(ERGO) – Aweys Maye Mohamed, a hands-on craftsman and the patriarch of a family of four in the heart of Mogadishu, has found it nearly impossible to scrounge up even a single meal each day since he hit the unemployment wall in July.
His fate mirrors the plight of countless skilled tradesmen now out of work as the scramble for Somali scrap metal has turned it into a prized commodity for export, fetching a price tag beyond the reach of neighborhood metal shops.
“Losing my job shook the very foundation of our household,” Aweys confided in a chat with Radio Ergo. “It’s dragged us to the edge. Now we subsist thanks to sporadic $30 remittances from my brother.”
“Jobless, but with mouths to feed—my wife and kids. Some days, we manage a meal; others, we simply sit with the biting edge of hunger. Life before was worlds away—I was the one keeping things ticking. Crafting cake pans or flatbread tins used to sustain us,” he recounted.
Each dawn sees Aweys set out with the hope of work, only to return weary and empty-handed. Even the corner stores, once lenient with credit, have turned him away after hearing about his job loss.
He’s hit hard by the sting of having to ask for assistance, having proudly stood on his own two feet as a metalworker for five years straight.
“Back in the day, we had it good—three squares a day. The scrap was dirt cheap. The boom in metal exports kneecapped us. We could pull in $10 to $15 daily,” he laments.
With no union support, metalworkers are left voiceless and without a platform to stand up for their rights. Aweys identifies his lack of transferable skills as a roadblock to finding new employment.
In the same dire straits, Isse Abdulahi Nur, who’s clung to metalworking for eight years, has been unable to provide his family with regular meals since July, falling behind on the rent for their two-room flat in Mogadishu’s Karan district.
The landlord has slapped a $120 rent bill, warning of eviction if it goes unpaid. Anxiety gnaws at Isse about what might befall his children if they’re shown the door.
Days of work not found propel Isse to tap into his humble parents for whatever scraps they can spare to feed his family. Every meager bit of support goes towards filling their plates.
“We stood on the shoulders of the scrap metal trade for profit. Now prices are through the roof. Metal that cost $0.7 or $0.8 is now up to $1.8. If nothing changes, we’ll sit at home twiddling our thumbs,” he bemoaned.
Where he once pulled in $5-8 a day, now it’s a Herculean task to gather that much in a week. Other job opportunities have been a mirage.
Born into a modest family rooted in Mogadishu, Isse had no schooling and dived into manual labor young to assist his parents. Now, he shoulders the responsibility of caring for his own kids.
Similarly, Aweys Abdullahi Shiqalo, who picked up his trade tricks in Marka and has called Mogadishu home for 15 years, saw his $25-30 daily earnings blow away like dust a mere three months ago. His family of 14 now struggles without another breadwinner in sight.
“We used to hustle every day, not just for ourselves but for our folks too. Now, I can count on my hands the days of work because the source materials have vanished,” he sighed.
Aweys may reside in Mogadishu, but his kids are back in Marka, Lower Shabelle region. Visits have been a forgotten luxury, slapped away by unaffordable transport costs over the past five months. Five of his children had to drop out of school, unable to cover the trifling $5 monthly fee per child.
The school told him to clear a three-month backlog if his kids want their seats back. Worry etches deeper lines on his face as he frets particularly over three children who were on the brink of completing their Koranic studies.
Desertion looms large as seven co-workers from the same metal workshop hung up their tools in recent times due to income drought. Aweys, along with the four souls he’s mentored over the years, often find themselves grappling with hunger.
Edited by: Ali Musa
alimusa@axadletimes.com
Axadle international–Monitoring
