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Kenya

Sacrificing the Lambs

Remaining on the subject of the Horn of Africa drought, I spent yesterday on the road, driving up to Marsabit in northern Kenya. Road investment has got as far as Isiolo, with smooth, tarmac roads. But from then on, things get rough.

Little seems to reach here, and when it does, it is expensive. Kenya has seen massive fuel increases this year, not least due to the conflict in Libya.

Many people here rely on their livestock to live, even more so now that many crops have died due to the drought; animals are more resilient than crops. But many are wavering, skeletons with skin seem to wander much of the landscape.

Prices of these animals has hit rock-bottom in the markets. Nobody wants to buy them, and nobody can keep them. There is not enough feed, not enough water. People cannot afford the meat.

To try and help these communities, an international aid group is working here to provide a solution. As well as helping to keep livestocks healthy, they are also buying off-take of sheep and goats. The owners receive money for the animal, as well as a third of the meat for their family. The remaining two-thirds are divided amongst other families in the community.

This is a short-term solution to the problem, and the money from a goat may keep the rest of the herd alive for another week or two. But it is by keeping those herds alive long enough until the rains come that offers the best chance of survival for the people living here. Their animals are all they have.

Nairobi's Urban Food Crisis

Nairobi’s Urban Food Crisis

There is food in the markets, but people can’t afford it.

The drought that has been hitting the headlines in the Horn of Africa is not just limited to the arid scrublands of Somalia and northern Kenya. In th…

Nairobi’s Urban Food Crisis

There is food in the markets, but people can’t afford it.

The drought that has been hitting the headlines in the Horn of Africa is not just limited to the arid scrublands of Somalia and northern Kenya. In the slums of Nairobi, the drought has contributed to an increase of food and fuel prices, meaning that people are going hungry whilst the shops next to their shanty houses are stocked with goods.

Milicent, above, is sixteen months old, and was suffering from malnutrition. Her mother, Rosemary, noticed that she was not putting on weight, and sought help from an aid group working in Nairobi’s Korogocho slum, where they both live.

“Sometime we eat just once a day”, says Rosemary, who describes the food prices right now as very high. Milicent is one of five children, and a typical meal is ugali, a Kenyan staple made from mixing maize flour and water. To feed her children, Rosemary will sometimes have to skip a meal herself, drinking just a cup of tea.

Her husband is a casual labourer, and with irregular work, the family has problems affording enough food for the family. They moved to Nairobi two years ago from the country in search of work. “Life is much harder in the city, if there is no work you won’t eat” Rosemary says.

Fleeing Drought

Hassan Ali has a canteen of water slung over one shoulder, in his right hand he holds a walking stick, and in his left, a blackened kettle. A scarf is draped over his head to protect him from the midday sun, he stands in thin, cracked flip-flops, and wears a blue, short-sleeved shirt over polo-shirt, with a Somali wrap-around skirt around his waist. This is all he has left.

With the sun beating over-head, he pours a little water from his kettle over his feet to wash them, ablutions before the dhuhr (noon) prayers.

Hassan is forty-two years old, and fifteen days ago he left his home in Dinsour, Somalia, his livelihood destroyed by the drought that has ravaged Somalia. Two kilometres behind him stands the Somali-Kenyan border, and ahead of him lies the Dadaab refugee complex - the largest refugee camp in the world.

This is where Hassan and his five compatriots are heading. Hassan’s wife and children left Dinsour for Dadaab several weeks previously, whilst he stayed on to try and struggle through the drought, to save his home and land. Now he is walking to join them, a small family amongst 380,000 refugees.

When he arrives, Hassan will register with the camp authorities, and try to locate his family. The camp is already several times over capacity, and it can take days to register, and weeks to receive a refugee—and therefore ration—card.

But before he can do that, Hassan has over one hundred kilometres across the hot sands ahead of him, with little respite. The few, small villages en-route are themselves suffering from the drought, and have already seen so many refugees heading to Dadaab.

Dadaab & Drought

The bus bounded over pot-holed roads, heading north-east from Nairobi into the arid scrubland towards the Somali border. We were seven, crammed into the back seat of this behemoth, thrown upwards out of our seats on some of the nastier bumps, my head once hitting the roof.

Past Garissa, all that lay ahead of us was the Somali border—an unruly frontier—and Dadaab, the world’s largest refugee camp.

The three camps that comprise the Dadaab refugee complex, and which are already over-capacity, have swelled in recent months, their numbers growing due to the drought (and subsequent famine) ravaging Somalia.

I began working on the drought back in May, covering the drought-displaced in Mogadishu. Conditions were terrible back then, and people were arriving into the war-torn capital in a deplorable state. I had never seen malnutrition this bad.

This did not prepare me, however, for what I would encounter in Dadaab. The size of the place is overwhelming; the sheer number of people living here, as refugees from a war-torn country, many for over a decade. The camps are overwhelmed by the number of people arriving, unable to process that many (over 1000) people each day. And in the hospitals, the severity of the malnutrition was unlike anything I had encountered, neither in eastern Sudan, South Sudan nor Mogadishu.

When I was in Mogadishu, it seemed like no-one was covering the drought, it took over a month for the pictures to appear on the Guardian website. Now, half of the Juba independence press corps. The drought is all over the international news, and rightly so. Through a proper response, political will and, admittedly, with cooperation from al-Shebab, much of this could have been prevented.

» For more coverage of the drought in the Horn of Africa, see my portfolio

Flying

EC1a

EC flight 1a, a small Cessna charted by the European Commission, as it flies over north-western Kenya.

The Kenyan aviation authorities will not allow any flights directly from Somalia to Kenya, having little trust in the security of the faile…

EC1a

EC flight 1a, a small Cessna charted by the European Commission, as it flies over north-western Kenya.

The Kenyan aviation authorities will not allow any flights directly from Somalia to Kenya, having little trust in the security of the failed state’s airports.

So whilst a flight out to Hargeisa or Mogadishu can be fast, coming back is somewhat slower. First landing at Wajir, in the arid scrubland near the Somali border, everyone—and everything—must be brought off to be checked and scanned.

Then once again, the Cessna takes to the skies, bound for Jomo Kenyatta International.

Karibu Kenya.