Desperate Calls for Help in Merka’s Aailow Camp

On a quiet afternoon in the Aailow camp, Maryan Osman Ali and her five children are perched outside their makeshift shelter, their expressions reflecting a myriad of emotions. They are not alone; three hundred vulnerable displaced families residing in this internal displacement camp in Merka, located in Somalia’s Lower Shabelle region, are collectively raising a plea for assistance following the cessation of cash aid earlier this year.

Among the most affected is Maryan Isman Ali, a remarkable single mother who faces unique challenges. As a woman living with severe disabilities—having lost both her legs and an arm in a tragic childhood accident involving unexploded ordnance—Maryan had relied on a meager monthly cash assistance of $70 from the Somali organization, Marginalized Communities Advocacy Network (MCAN). Yet, with the support abruptly cut off, her family now grapples with an unimaginable struggle.

“Sometimes we get food to cook; sometimes we don’t. It’s a huge worry,” Maryan shared in a heartfelt conversation with Radio Ergo. “I wake up in the morning with absolutely nothing to cook. If you are a mother, you can feel my pain as I listen to my children crying because of hunger.” Her voice trembles as she recalls the heavy burden of motherhood. How does one go on when the pantry is bare?

The challenges extend beyond food insecurity. For Maryan, basic necessities like water have become a daunting hurdle. A jerrycan of water—essential for survival—costs two thousand Somali shillings, a sum she cannot afford. “My ten-year-old son sometimes fetches it for me,” she explains, her eyes reflecting a mixture of love and despair. “We have a water problem. We also desperately need electricity and food—we need everything.”

Their living conditions are stark. Residing in a meager three-meter hut that provides little shelter from the rain, Maryan and her children share two latrines with over ten other families, facilities that are ill-equipped for someone with her disabilities. Such indignities are overwhelming, but they are only part of the story.

Unattended health concerns linger heavily on Maryan’s mind. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. At night, I get fevers, my ribs ache, and my situation just gets worse,” she admits, heartbreakingly honest about her vulnerability. With healthcare out of reach, she wonders: “How can a mother care for her children when she can’t care for herself?”

Abandoned by her children’s father, Maryan’s hopes of providing an education for them seem precarious. “I wish my children could attend school, but I can’t afford it. I can’t even manage Koranic classes,” she sighs. “What I request is for my children to be sent to school so they can help me tomorrow.” It’s a poignant reminder of the relentless cycle many face: how does one break free when the chances for a better future are slipping away?

Maryan’s story is mirrored in the experiences of Maido Abdinur Hasan, another resilient woman raising six children alone in the IDP camp. Maido shares her frustration and helplessness as cash support has vanished. “I don’t have anything to give my children—I can’t even cook once a day,” she laments. “We are eating less than half of what we used to eat. When the children cry from hunger, neighbors sometimes bring us a bowl of food; that’s how we survive.”

While Maido is resourceful, taking on odd jobs washing clothes for a meager two dollars on good days, her shelter is a grim reflection of her plight. “The shelter I live in is a makeshift hut made from trees we gathered. It’s old and rotten. It barely keeps the rain out—it only protects us from the sun,” she explains, each word revealing the precarious balance of existence in a world turned upside down.

Displaced from Janale due to devastating flooding that destroyed her home and grocery store, Maido knows all too well the fragility of stability. What happens when a home is reduced to nothing? It raises deeper questions about community support and resilience in the face of adversity.

In a wider effort to address the ongoing crisis, Abdi Osman Hasan, a dedicated data collection worker with MCAN, is committed to amplifying these urgent needs. “We have communicated the needs of these families to ACTED, the international NGO previously providing cash assistance,” he explains. “We need to pursue this relentlessly, as the situation is dire. We hope for a resolution soon.”

But the reality remains daunting. As families like Maryan and Maido strive to overcome barriers that seem insurmountable, one is left to ponder: what can we do to help? The stories of these women and their children compel us to reflect on our roles as global citizens. Can we lend our voices to those who are silenced? Can we take actionable steps to alleviate their suffering?

In the Aailow camp, the struggle for survival continues, echoing a powerful reminder of the resilience found in the human spirit, no matter the adversity. It is the collective responsibility of all of us to ensure that these desperate appeals for assistance do not go unheard. Perhaps, in our humanity, we will find the resolve to act.