The man they called the ‘Spider-Man of Yemen’ is dead. Plunged into a volcanic crater while trying to save a child. The irony is brutal. He was a symbol of defiance, a man who climbed skyscrapers with nothing but bare hands and guts. Now he’s gone. The footage is grim. You can hear the crowd gasp. Then silence.
Word comes from Sana’a. The child, a local boy, had fallen into the crater. No one else would go down. He did. Ropes frayed. A ledge gave way. He fell 200 metres. By the time they reached him, it was over.
This is the same man who scaled a high-rise in Aden last year, mocking the Houthis. They put a price on his head. He didn’t care. He said he climbed for the children, for the people. Now he’s a martyr. The hashtag is already trending: #SpiderManOfYemen.
There will be questions. Why wasn’t there proper safety equipment? Who authorised the rescue? But in war-torn Yemen, these are luxuries. He acted alone. Impulsive. Brave. Foolish. That’s what gets you killed.
Inside the lobby, they’ll be watching. Whitehall will have a briefing. The Foreign Office will express condolences. But no one in London really understands. This was a man who climbed because it was the only way to feel free. Now he’s a symbol again. This time, of the cost of heroism.
The crater is called the Well of Barhout. It’s a hellish place. Sulphur fumes. No bottom in sight. Locals say it’s a gateway to the underworld. He went in for a boy who isn’t his son. That’s the story. It will be sanitised for western consumption. But here, on the ground, they know the truth. He died because he had to. No one else would.
Expect questions in the House. Some backbencher will table an urgent question. The minister will give a cautious reply. But the real story is in the streets. In Sana’a, they are already gathering. Photos of him on every corner. A legend made in a moment.
I’ve been around long enough to know how these things play. A tragedy becomes a political football. The right will claim him as a warrior. The left will mourn a victim of war. Both will miss the point. He was a man who climbed. And he fell.
His name was Abu Khaled. He was 28. He leaves a wife and two children. They will get nothing from the state. But they have a story that will outlast any government. That is the currency of this place.
So here’s the raw data. A hero is dead. A regime looks bad. A people grieve. The game goes on. But for one moment, the world looked into a crater and saw a man fall. That image will stay. It always does.
