Refugees Protest at the UNHCR Office in Kakuma Camp Following Significant Food Ration Cuts

Photograph: Courtesy of Kakuma News Reflector

Imagine waking up to find that the food you rely on has been reduced by a significant amount. How would you feel? For thousands of refugees in Kenya’s Kakuma refugee camp, this is no longer a hypothetical situation but a stark reality. Just recently, the bustling camp, home to around 300,000 individuals from countries like South Sudan, Somalia, the Democratic Republic of the Congo, and Ethiopia, became the epicenter of protests when food allocations were slashed due to funding hiccups.

This isn’t just a cut—it is a severe one. The reduction means rations have been scaled down to less than half of what they once were, slicing them by a quarter yet again. The United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) confirmed the incidents of unrest this week, where clashes ensued as the local police attempted to manage the situation. Amid the chaos, four refugees and a local government official were injured.

The world’s attention has often been drawn to headlines stating food cuts, but do we ever pause to consider the lives impacted by these decisions? One must ponder: is it just another number to us, or do we acknowledge the human element behind these dire reports?

“I feel neglected and lost because I have no other way to survive,” lamented Andrew Dafir, a refugee in the camp, referencing a text notification that informed him of the cuts. When your monthly food drops from 4kg of cereals to 3kg, and when essentials like cooking oil and beans vanish from the allocation list, survival becomes not just about sustenance, but dignity.

For people like Dafir, the original rations—more than 7kg per person monthly—were already reduced multiple times before. Now, they face the challenge of living on a meager cash conversion of the missing food items. This cash, supposedly increasing from 650 to 820 Kenyan shillings, barely scratches the surface of the needs—offering just enough for a single day in some cases.

The reality of the situation hit a painful note when videos shared from the camp depicted the turbulence: people scattered to avoid teargas, a young boy with an injured stomach carried away, and the sounds that echoed fear. “I lost my voice, I was so scared,” Dafir admitted, capturing a sentiment many shared that day. He went further to say that feeling voiceless wasn’t new—“it seems like no one wants to listen to us.”

The protests themselves have been brewing for some time, according to Blax Von, a Kakuma resident who shared the escalating tensions on TikTok. Reduced water supplies, slashed cash support, and the added burden of school fees have only compounded frustrations. Yet, when cries for attention outside UNHCR offices met silence, desperation led some to attempt climbing fences, prompting police intervention.

The gravity of the situation is illustrated starkly by those carrying empty pots with signs questioning the adequacy of 3kg of cereals per month. One South Sudanese refugee poignantly inquired, “Is this enough for you?”

Following these events, UNHCR expressed deep concerns in a formal statement, acknowledging the injuries sustained during the confrontation. They couldn’t confirm live rounds were used, yet the unrest underscores the criticality of the crisis.

The Social Justice Centre Working Group, a Kenyan civil society organization, did not mince words, branding the response to the refugees’ plight as “state-sponsored cruelty.”

Within the corridors of power, Kenya’s interior ministry through Kipchumba Murkomen, laid the onus on the international community, asserting how the abrupt aid cuts had been “sudden and severe,” stressing that they undermine Kenya’s ability to uphold humanitarian commitments. Murkomen illustrated a compelling point—that it becomes imperative for affluent nations to assume responsibility and alleviate the growing burden.

Ultimately, this situation compels us to ask: amidst logistical, political, and economic challenges, whose voices does the world prioritize? It is a somber reminder of our shared humanity and the intricate web of dependency that binds us all together.