The Heart-Wrenching Struggles of Displacement in Baidoa

In the crowded camps of Baidoa, amidst the evanescent shadows of past lives lived in comfort, families like Hussein Idris Nunow’s are grappling with the relentless grip of hardship. As he shares a meager meal with his family of seven, one can’t help but wonder about the weight of loss that hangs heavily in the air. The story of Hussein offers a vivid glimpse into the fragile existence of displaced communities, where the specter of hunger looms large.

Hussein’s journey takes a tragic turn after the floodwaters inundated the sand pits that were once his lifeline. With a shaky voice, he recounts how the vibrant hustle of work came to an abrupt halt in early April, leaving him with a gnawing uncertainty. “We barely manage to cook once a day, and sometimes we don’t even get that,” he sighs, recalling a time when cooking three meals daily was a given. The heart-wrenching contrast underscores a grim reality: a once-prosperous family now reduced to scavenging for sustenance.

Previously, Hussein earned a modest income of $4 to $5 each day by digging and hauling sand, contributing to construction sites that shape the architectural landscape of southern Somalia. But now, with no steady source of income, his family relies on minimal assistance from relatives in Mogadishu—a lifeline that seems to dwindle day by day.

In the Bulo-Gadisow Internally Displaced Persons (IDP) camp, the cost of living compounds their struggles. A jerrycan of water—essential for survival—fetches a heart-wrenching price of 4,000 Somali shillings (approximately $4). Hussein and his wife are often compelled to beg for a single 20-liter jerrycan from a distant privately-owned well, a burdensome journey of one hour on foot. “It’s barely enough to meet our daily needs,” he admits, the desperation lurking behind his words.

Moreover, the deluge of heavy rains on May 12 dismantled the fragile shelter of their makeshift hut. As he reflects on that turbulent night, one can imagine the fear that gripped the family, forcing them to seek refuge in a neighbor’s home by night, and to huddle under trees for shade during the day. The dire conditions take a toll, especially on their youngest child, who at just one year old, battles the harshness of their reality. “Our lives are in danger. We have lost everything,” Hussein confides, his voice quaking with anguish.

The underlying tragedy of displacement resonates strongly as they recount their story. When they came to the camps from Oflow, located a staggering 70 kilometers south of Baidoa, the remnants of their once-thriving farm lay in ruin, devastated by two consecutive dry seasons. Hussein lost nearly $400, a significant portion of his life savings. The cascading challenges led to heart-wrenching decisions—two of his children were expelled from Koranic school for failing to pay a mere $10 in fees. Each day of fruitless job-hunting brings him home empty-handed, a reality he shares with many others in the camp.

Abdikarim Yunis Macalin, another displaced sand pit worker, echoes Hussein’s plight. “Before, our life was very good, but now… it’s very difficult,” he reflects, the weight of his circumstances palpable in his tone. With a family of nine, their meals have dwindled to a shared dish of cooked food from benevolent neighbors. The single jerrycan of water they plead for each day, a precious commodity, often feels like just a drop in the bucket.

The relentless rains of May added to Abdikarim’s woes, wrecking their two huts. With nowhere to sleep, he relies on the kindness of relatives who share shelter in a different camp. “We can’t find a good place to sleep,” he laments, describing the plight of his children who often have to share a space just to fend off the cold. His desperation is soul-crushing; six of his children have also faced school expulsions due to outstanding fees, leaving them tethered to an ever-worsening fate.

The weight of responsibility sits like a heavy cloak on Mahamud Idris Mahamud. As he cradles his newborn, born into a world fraught with struggle, his fears echo loudly: “What if my wife doesn’t get enough food? What if they both die?” The burden of uncertainty weighs heavily on him. Relying solely on sand-digging for sustenance, he too finds himself searching for odd jobs, only to return empty-handed. His debts grow, a haunting reminder of the fragility of their existence.

Mahamud’s story, like those of many others, encapsulates the harsh truths of survival in displacement. Having been uprooted from their farms due to drought and conflict, their pleas for help symbolize the broader struggle of countless families navigating the stormy waters of uncertainty.

As we listen to these potent narratives of hardship, we should collectively reflect on the resilience of the human spirit. How can we, as a global community, extend a hand to those standing at the precipice of survival? Their stories compel us not to look away but to engage, to support, and to foster hope in the places it seems to have faded.

In the end, the humanity of these families serves as a reminder that behind every statistic is a life, a story, and a hope waiting to be rekindled. The feeling of community must shine brighter than the shadows of despair.

Edited By Ali Musa
Axadle Times International – Monitoring.