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Nyakun Kuok and her family standing outside her house in Dagahaley camp
Originally from South Sudan, 55-year-old Nyakun Kuk (fourth from right at the back) fled the violence in her country that erupted in 2013 between the Nuer and the Dinka tribes. She now lives in Dagahaley.
© Paul Odongo/MSF

Shut out and forgotten, refugees in Dadaab appeal for dignity

Originally from South Sudan, 55-year-old Nyakun Kuk (fourth from right at the back) fled the violence in her country that erupted in 2013 between the Nuer and the Dinka tribes. She now lives in Dagahaley.
© Paul Odongo/MSF
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Dimming prospects of lasting solutions amid continued insecurity in Somalia and ever-shrinking resettlement slots have locked refugees in Kenya's Dadaab camps in conditions of vulnerability and dependency.

With severe mobility constraints and limited livelihood options, humanitarian assistance continues to be a vital lifeline for refugees. But surviving on a bare minimum of assistance means many have been living on the threshold of an emergency for close to three decades now. Their needs far outstrip what dwindling humanitarian assistance can provide for in the face of waning donor funding.

I got married, bore children here and we all live together in this compound. Life was better when we first came to the camp. Janai Issack, a refugee in Dadaab since 1991
Thirty-eight-year-old Janai is not happy. As we speak, her misdemeanor, verbal cues and facial expressions tell of someone with a lot of disappointment, and we learn of her concerns as we continue speaking to her.

Janai does basic jobs to make ends meet. She owns a wheelbarrow, which she uses to fetch water from the tap stands and sell to some households. She also does laundry for some households, who pay her for the service. “Children have needs, and the proceeds I get out of these are what I use to improve my family’s life,” she says.

Janai came to the camp in 1991 from Kismayu, Somalia, with six members of her family including both her parents. Her parents have both died. She has 10 children, all who were born inside the camp. Her eldest child is 19, and the youngest, 18 months. “A lot has changed in my life over the years,” she says, “all my children were born here, and they all go to school here. The food rations have changed. Now we are given very little food that can hardly take us a week. Schools where our children go are overcrowded, unlike those days when I used to go to school. I think UNHCR is fatigued. I don’t know why they keep asking us if we want to go back to Somalia, yet our answer is always the same as last time: no. Resettlement has also changed over the last one year, it’s like no one goes anymore.”

“The food given here cannot be consumed by humans,” she says, speaking about lentils they are given, “food was better back then, now it keeps getting worse, and the quantities getting lesser and lesser.”

“I have a bigger family now, and look at the house I live in,” she says, pointing at a house outside the one we are in: a house made of stick-walls and iron-sheets for roofs. I ask whose house this is, that we are in and why she didn’t take us to her house. She says this is one of the houses for her bigger children, and that she thought we would be more comfortable there than in her house, which has little space. I later asked to go to her house instead, and we went to it.
A single bed, about three feet by six sits in the middle. It has seemingly covered about three-fifth of the house. Stick-walls let in a lot of light, illuminating the house well. 

Janai says she is unsure of what the future entails for her and her family. She says she feels even more disappointed that she cannot air her concerns to UNHCR. “It could have been better if this interview was conducted by someone from UNHCR, because that way they would see for themselves how we live and listen to our problems,” she says, “we only see their gates and the signboard out there when we pass, but it’s really difficult to get in.”

“With these problems, life here is even more difficult. I’d rather go back to Somalia, whether peaceful or not.”
Janai Issack Aden, fetches water from tap stands to sell to fellow refugees at Dadaab's Dagahaley camp. Kenya, September 2019.
Paul Odongo/MSF

Janai Issack was 10 years old when she moved to the camp with her family in 1991, fleeing violence in Somalia.

“A lot has changed over the years: I got married, bore children here, and we all live together in this compound,” she says. “Life was better when we first came to the camp. The safety we found in this place was a great relief compared to what was happening in Somalia, and the support from the aid organisations was good.”

