PHOTOS | WFP Abay Daud, 25, with her 15-day-old baby, Ibrahim, at the Dadaab camp. She says she fears the conditions at the camp may affect her son, who has already developed a heat rash all over his body, but she has nowhere else to go.
Scattered, multiple twig-reed-and-nylon-paper hovels and tents donated by United Nations High Commission for Refugees (UNCHR) disabuse you of any notions of order the moment you land at this massive refugee camp in north eastern Kenya, where flattened USAid vegetable oil tins also protect refugees from dust, sun, and the biting cold of the semi-desert at night.
Welcome to Dadaab, home to 332,023 refugees, some of whom told us sad stories of their home away from home.
AMINA ADEN
The 70-year-old grandmother stares blankly at the sky, wondering how long the war in her homeland, Somalia, will last. A fortnight ago, Amina was eight days old at the Dagahaley camp, which houses new arrivals fleeing the war in Somalia.
There are worry lines on her face as she narrates the six-day treacherous journey to the Kenya-Somalia border, where she was received by United Nations staff.
The mother of nine only managed to escape with her nine-year-old granddaughter Yasmin when the death toll became unbearable.
Six of her children died during the fighting that has dragged over the past two decades, one is missing, and the other two have decided to remain in Somalia.
“I was at home in Dobey preparing porridge for Yasmin when I heard the bombs exploding. This forced me to take cover,” Amina told DN2 through a translator. “I picked up my granddaughter and a little food. I packed a few belongings and left at night before they decided to either raid or bomb my house.”
Armed with her meagre savings, Amina took Yasmin by the hand and started walking.
Despite her age, she was determined to save Yasmin from the face of the ugly war in Somalia.
“I will die here and I know she will be safe even when I am not around,” she says. The skin on her left arm is sore from injuries she said were inflicted by Al Shabaab bandits who attacked passengers fleeing to the border. Her back also bears sores from bandit gun butts.
The attackers were a group of 12 young men that intercepted the vehicle she had boarded to take her to Mogadishu. “They ordered us out of the car with slaps, kicks, and insults,” she says.
The passengers were thrown out as the bandits took off with the car.
“Walk to Kenya now,” Amina remembers the sneering order that marked the beginning of her journey in search of peace. I walked for two days to Jilib and arrived at the Kenyan border four days later.
She survived on wild leaves while Yasmin depended on water after the little food they had ran out after two days.
“I could not feed her on leaves; she has a sensitive stomach,” she says.
Amina pauses. And wipes a tear.
But she prefers to concentrate on her new-found freedom, although she is being housed by a well-wisher as she waits to get her own food rations and tent.
When she arrived at Dadaab, she was assessed by staff from Médecins Sans Frontières (MSF), who are based at the refugee camp.
YAHYE ABDULAHI (a former primary school teacher in Somalia)
It was a normal day at Al Kalam Primary School. Abdulahi was instructing his students in the basic vocabulary of the Somali language at the school where he had taught for two years, earning $150 (Sh12,000) a month. Then Al Shabaab bandits struck and forced out all teachers.
“They drove us out with guns and brought in their own teachers,” he said.
Yahye and his wife have now been reduced to living in a tent in a refugee camp.
When DN2 caught up with him, he was waiting for food rations that are distributed every Sunday.
His greatest worry is his two sons, whom he left in Somalia under the care of their grandmother.
“She refused to let them go for fear of attacks on the way,” he says.
He and his wife hope to see their children and his mother soon when the war subsides.
ABAY DAUD (25-year-old mother)
Three weeks ago, she gave birth to her third child, Ibrahim Daud, but the living conditions at the refugee camp are not conducive for the newborn. He has developed a rash all over his body.
However, the newborn has brought love in the family to replace the constant worry about their motherland.
“We take turns holding him as we fetch water or go for food rations,” says Abay.
Abay has already resumed her household duties because she has to look after her young children. Queuing for food rations and water are part of her errands today.
She is concerned that the diet might not enable her to provide sufficient milk for her baby, but, despite these tribulations, she is glad to be safe at the refugee camp.
When the fighting neared their home, her husband, Daud Abdikadir, 25, sold their few belongings for two million Somalia shillings (approximately Sh100,000) and the family fled. “I paid 1.5 million Somalia shillings (Sh78,000) to get my family on a lorry to the border. The rest of the money has slowly dwindled over the seven months that we have been at the camp.”
With no money and farm to help feed his family, Daud spends most of his time in mini-barazas with other men at the camp who prefer to keep away from their tents, where the desperation in the eyes of their wives and children is hard to bear. But he is happy that his family is safe.
MOHAMMED ADAN (23 years)
He hardly remembers the journey his extended family made to Kenya in 1992 because he was only three years old. His family decided to seek refuge in Kenya after the war in Somalia escalated. His mother was killed by a stray bullet during a bandit attack as the family fled towards the Kenyan border.
“My aunt told me that she was sitting on the outer side of the lorry as we sped off in the night. The bandits were shooting at the lorry. A bullet caught her in the chest and she collapsed,” recalls a teary Adan.
He was the only child of his then 25-year-old mother whom he fondly refers to by her first name — Dakaley.
Mohammed went to school at Dagahaley camp and scored a B- in the Kenya Certificate of Secondary Education in 2008.
He has a diploma in community development from the Kenya Institute of Social Work, and his dream is to go to university to pursue a course in community development. He has been teaching English at the camp schools for the past three years, and considers the English language an important tool for every refugee.
The mention of Nairobi elicits excitement in Mohammed and he likes listening to the tales of fellow refugees who have been beyond the camp fence.
(Refugees are not allowed to leave the camps unless they receive special passes. If caught without a pass, they risk arrest, detention, or expulsion).
ZEINAB MOHAMMED, 25
Her story is a double tragedy. Fleeing her homeland with two children with special needs was no easy task.
Her five-year-old son, Hassan Mohammed, is blind and has cerebral palsy. The second one is autistic.
Cerebral palsy is caused by damage to the motor control centres of the developing brain and can occur during pregnancy, birth, or after birth up to about the age three.
The journey to the camp took one week, but Zeinab is happy to have both of her children alive and settled there. “I carried one on my back and held the other one by the hand,” she recalls.
Despite the hardships, Zeinab says she prefers life at the camp to Somalia.
Hassan is undergoing rehabilitation at Handicap International, which has set up a centre near the refugee camp. The rehabilitation is expected to enable him to gain mobility and perform basic chores.