In the familiar narrative of struggle and resilience, Lower Shabelle, fondly dubbed “Somalia’s breadbasket,” takes center stage. Its fertile grounds have historically been the backbone of the nation’s food supply. Yet, beneath the veneer of lush crops and vibrant orchards, the story of its farmers is one of hardship and endurance.
Picture this: fertile lands stretching as far as the eye can see, ripe for harvest. However, the hands that once toiled to transform this bounty into sustenance are now shackled by harsh realities—armed conflict, relentless climate adversity, and oppressive control tactics.
The farmers of Lower Shabelle find themselves at an impasse. Threats from the notorious Al-Shabaab group loom large, and internal clan conflicts simmer constantly. Meanwhile, nature itself seems to wage war, drastically altering weather patterns that used to nourish these lands. Consequently, many farmers have uprooted their lives, seeking refuge in camps in Mogadishu, leaving behind plots now kissed by neglect.
This rich agricultural region, dissected into eight districts, tells a stark tale of division. Six districts lie under government jurisdiction, while the fate of Kuntu Waarey and Sablaale remains shadowed under Al-Shabaab’s clutches.
Towns like Janaale persistently echo with the cries of a steadfast community. Here, despite the odds, farmers cling to the hope of reaping a full harvest.
Caught between a rock and a hard place.
Janaale’s farmers learn to juggle allegiances as daylight dictates alignment. The fields during the day witness Al-Shabaab’s iron grip, demanding taxes disguised as zakawat—a twisted version of religious almsgiving. Come night, the same weary farmers confront governmental taxation, their toil bookended by two intolerant administrations. Aweys Eebow Haji, a seasoned tiller of the land, encapsulates their plight perfectly.
“We’re stuck in a never-ending tug-of-war. By day, Al-Shabaab demands a portion of our sweat, then we come home to the government, with its hand outstretched,” reflects Aweys, weariness marking his voice. “It’s untenable. We’re spinning in a world where two masters reign, neither willing to coexist.”
Life under Al-Shabaab’s thumb extends beyond mere fiscal extortion. Nature’s bounty itself becomes a minefield. Cutting trees is forbidden—these are inadvertent sanctuaries for the militants, and any attempt to clear one’s land welcomes harsh reprisal.
Forced to pay reparations with weapons for felled trees, many farmers have had enough. As despair overcomes tenacity, abandoned fields now whisper tales of civilizations retreating, land reverting to untamed wilderness.
Lack of investment is a deeper thorn, burying itself into the future of Lower Shabelle’s agriculture.
Government-controlled areas see irrigation systems languishing, parched and derelict. Without these lifelines, fields lie dormant, even when the sky weeps with the promise of rain.
Reflecting on these hardships, Aweys voices what many feel, “Without national unity and peace, our children will know hunger like we do.”
As we navigate towards Shalambood, another vibrant farm town approximately 96 kilometers away, echoes of a faltering system reverberate. Here, a whopping 90% of the residents rely on agriculture—a precarious dependency in the face of deteriorating infrastructure.
“Once, the Shalambood canal was our saving grace, stretching kindly towards Janaale. Now, it’s but a memory,” laments Ali Adan Nur. “No dredging, no water—our farms, parched and pitiful, reflect its neglect.”
He speaks of businesses hesitant to invest, of farmers saddled with inadequate tools, unable to harness rain or innovate beyond ancestral methods.
Amidst these tough conditions, Somalia’s Ministry of Agriculture remains stoically silent. No plans, no interventions, leaving these farmers in a limbo, trapped between the incursion of militants and the negligence of governance.
For these communities, farming is not mere occupation; it’s their very essence. However, bound by a trifecta of insecurity, resource scarcity, and absent leadership, survival has taken precedence over prosperity.
Resigned to waiting for sporadic food donations and the merciful clink of ration vouchers, many farmers look back longingly at the acres that once cradled them.
– Report By Axadle
Edited by: Ali Musa
alimusa@axadletimes.com
Axadle international–Monitoring