Janai laments that, over the years, the quantity and quality of services offered to refugees has diminished.

“The food rations provided have reduced. Now we are given very little food that barely lasts  a couple of weeks,” she says. “The classes in schools where our children go to are overcrowded, unlike those days when I used to go to school.” 

“I think UNHCR is fatigued. I don’t know why they keep asking us if we want to go back to Somalia, yet our answer is always the same: No. Resettlement has also changed over the last year, it’s like no one goes anymore.”

Many refugees in Dagahaley – one of three camps that collectively constitute the Dadaab refugee complex, with a population of about 75,000 – share similar stories. They complain of the declining humanitarian support, notably food rations.

For most people, life in the camps is all they know. Dana Krause, MSF country representative in Kenya

In September, the World Food Programme was forced to further reduce the general food distribution in the refugee camps to 70 per cent of the normal rations, due to severe funding constraints. This will most likely adversely impact the health condition of the refugees, as Médecins Sans Frontières (MSF) has witnessed in past years.

“For most people, life in the camps is all they know,” says Dana Krause, the country representative for MSF in Kenya. “But living in camps for three decades with little food, lack of specialised healthcare and no jobs, or measly remuneration for work done, is nothing short of an assault on human dignity.”

For 65-year-old Abdia, who fled Somalia for Dadaab in 1991, life in the camps has worsened over the years.

Abdia looks quite strong for a woman her age, and the shock was evident even in the face of our Outreach team, who had accompanied me to her home. Today, she takes us to a nearby home, where there are some mothers she assists. We are seated outside on one of their mats, under a shade created by a number of clothes woven together.

The mother of 10 is a Traditional Birth Attendant (TBA), now working with MSF holding the same title. Only this time, she doesn’t do any deliveries herself, but acts as an interlocutor between MSF and expectant mothers in the camps. She encourages women to begin early and consistent visits to the hospital while pregnant, also pushing for mothers to deliver in the hospital, in a community that was once marred by home deliveries for cultural reasons; and follows up with mothers who had complicated cases during delivery, after being discharged. She also calls for taxis hired by MSF to pick up any women in labour.

Also, for cases of sexual violence or rape, she does the preliminary identification then refers to the hospital. 

Abdia was 18 when she started her work as a TBA in Somalia. She successfully assisted a mother to deliver at home after a few old mothers had tried unsuccessfully. “I just said let me try. They laughed at first and their pessimism was valid since I had never assisted a woman to deliver before. It was successful! They said I would make a great birth attendant, and that’s how I began,” she says.

It wasn’t an easy job either, and even though she says she was largely successful, two mothers died under her watch. “I was unable to deliver them. They developed complications and there were very few hospitals, which were so far even the sick could not reach them. They died in my arms. Those were my lowest moments.”

Even in Dadaab, I continued with that job, despite there being a hospital here. I would assist those who opted to deliver in the comfort of their homes and sent to hospital those who opted for that. Mothers at that time would be carried by donkey carts then, but these days MSF provides motorized taxis, which come whenever we call.”

Abdia moved to Dagahaley in 1991 from Somalia with her husband and six children and life has not been rosy for her. Four of her children died in Somalia before they came to Dagahaley. Most died in their infancy, after bring born either prematurely or falling sick while still young. Her husband died when her youngest child, who is now 27, was just three years old. Two other children died in the camp: one was stabbed when she was 15, and her son she says was killed in Somalia after being recruited by the Al-Shabaab. A scenario she blames on the idle nature of youths in the camp.

She lives with her 18-year-old niece now, whose mother was killed at 15. 

How has life in the camp evolved over the years for Abdia? She holds no fond memories of the camp. “When we first came here, we had the real benefits of being refugees, but now it’s just a name: and clearly not a very good one. Our movement is restricted, services have immensely reduced, even MSF does not do something beyond their mandate, referring us to UNHCR. Only two things are okay here: the security and water,” she says. 

