Last week I went to
Dadaab, Africa's largest refugee camp. Its predominately occupied by Somalis but has a minority of Ethiopian and Southern Sudanese refugees as well. It was a challenging and eye-opening experience.
The conditions in
Dadaab are shocking poor. Just to give you background, the camp was designed to hold 90,000 refugees but currently holds nearly 300,000. Each refugee family upon arrival is given a plot of land and sometimes a tent, but often they are left to use scraps, sticks and random material to create a hut. The camp is full but cannot expand because the government of Kenya refuses to provide anymore land, primarily because of some vocal
MPs- with an unusual level of influence- from the region.
The
UNHCR essentially runs the camps, registering people and administering land and food rations. The refugees get enough food to stay alive, but not many nutrients in a diet of grains and corn. The people cant work to earn money because its against Kenyan law, nor can they move freely in the country. One woman I spoke to called it an open air prison, a reference that reminded me of how Palestinians describe Gaza.
The school system in the camp is so poor that their is almost no opportunity for advancement for young people. This leaves them spending most of their day hoping and praying to be resettled in a new country- preferable in Europe, the US or Canada. Like in most of the world, unfortunately, the women in the camps have it hardest. On top of the obvious struggles in the camp, they also suffer from domestic violence, rape and FGM.
What really affected me about this trip was the chance to see with my own eyes the conditions in the camps, and hear first-hand the stories of the refugees. Hear about their arduous journey to cross into Kenya, the loved ones they lost back home and the struggle they endure each day to keep their family alive and together. It was initially very depressing because as an ethnic Somali, I saw myself in the refugees. It could just as easily have been me sitting there, recounting my harsh life to a disconnected westerner. I also saw people who could have been my family lying on floor mattresses in makeshift huts. Life suddenly became more tenuous. The people of Dadaab have beautiful faces, but when I looked into their eyes, I saw a glossed-over, depressed gaze. I saw a plea for help, and I knew I couldn't just walk away from the camp and do nothing.
Although most of what I saw was depressing, I was also surprisingly inspired. One woman named
Muraya, a member of the Women Together organization, told me that as refugees, they know education is the key to escape
Dadaab. She told be about the schools in the camp- how the classes are overcrowded with students who want to learn, but how the teachers often have no more than a primary school education. She told me the story of how she and a group of refugees were so upset about the lack of secondary schools in the camp, that they put together what little resources they had and created a new secondary school with an all-volunteer staff. This was inspiring, and i realized that I had no right to feel hopelessness for the refugees if they themselves had hope enough to work for their children's futures. They saw their fate as God's will, but also prayed to God for a better future for their families.
I was also
inspired by the humanitarian aid workers who are living in
Dadaab, with credentials that could have given them a cozy job and life in any western nation. Instead they chose to work in this desert location, providing training, working in hospitals, registering refugees or creating stoves for the women to use. I was impressed by the work done by Care,
GTZ,
Norwegian Refugee Council and International Rescue Committee, so much so that I want to come back someday and work with one of them. They do what they can, given the circumstances and their limited resources.
Seeing Dadaab also shed light on the reality of life in Somalia. I haven't seen the country since I was a young child, but I hear stories about it. I know about how peaceful and prosperous it once was. But going to Dadaab, and seeing that people would rather live in the horrible camp conditions rather than return to their homeland, made me realize just how dire the situation is back in Somalia. Many refugees told me of their desire to return home and get back to working for their families, but they all fear violence. I hope and pray that someday soon the refugees in Dadaab will be able to leave the camp and return home. They also await that day, but having seen Somalia recently, they seem less optimistic about how soon that day will come.