My whole day now is about collecting firewood and cooking.
Across the densely populated cities and slums of South and Southeast Asia, a distant conflict has reached into the most intimate space of daily life — the kitchen. As Middle East supply disruptions choke the flow of liquefied petroleum gas through the Strait of Hormuz, millions of families who had only recently made the transition to cleaner cooking fuels are being pushed back toward firewood and charcoal, reversing years of hard-won public health progress. The burden falls heaviest on those who cook and collect — overwhelmingly women and children — who now breathe the toxic smoke of necessity rather than choice.
- A blockade of the Strait of Hormuz has severed the supply line that delivers roughly 90 percent of LPG to both India and the Philippines, sending prices beyond the reach of the poorest households almost overnight.
- India's LPG consumption collapsed by 2.2 million tonnes in a single month, while Philippine consumption fell 30 percent, as families abandoned gas stoves for charcoal and firewood that cost a fraction of the price.
- The smoke rising from millions of improvised stoves carries pollutants linked to lung cancer, stroke, heart disease, and chronic respiratory illness — a health emergency unfolding quietly inside homes already crowded with vulnerability.
- Women like Afshana Khatoon in Delhi now spend entire days foraging for fuel in 40-degree heat, while mothers like Josephine Songalia in Manila fan charcoal flames and tell their children to stand back from the smoke they themselves cannot avoid.
- Governments are offering partial relief — tax suspensions, temporary rule relaxations — but the measures are short-term patches on a structural wound, and the decade-long push toward clean cooking fuels is visibly unraveling.
In a Delhi slum, 35-year-old Afshana Khatoon spent six hours walking through parks and forests in 40-degree heat, gathering firewood on her head. She used to cook on gas without a second thought. Now her canister sits empty in the corner. The cost of refilling it has quadrupled. Her husband earns 400 to 500 rupees a day. A week of gas costs 1,000. So she burns wood, breathes the smoke, and says her whole day has become about collecting fuel and cooking. She is not eating properly. She is working far more than before.
The cause lies thousands of kilometres away. The conflict in the Middle East has blockaded the Strait of Hormuz, through which roughly 90 percent of India's LPG imports normally flow. In April alone, India's LPG consumption fell by 2.2 million tonnes — the steepest drop in years. More than 60 percent of the country depends on cooking gas. That dependence has now become a vulnerability.
The health consequences are not abstract. Firewood and charcoal emit pollutants linked to chronic lung disease, lung cancer, stroke, and heart disease. The WHO attributes 6.7 million premature deaths annually to household and ambient air pollution combined. Women and children, who bear the work of cooking and fuel collection, face the greatest exposure. In Delhi — already among the world's most polluted cities — authorities have temporarily relaxed restrictions on coal and firewood burning, quietly undoing a decade of effort that distributed over 100 million subsidized gas canisters to Indian households.
The same crisis is playing out in the Philippines, where 90 percent of LPG also arrives through Hormuz. In Manila's poorest neighbourhoods, gas prices have tripled to around 600 pesos. Charcoal costs 10. Josephine Songalia, 25, fans a charcoal stove each evening and tells her children to stay back from the smoke. She worries about her lungs but pushes the thought aside. Her children wake hungry. Sometimes there is only coffee. LPG consumption across the Philippines has dropped 30 percent year on year.
Governments have suspended fuel taxes for a few months, but the relief is narrow and temporary. In Delhi, 75-year-old Shanti — told by her doctor to avoid smoke — has cooked on firewood for two months. She has a chronic lung condition. She coughs. 'My health is getting worse,' she said, 'but I need to eat.' The energy transition that took years to build is coming apart under the weight of a war its victims had no part in starting.
In a cramped Delhi slum, Afshana Khatoon spent six hours one day walking through the city's parks and forests, gathering sticks and fallen branches to pile onto her head. The temperature had climbed past 40 degrees Celsius. By the time she returned home, sweat had soaked through her clothes. She was collecting firewood because she could no longer afford cooking gas.
Just weeks earlier, the 35-year-old had prepared meals for her four children on a small gas stove without much thought. But the conflict in the Middle East has strangled India's supply of liquefied petroleum gas, which more than 60 percent of the country relies on for cooking. The strait of Hormuz, through which roughly 90 percent of India's LPG imports normally flow, remains blockaded. Refills have become scarce. Prices have climbed beyond what most families can pay. In April alone, India's LPG consumption dropped by 2.2 million tonnes—the steepest fall in years.
