbor became a brother, the friend became a pillar of support, and the stranger became a relative. Distances between neighborhoods were no longer measured in kilometers, but by the extent to which a person could support their fellow human being.

Even the social differences that seemed vast during times of prosperity proved to be negligible when the entire nation stood united against a test of destiny. Kuwait’s martyrs and heroes of resistance inscribed immortal pages of sacrifice and courage, while Kuwaitis displayed remarkable examples of loyalty and cooperation, proving that true belonging requires no lengthy speeches, but rather a sincere stance at the moment the nation needs its sons.

After liberation, Kuwaitis transitioned from the battle of endurance to the battle of reconstruction. The task was so arduous that any ordinary contractor, if presented with the scale of the destruction, would have first demanded a ten-year contract extension, then raised prices, invented change orders, and finally apologized for delays citing force majeure.

However, Kuwait was not waiting for an exploitative contractor; it possessed something far more valuable: a people determined to live, a leadership resolved to rebuild, and brothers and friends who stood by it in its time of crisis.

Thus, institutions returned to work, schools resumed welcoming their students, and hospitals restarted their services. Life began to regain its natural rhythm, to the point that Kuwaitis gradually returned to crowded streets—a sure sign that life had returned to normal.

One scene worthy of reflection is that Kuwait, despite its small size, managed to gather global expertise to extinguish one of the largest oil and environmental disasters in modern history. This served as a lesson that the size of a nation is not measured solely by its geographical area, but by its capacity for action and the will and human and international relationships it possesses.

The story did not end with extinguishing the fires. The Kuwaiti Environment Protection Association, as an example of the importance of voluntary work, contributed to pushing the United Nations to designate November 6 as an International Day to Prevent the Environment from Being Used as a Weapon of War and Armed Conflict. Thus, the day on which Kuwait reclaimed its sky became a global occasion reminding humanity that wars do not kill humans alone; they may also assault the air, water, and land—peaceful entities that did not participate in any conflict nor sign any declaration of war.

If the oil fires taught us anything, it is that no matter how great the disaster, it cannot defeat a cohesive people. Cooperation is not merely a social virtue we use to embellish our speeches, but a real force capable of working miracles. In those days, Kuwaitis were like the fingers of one hand; they differ in length and size, but when united, they form a fist capable of facing hardships. It was not required for everyone to be identical, but to be complementary. This is the wisdom that ensured Kuwait’s resilience.

Today, as we commemorate this anniversary thirty-five years later, the most beautiful legacy we can offer new generations is not just images of burning wells or scenes of black skies, but images of human solidarity that made Kuwait a single family.

We must tell our children how people shared bread and water, how a neighbor stood by another, how martyrs sacrificed their lives, and how love for Kuwait became a language understood by all without a translator, and without the need for training courses in communication skills.

This anniversary is not a time for tragedy, but a moment for pride. Peoples do not always choose the trials they face, but they do choose how they respond to them. The Kuwaitis chose resilience, cooperation, and loyalty, and after liberation, they chose reconstruction, hard work, and hope.

November 6 is not merely the date marking the extinguishing of the last oil well; it is a new birth certificate for a national spirit that has proven Kuwait to be greater than its territory, stronger than its hardships, and richer in its people than all the oil stored in its land.