Internally Displaced Women in Baidoa Rely on Selling Animal Bones to Sustain Their Families

Hawo Salad Cali, a resilient woman living on the fringes of Baidoa, transforms hardship into a lifeline by selling bones she gathers in the Buur camp. With determination etched into her daily routine, she turns what many might overlook into sustenance for her family.

Let’s meet Maydigo Omar Yarow, a 60-year-old widowed mother of six, whose day begins long before sunrise. She embarks on a journey to a livestock slaughterhouse on the outskirts of Baidoa. Her mission: to gather discarded bones and hides, which she sells to local eateries. These restaurants skillfully turn the bones into a savory broth, a delight for their patrons.

Maydigo learned about this bone-collecting venture from other women in the camp. It’s a survival strategy, freely supported by livestock owners who have nothing to lose. “The bones we gather are our lifeline,” Maydigo mentions, adding that this simple task has provided them with the means for a decent living.

Despite the challenges, Maydigo manages to make about $4 each day. It might not sound like much, but it’s enough to provide her family with three meals and ensure her children get an education. The alternative had been days of hunger and uncertainty.

“This work isn’t easy,” she confides, “but it has transformed our lives. We no longer have to depend on my brother for survival. Feeding my children and sending them to school is now within my reach.”

Since May, she has committed to bone collecting because competition in her previous endeavor, gathering firewood in rural areas, made it unsustainable. That job once earned her at best 30,000 Somali shillings ($1.2) a day. Becoming a widow in 2020 due to her husband’s fatal encounter with cholera, she stands as her children’s sole provider.

In the vicinity of Baidoa, over 60 women like Maydigo are engaged in this bone-collecting activity. Yet, their path isn’t without bumps. She faces the unpredictability of thieves and wild animals during her early-morning excursions to the slaughter site. Being early is crucial, she says. “If you don’t arrive on time, the bones will be gone,” she reveals. Returning home at night, she’s had instances where her hard-earned collection was snatched away.

Their journey to the displacement camps of Baidoa began from Sarmaan village, located 40 kilometers from Hudur. They fled after prolonged droughts wiped out their farm and livestock.

Another tenacious woman, Hawo Salad Cali, aged 50 and a mother of nine, also gathers bones to sell. Displaced from Howlaha-Guud, 45 kilometers from Baidoa, her life took a sharp turn when drought devastated her family’s five-hectare farm. This displacement forced them to seek shelter in the Buur camp by December 2023.

With humanitarian relief to the camps drying up, Hawo leans on community support to meet basic needs. Her routine involves a 10-kilometer trek each day to the Hanano slaughterhouse to collect bones, which she carries back in hefty sacks. The $6 she earns helps feed her children and nibbles away at her debts.

Water collection is yet another daily chore for these women. Hawo makes a two-kilometer journey to a nearby well, shouldering 20 liters of water home. Each jerrycan comes at a price of 5,000 Somali shillings.

“We used to depend heavily on aid, my children often went hungry,” she recalls. “Now I manage our meals and even chip away at the $100 debt for basic needs. Life’s tough, but it’s better.”

An equally resilient soul, Isho Ali Abdi, 37, finds some solace in the $5 she earns from her toil, easing her burden of caring for five children. This income enables her to send two kids to school, breaking the cycle of deprivation.

“Previously, education was a luxury. Thanks to this hustle, they now learn and I can better provide for them,” Isho shares. Even with the taxing task of hauling 25 kilograms of bones over long distances, it beats laundry work that hardly aligned with her household necessities, given the meager $2 daily payout.

Having separated from her husband two years ago, Isho now shoulders the sole responsibility for her children. In April, she and her family were uprooted from Shabelow village, 30 kilometers from Baidoa, when unforgiving droughts decimated their land and livelihood — crops of sorghum, maize, and beans reduced to dust.

Edited by: Ali Musa

alimusa@axadletimes.com

Axadle international–Monitoring