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Abdia Aden
Mohamed rests with her 8-month-old child Ayan Hassan and 5-year-old Iqra Hasan
inside their makeshift shelter at the Kaxareey camp for the internally
displaced people in Dollow, Gedo region of Somalia May 24, 2022. REUTERS/Feisal
Omar
Two
mounds of earth heaped over the little bodies of Halima Hassan Abdullahi's twin
grandchildren are encircled by hacked-off thorn branches. Ebla and Abdia were
only alive for a day.
Hunger-stricken,
their mother gave birth to the twins a month early, eight weeks after their
depleted family entered a displaced families camp in Dollow, Somalia.
"She's
malnourished, and her two babies died of starvation," Abdullahi said at
the Kaxareey camp, which opened in January and now shelters 13,000 people.
Only
nearly half of the inhabitants in the Kaxareey camp have enough money.
Abdullahi's family is not among the fortunate.
She
hasn't seen anything like it since the early 1990s, when a famine in Somalia
sparked a disastrous US military incursion that resulted in the shooting down
of a Black Hawk aircraft. She claimed that her family had never had to leave
their farm before.
On
good days, Abdullahi can support her 13-member family by earning $1.50 washing
clothes in town. Everyone can have a single handful of maize porridge as a
result.
However,
this is insufficient. Her daughter-in-law requires typhoid medicine, which
costs 10 times Abdullahi's daily pay. The girl lies listlessly on a blanket, a
skinny baby fretting at her breast. A high-heeled red shoe with a diamante
clasp lies in the dirt nearby, one of the few possessions she carried from
their sunblasted home. Now she is too weak to even say her name.
"Abdiya,"
Abdullahi says quietly, trying to rouse her.
The
girl does not look up.
'SO
MUCH PAIN'
Famine
is approaching over six parts of Somalia, home to about 15 million people in a
region especially vulnerable to climate change impacts. Early intervention is
critical.
Because
food was distributed quickly, a drought in 2017 that was worse than the one
that triggered the 2011 famine claimed only about 1,000 lives.
However,
speed necessitates money. It's also in short supply.
Only
15% of the United Nations' emergency aid plan has been funded.
Aid
has reached 2.8 million individuals so far. If more money came in, another 3.1
million people could be helped.
The
remainder are trapped in the scorching hinterlands, where an Islamist
insurgency has taken hold.
"We
need the cash to avert the risk of famine," said Rukia Yacoub, deputy
director for the World Food Programme in East Africa.
In
the camp, people make homes from orange tarpaulins and scraps of cloth and
plastic stretched over domes of sticks.
Hammering
echoes as relief workers set up pit latrines with corrugated iron sheets. New
arrivals cluster around tents where aid staff tell them there is no help for
now.
Instead,
many families end up begging a cup of food or a few pennies from those barely
better off, but who arrived early enough to register for help.
Hunger
often weakens the children before diseases claim them. Asha Ali Osman, 25, lost
her three-year-old and four-year-old to measles a month ago.
Now
she cradles her youngest, a baby, as she waits to secure the girl a vaccination
in Dollow.
"I
feel so much pain because I cannot even breastfeed her," she said softly.
"When my children are hungry, I can beg some sugar water from a neighbour.
Or sometimes we just lie down together, and cry."
Source: Reuters

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