Khatoon's gas canister now sits empty in the corner of her shanty. She said the cost of refilling it had quadrupled. Her husband earns 400 to 500 rupees a day. A week's worth of gas costs 1,000 rupees. The math is impossible. So she lights firewood. Thick smoke rises from the flames, stinging her eyes and throat. She breathes it in anyway. "My whole day now is about collecting firewood and cooking," she said. "I'm not eating properly, and I have to work much more than before."
The return to biomass fuels is not simply a matter of inconvenience or economic hardship. Firewood and charcoal emit pollutants linked to chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, lung cancer, strokes, and heart disease. The World Health Organization attributes 6.7 million premature deaths annually to the combined effects of ambient and household air pollution. Women and children, who typically handle cooking and fuel collection, face the greatest risk. Delhi already ranks among the world's most polluted cities. For a decade, the Indian government has worked to distribute over 100 million subsidized gas canisters and promote cleaner fuels like compressed natural gas. That progress is now reversing. Authorities have temporarily relaxed restrictions on coal and firewood burning.
Thousands of miles away in the Philippines, a nearly identical crisis is unfolding. The country depends on the Hormuz strait for 90 percent of its LPG supply. In Manila's poorest neighborhoods, families have switched to charcoal because gas prices have tripled to about 600 Philippine pesos—roughly $9.80. Charcoal costs just 10 pesos. Josephine Songalia, 25, sits by a charcoal stove each evening, fanning it until flames appear. She tells her children to stay back from the smoke, worried about what it might do to their lungs. "I worry the smoke could harm my lungs and make me sick, but I push those thoughts aside because I have to do this so my kids can eat," she said. LPG consumption in the Philippines has dropped 30 percent compared to the previous year.
The crisis compounds itself. As the war disrupts energy supplies, food prices have also risen across the region. Families now face an impossible choice: spend money on fuel or spend it on food. Many choose neither. Songalia's children wake hungry. She tells them there is no food, only coffee. The government has suspended the excise tax on LPG and paraffin for three months, but the relief is temporary and incomplete.
Back in Delhi, as evening falls and firewood stoves light up across the slum, Shanti, 75 years old, struggles to breathe. A doctor told her to avoid smoke. She has a chronic lung condition. For the past two months, she has cooked on firewood. "My health is getting worse but I need to eat," she said, coughing. The energy transition that governments spent years building—moving millions away from dirty fuels toward cleaner alternatives—is collapsing under the weight of a distant war. The poorest are paying the price, in rupees and pesos and in the air they breathe.
Citações Notáveis
My whole day now is about collecting firewood and cooking. I'm not eating properly, and I have to work much more than before.— Afshana Khatoon, 35, Delhi slum resident
I worry the smoke could harm my lungs and make me sick, but I push those thoughts aside because I have to do this so my kids can eat.— Josephine Songalia, 25, Manila resident
A Conversa do Hearth Outra perspectiva sobre a história
Why does the Middle East conflict matter so much to cooking in Delhi and Manila?
Because both countries import most of their cooking gas through a single shipping route—the strait of Hormuz—which is now blockaded. There's no alternative pipeline, no quick workaround. When that route closes, the supply chain breaks almost immediately.
So people could switch to other fuels, right? That's what they're doing.
Yes, but those other fuels are what they'd already moved away from. India spent a decade getting 100 million families onto gas. It was progress—cleaner air, less time collecting wood, less disease. Now that progress is reversing, and the people switching back are the ones who can least afford it.
Is this temporary, or are we looking at a permanent shift?
That's the fear. If the blockade lasts long enough, the health damage becomes real and measurable. Children breathing charcoal smoke for months develop respiratory problems that don't go away. The longer this goes on, the harder it becomes to reverse.
What about the governments? Can't they do something?
India's government says there's no shortage, but the defense minister admits reserves will last only 45 days. The Philippines suspended taxes on gas to help, but that's a band-aid. The real problem is supply, and they can't control that.
Who suffers most?
Women and children. Women do most of the cooking and firewood collection. Children breathe the smoke while they eat. The poorest families suffer most because they have no cushion—they can't absorb a price shock. They have to choose between food and fuel, and often they lose on both counts.
Is there a way out?
Not quickly. The blockade would have to end, or alternative supply routes would have to open. Neither seems imminent. In the meantime, the damage accumulates—in lungs, in air quality, in the reversal of years of public health work.