“If I compare my life now to the way I was back then, things were much better then. The food rations are very little that if you’re someone my age with no one to take care of you, you’d find life very difficult,” she says.

Three of her children live in the camp, and one is in Somalia. All married with their own families. The one in Somalia is her eldest child, who chose to remain in Somalia with her husband. 

 “Because of the constant pressure by the Kenyan government to close the camp, and the UN does nothing, I don’t think these camps will be here even in the next five years,” she says. “Over the last 11 years, UNHCR has been calling us every now and then about resettlement, but nothing comes out of it. 

Because of all that I mentioned before, I don’t think there is much for me to go back to in Somalia.
Abdia Magale, 65, a refugee in Dagahaley camp, is a traditional birth attendant and now works with MSF. Dadaab, Kenya, September 2019.
© Paul Odongo/MSF

“If I compare my life now to the way it was two decades ago, things were much better then. The food rations are very small so if you’re someone my age with no one to take care of you, you’ll find life very difficult,” she says. “Our movement is restricted, and the services have immensely reduced.”

For undocumented refugees, the struggle to access basic services in the camps is even more daunting. According to UNHCR, there are at least 15,000 unregistered asylum seekers in the Dadaab complex and only around half of them receive food assistance based on a vulnerability assessment.

Although unregistered refugees can access MSF health services in Dagahaley, for most other basic needs, including shelter and clothing, they are largely left to fend for themselves.

Deteriorating mental health and the struggle for specialised healthcare

Others, like 42-year-old Abdo Mohamed Geda, who came to Dadaab in 2011, have taken to doing menial jobs to supplement what little food rations they receive. Abdo fetches firewood on donkey carts to support his family of eight children.

“Children need milk, food and clothing,” he says. “Every morning I go out to search food for my family. But when there is nothing, it stresses me. I can’t sleep.”

Abdo is currently undergoing treatment for depression in the MSF hospital in Dagahaley.

Drawn-out encampment has blunted people’s hopes of leading healthy and meaningful lives.

A more insidious impact manifests itself in the form of acute mental health conditions. On average, in Dagahaley alone, MSF teams assist some 5,500 mental health consultations each year. During moments of extreme anxiety, this figure often shoots up, such as in 2016, when threats to shut down the camps loomed large.

In October this year, MSF treated two patients who had attempted to commit suicide in Dagahaley camp.

One of them, a 43-year-old unregistered refugee from Somalia, tried to hang himself before being rescued. He had been surviving on handouts since his ration card was blocked in 2018. But as the amount of food rations people receive in the camp has reduced in recent months, neighbours are increasingly being forced to scrimp what little food they receive.

Both patients are now undergoing treatment and receiving psychosocial support.

Specialised healthcare also remains out of reach for most refugees. Although MSF provides basic primary and secondary healthcare services in Dadaab, advanced or specialised treatment requires referrals outside the camps. But with such movements restricted, only those requiring urgent, lifesaving treatment are allowed and supported to seek care in the regional hospital of Garissa or in Nairobi. So, the number of people with specialised healthcare needs has been accumulating each passing year, creating a heaping backlog of patients waiting for treatment. In Dagahaley alone, more than 1,100 people are waiting for elective surgeries and other specialised health services.
Specialised healthcare also remains out of reach for most refugees. Although MSF provides basic primary and secondary healthcare services in Dadaab, advanced or specialised treatment requires referrals outside the camps. But with such movements restricted, only those requiring urgent, lifesaving treatment are allowed and supported to seek care in the regional hospital of Garissa or in Nairobi. So, the number of people with specialised healthcare needs has been accumulating each passing year, creating a heaping backlog of patients waiting for treatment. In Dagahaley alone, more than 1,100 people are waiting for elective surgeries and other specialised health services.
© Paul Odongo/MSF
Policies that favour refugees’ freedom of movement and access to basic services, when accompanied by donor investments in local capacities, will allow refugees to lead dignified lives, while benefitting host populations. Dana Krause, MSF country representative in Kenya

Specialised healthcare also remains out of reach for most refugees. Although MSF provides basic primary and secondary healthcare services in Dadaab, advanced or specialised treatment requires referrals outside the camps.

