When the earth whispers with women's voice

Part 3

(Upcoming Clean Energy Conference Section)

Next month, I will carry this entire journey with me to an Arab country, where I will present a paper on clean energy, biodiversity, and sustainability.

This paper will not be just an academic discussion about climate change… but an attempt to connect what happens in global conference halls with the lives of women in forgotten villages and cities.

I will speak about how clean energy can transform vulnerable communities, especially women living in areas affected by war, drought, and displacement. How a small solar panel can bring light back into a home that has lost electricity, and restore a woman’s ability to cook, work, or protect her children at night.

I will also talk about biodiversity not only as a scientific concept, but as an ancient relationship between humans and the Earth. About disappearing trees, drying pastures, and dying livestock, and how the loss of nature directly affects food, health, and social stability.

I will further address sustainability from a human perspective: how we can build cities and societies where women are not the ones paying the highest price for wars and climate change. And how developing countries can achieve real climate justice, not just promises spoken in conferences.

I will carry into that hall the voices of the women I have met: the farmers in Ethiopia, the women of Bara facing desertification, and the mothers in Khartoum trying to protect their children amid war and pollution.

Because I no longer believe that writing about climate means only describing disasters… but also searching for a path that makes life possible again

In the COP29 recommendations in Baku, phrases such as reducing emissions, clean energy, and climate resilience for the most vulnerable countries were no longer, in my mind or in what I have witnessed on the ground, just statements written in a final declaration. They have become faces, places, and lived human bodies.

“Reducing emissions” is no longer merely a technical concept… It has become a woman in Ethiopia working under relentless rain, fearing her land will drown before she can harvest it.

“Climate resilience” is no longer a policy term… It has become a woman in Kordofan standing before a drought that swallows the land, forced to choose between staying or leaving—both are losses.

And “the most vulnerable countries”… is no longer a political label, but real villages and cities where women carry the burden of survival when the land itself withdraws its promises.

In Khartoum, I saw how these recommendations travel from rural areas into the city: displacement, poverty, and expanding spaces of suffering that grow faster than solutions.

And in Bali, while the world discussed the future of the climate, the images of these women stood in my mind—heavier than reports and statistics.

Yet despite everything I witnessed, this was not a journey of despair, but a journey of understanding.

Understanding that when a voice is heard, it can become action. And that women facing both flood and drought are not only documenting pain… they are also planting the possibility of survival.

I have seen how suffering can turn into awareness, awareness into responsibility, and responsibility into a small but real step toward change.

In the end… the Earth may not scream loudly in conference halls, but it whispers elsewhere.

And its whisper is not only made of pain… but of life still trying to endure.