The Impact of Conflict on Frankincense Farmers: A Struggle for Survival

“The conflict has affected everyone. People used to work on frankincense cultivation to manage their daily lives. Now it’s stopped, and our lives have deteriorated. People have nothing to eat,” lamented Fowsi, speaking to Radio Ergo.

For a decade, Fowsi’s family depended solely on the frankincense trade. Every six months, the fruits of their labor yielded a harvest ample enough to see them through to the next season. This cycle of cultivation was their lifeline, until the conflict disrupted it entirely. What do people do when the very foundation on which their lives rest crumbles beneath them?

In an effort to adapt, Fowsi turned to his 40 goats, his last remaining hope, only to watch them succumb to the unyielding drought that has spanned the past two rainy seasons. Rain, the life-giving force of nature, became as scarce as hope in this fraught landscape. His children, faced with their own loss, now sit idle at home, unable to attend Omar Binu Cabdiasis Primary School. “I used to pay the children’s education from the frankincense earnings that have now stopped. I can’t find another way to pay for their school fees, so they are staying at home,” he lamented.

Fowsi is also entangled in a web of debt. Owing $300 to traders in the Balli Dhedin area, he had hoped to settle his dues this month, but the means to do so remain elusive. The creditors, relentless in their demands, have restricted him from accruing more debt, thus tightening the already constricting knot around his finances. “I have no plan to resolve this and I am feeling in despair,” Fowsi admits, his voice heavy with resignation.

Fowsi’s story is not an isolated case. Mahmoud Mohamed Mahmoud, another frankincense farmer, has faced similar turmoil. Forced to abandon four trees he had painstakingly nurtured for six years, the threat of violence made tending to them – planted atop vulnerable mountain peaks – a perilous endeavor. “Life is hard,” Mahmoud shares softly, echoing a sentiment felt deeply by many in the community.

In the Dhurbo area, where water costs an unsustainable $6 per barrel, Mahmoud’s 50 goats reflect the harsh reality of scarcity. They are neither robust for the market nor capable of providing milk, a stark metaphor for the struggle faced by farmers. “When there are difficult circumstances, families help each other,” Mahmoud says. “We put things together and give them something to cook.”

Such acts of unity shine brightly amidst the bleakness, but survival is an unyielding question mark looming over these communities. The shops that extended credit are shuttered. Hope, like the wind that carries frankincense’s fragrant allure, seems to evaporate.

The commissioner of Gumbax, Mohamed Salah Omar, underscores the magnitude of the issue. The entire district feels the weight of war’s interruption. “People have left frankincense cultivation and are afraid of the war. There is a lot of need, and this has affected their lives. People fear stray bullets and are now congested and stuck in town areas,” he observes.

Climate change, another silent adversary, exerts its own pressure on these frankincense farmers. Defenseless against extreme weather patterns such as drought and storms, the delicate balance that sustains their trees falters. The families displaced by the conflict with ISIS hail from regions punctuated with their own historical struggles, like Balli Dhedin, Beelwacatay, Hamure, Qandala, and Buq in the Bari region.

In a region where frankincense, the ancient resin of the Boswellia tree, has symbolized hope and prosperity, the loss is profound. As the resin runs dry, so too does the spirit of those who rely on it. Yet, amid adversity, stories of resilience and shared humanity persist, urging us to reflect on the larger questions. How do we sustain livelihoods in the face of such challenges? What roles do we all play in weaving the fabric of support for communities teetering on the edge?

Edited By Ali Musa

Axadle Times International – Monitoring