But with such movements restricted, only those requiring urgent, lifesaving treatment are allowed and supported to seek care in the regional hospital of Garissa or in Nairobi. So, the number of people with specialised healthcare needs has been accumulating each passing year, creating a heaping backlog of patients waiting for treatment.

In Dagahaley alone, more than 1,100 people are waiting for elective surgeries and other specialised health services.

Urgent need to find solutions

“If the commitments to improve refugee self-reliance, enshrined in the Global Compact on Refugees, are to be realised, it is time the Kenyan government and the international community took meaningful action to find sustainable pathways for refugees out of the camp,” says Krause.

“Policies that favour refugees’ freedom of movement and access to basic services, when accompanied by donor investments in local capacities, will allow refugees to lead dignified lives, while also benefiting host populations.”

By making it difficult to live in the camp, we feel like we are being arm-twisted to return. We hope that some day, our country will be safe again so we can go back. Geda, a refugee

So far, the proposed response to this seemingly interminable displacement crisis has been to wind down the camps. But most refugees are unwilling to go back to Somalia. Among those who did return, many have come back to Dadaab citing continued insecurity and lack of basic services in the country. Resettlement to third countries has almost ground to a halt.

“By making it difficult to live in the camp, we feel like we are being arm-twisted to return”, says Geda. “If things stay the same, we may be forced to return. We are hoping that someday our country will be safe again, so we can go back. If not, we hope to get resettled to a third country”.

Others express hope that they will be allowed to settle in the region.

“If resettlement could resume, that would be the best thing,” says 56-year-old Amphile Kassim Mohamed. “If not, some livelihood support could suffice or even integration locally. Free movement should also be encouraged to enable us to trade easily with other people.”

What about local communities?

With Dadaab’s camp population once peaking at almost half a million, attention has inevitably focused on refugees. Even today, almost one in four people in Garissa county – which hosts the camps – is a refugee. But Garissa’s social development indicators count among the lowest in Kenya, and even local communities struggle to access basic services.

An MSF outreach staff holds a discussion with mothers in Dagahaley camp
An MSF outreach staff member with a group of mothers in Dagahaley camp. Dadaab, Kenya, September 2019.
Paul Odongo/MSF

Recently, Khadijo Abdul Malik, was sitting with her son in an MSF paediatric ward in Dagahaley. She had travelled two hours in a matatu (private minibus) from a neighbouring village in Wajir County. She says she has been to the clinic before, and that many others from her village also use the heath facilities in the camp frequently. MSF's health data suggests that local communities account for roughly one in five of our primary health consultations in Dagahaley.

The draw of meagre humanitarian assistance in the camps only underscores the penury of critical basic infrastructure in the region. Many locals have come to rely on camp services over the years, so camp closures and a drastic rollback of international assistance will significantly impact surrounding villages too.

“It is vital that both refugees and host communities remain active participants in resolving the Dadaab displacement crisis,” says Krause. “Refugees will need to be accompanied and will require continued support in the search for lasting solutions. And this will need to go in parallel with scaling up access to basic services for local communities.”

MSF has provided healthcare to refugees in Dadaab for most of the camp’s complex existence, having set up activities in the camp for the first time in 1991. Our current programmes are focused in Dagahaley camp, where we provide comprehensive healthcare to refugees and host communities including primary and secondary care through two health posts and a 100-bed hospital. Our medical services include sexual and reproductive healthcare including emergency obstetrical surgeries, medical and psychological assistance to survivors of sexual and gender-based violence, mental health, home-based insulin care and palliative care. In the last ten years, we have also responded to 12 emergencies in Kenya’s North-East Region including two cholera outbreaks in the camps.

In 2018, MSF held an average of 14,000 outpatient consultations and around 860 inpatient admissions every month in Dagahaley. We also assisted 2,584 births throughout the year.