Twenty-five years on, her granddaughter, Mihiyo, is breastfeeding her fourth child. Three generations of refugees in one family: just like the other , Somalis, they are forced to call this barren, dusty settlement some kind of home. Dadaab was initially established as a temporary haven for some 90, refugees fleeing the clan fighting. It is now a sprawling, bustling complex of five camps, boasting makeshift cinemas and soccer leagues — the third largest city in Kenya, after Nairobi and Mombasa.
Most governments have traditionally seen this as convenient logistically, and as a way to reduce potential friction with host communities. They are not only unsustainable over the long term — damaging to the environment and a turn-off for donors — but in corralling refugees behind their gates, they also deny them basic rights and freedoms.
See: Alternatives to refugee camps: Can policy become practice? A study in self-reliance As the humanitarian system looks to debate how to reshape the way aid is delivered, Dadaab seemingly offers some practical examples of how camp-based communities can play a positive role in the management of their own affairs.
But its five camps — Dagahaley, Hagadera, Ifo and more recent additions Ifo II and Kambioos — are in practical terms run by democratically-elected community volunteers. Rage took over the leadership of Ifo in a camp-wide election in , and is due to step down when her term ends later this year. Born of necessity The role of community leaders became significant out of necessity.
UN staff temporarily pulled out of Dadaab in following the kidnapping of aid workers, and youth volunteers took over running the camps' basic services. With the rise of al-Shabab and its high-profile attacks inside Kenya, politicians have been quick to accuse the camps of providing sanctuary and support to the jihadists. Security has also been a growing concern for Kenya, which has been directly engaged in combating Al-Shabaab in Somalia. Insecurity has hindered the operation of aid agencies in Dadaab complex.
As result of this, the movement of aid agencies within Dadaab Camps is restricted and requires increased security such as escorts by armed vehicles. As of , there are 19 primary schools and 7 secondary schools.. Although secondary education is important, primary schooling is a priority for donor agencies. Although primary school education has been a priority for donor agencies there are still challenges of overcrowded classrooms. Those who get this rare chance to pursue high school education in Dadaab are most of them determined to finish their 4-year period.
Until last year with implementation of the BHER there were no opportunities for higher education. People in Dadaab refugee camps consider education as the only tool to combat and eradicate any kind of obstacle in life. They believe that if higher education is brought to Dadaab it will liberate them from the dark and give them hope. Students in Dadaab have the courage to compete favourably with all students in the hosting nation, Kenya.
Bringing university education to Dadaab will relieve the Dadaab refugee population of the need to travel and get access to quality education from the interior of Kenya. With higher education in Dadaab these hardships can be averted. Both primary and secondary schools in Dadaab Camps have a great number of untrained teachers, thus, University education in Dadaab is a useful tool towards offsetting this challenges that, in the long run, could offset the need for trained teachers at most of the 26 primary and secondary schools within Dadaab camps.
While Somalia remains the motherland of the overwhelming majority, it is still not a safe place to return to. Finally, higher education in the camp goes a long way toward preparing students for the future, a future they hope, either within Somalia or in other countries, will constructively contribute to rebuilding their motherland.
Creative Corner Poetry Culture Songs. Mohammad Abdula works at this money transfer shop in Dadaab. As a refugee, he can't buy his own goods to sell and can't leave the camp without permission.
Abdula closes up his shop and makes his way towards his home. He stops for a moment to buy a melon juice from a vendor, who pulls it out of a chest freezer that billows condensation into the hot air.
Abdula sits alone at a metal table, quietly sipping his drink. The scene could be from the main street of almost any sizeable town in northern Kenya. But there is nothing normal about this place, or the lives of the more than , residents that exist here.
For Dadaab is the largest refugee camp in the world. If it was a city, it would be one of Kenya's largest. But most of the people here do not come by choice. They're men, women and children who have fled famine and war. And even though the camp has existed for 24 years, permanent structures are banned by the Kenyan government. In the older parts of the camp where Abdula lives, there are shops and hospitals.
In the newer parts, families live under tents in patches of desert, battered by winds that whip up the occasional violent dust storm. Refugees here aren't allowed to build permanent structures. Many live in tents or structures made from old tarps. The walls of Abdula's house are made of wooden poles stripped from thorn trees, the roof a vaulted tin sheet. Sixteen-month-old Semeya runs up to her father as Abdula enters the enclosure outside their home. As Abdula arrives, his wife Sahra, who was born in Dadaab, places a crimson hijab on Semeya, as is customary when a family receives guests.
Abdula's mother Hawo rests against the wall of their hut. Abdula and his family fled Somalia's brutal civil war for Dadaab in The year-old has been living here since childhood and knows little else.
His closest foray into the non-refugee world has been brief stops at the town that sits next to the camp. But he needs written permission to go further. Sitting cross-legged on a woven mat outside his home, Abdula says Dadaab is like a prison.
Click and drag to change your perspective. This interactive feature was created by stitching a series of aerial photographs together. Dadaab rose from modest beginnings, set up in as a temporary shelter for 90, refugees fleeing the civil war engulfing neighboring Somalia. Almost a quarter of a century later it is a complex of five distinct camps, and it is still growing. After years of conflict, famine, and floods, Somalis continue to stream over the border into the camp.
Europe's migrant crisis may have grabbed all the headlines this summer, but two-thirds of the world's roughly 20 million refugees live in protracted situations like the one here in Dadaab. Nearly 60 million people around the world were displaced by war, conflict or persecution by the end of -- the highest figure since records began.
An average of 42, people are forced from their homes each day, according to the U. Camps in Turkey, Lebanon and Jordan, overflowing with the millions of Syrians who have fled the country's devastating war, are quickly becoming the new Dadaabs.
This past summer, Zaatari refugee camp in Jordan marked its third anniversary. Carved out in an equally harsh desert environment, it is now home to more than 80, Syrians, making it the largest camp in the Middle East.
Yet it is still just a quarter of the population living in Dadaab. Dadaab is unforgiving at the best of times.
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