A crowd has gathered, as it always does, to watch this momentous event: Wayongo and his crew are drilling a well in a place that looks so dry one wonders if water could possibly be percolating down below. But Wayongo, a public health engineer and well driller for Oxfam, is optimistic.
"We have not struck water, but the formation is giving us courage," he shouts over the roar of the hydraulic drill. "The problem is during the dry season, the water table is very far down."
This will be the fourth deep well Wayango and his crew of five men have drilled recently in the rural areas around Kebkabiya in North Darfur. The water improvements are part of an Oxfam program to help the people in 11 small villages in this region manage as the conflict that has consumed Darfur for more than three years rages on. The initiative also includes constructing latrines and distributing farming tools.
While most of Oxfam's work during the conflict has been geared toward preventing the spread of waterborne diseases among hundreds of thousands of people who have fled from their homes, the agency recognizes that the needs in Darfur extend far beyond the temporary camps to which displaced people have flocked.
"Although there are two million internally displaced people in camps, there are many others remaining in villages who need help too," said Alun McDonald, Oxfam's communications officer based in Khartoum.
And some of them are here on this small hill in Igro. Under a scorching sun, Wayongo is making his second attempt of the day to locate a new source of water for the inhabitants of this village. After drilling about 90 feet down on a nearby rise—and coming up empty—Wayongo decided to move a little closer to a dry river bed and try his luck there.
If he hits water, he'll quickly send a sample to El Fasher, the capital of North Darfur, to have it analyzed for salt and other contaminants. If it passes the test, the work crew will install a pump and build a platform around the well to keep the water clean when people draw it up.
Wayongo prefers to drill for water during the dry season because he knows that if he does strike it when the water table is at its lowest, then the supply will be a reliable one. Besides, during the rainy season, which typically stretches between June and October, this kind of work is difficult. The rain swamps the dirt tracks that serve as roads, turning them into mud that can swallow heavy trucks loaded with drilling equipment.
But it is not just the rain that makes movement difficult for Wayongo and his team. As with much of Darfur, the area around Kebkabiya is prone to hijackings and militia activity, and is not always safe to travel around, particularly after dark. When things are secure enough for the team to travel to the villages, they work late—and stay where they are.
So, after a hot and dusty day, Wayongo's crew won't be heading to Oxfam's headquarters and their own comfortable beds in Kebkabiya. They'll camp at Igro—and get an early start on the next day's drilling operation.
]]>As violence in this part of the remote region of western Sudan increases again, there is an expectation at Abu Shouk—and across Darfur—that no one will be heading back to their villages any time soon. In the face of that reality, the camp has undergone a slow transformation from a settlement of plastic-covered shelters hastily constructed with branches, to a community that has many of the trappings of permanence—and home.
"The camp now looks like a town," said Hind Adam Ali, an Oxfam public health promoter as she led visitors into the dense by neatly laid out settlement, divided into blocks with broad paths of sand, much like streets, running in between. Oxfam has been providing water, sanitation, and public health outreach to more than 50,000 people in the camp.
Abu Shouk lies close to El Fasher, the capital of North Darfur and the place where the first serious fighting of the on-going conflict erupted more than three years ago. Since the signing of the Darfur Peace Agreement last May, fighting has actually intensified in this area and has again devastated many towns and villages north of El Fasher—the places that many of the people who have sought refuge in Abu Shouk originate from.
Increasingly, the camp has the feel of a sprawling capital neighborhood, within walking distance of El Fasher's main market and linked to the city by periodic family compounds that have recently sprouted on the plain between the camp and the capital.
By one estimate, 80 percent of Abu Shouk's shelters are now made of mud brick, and signs of that industry—the pocked ground from which the dirt is dug and mixed with water—dot the camp.
But the consequence of all that liquid-intensive building was that by the middle of July, the lines at the camp's pumps where people gather to fill their large plastic jerry cans with water to lug home for drinking and washing, were up to three hours long. At midsummer, only 23 of the camp's 33 hand pumps were producing any water. The other 10 had gone dry.
Housing isn't the only thing that is sucking up great volumes of water. Aid workers also say that camp residents, needing to provide for their families beyond the basics offered by aid groups, are collecting water at the camp and hauling it into the capital for sale.
The massive human need for water is simply outstripping the natural resources of the land, which is not meant to house so many thousands of people for such a long time.
"We've been talking to the leaders about it, but it's still going on," said Hind.
On the outskirts of Al Salaam, a newer camp established nearby to relieve some of the over-population at Abu Shouk, a brick works, masterminded by a gang of little boys, was also underway.
Despite the midday heat, one boy hardly noticed the visitors who appeared, so intent was he on shoveling dirt from the pit in which he stood. Jugs of water ringed some of the other pits. Another boy scooped fistfuls of mud into a sloppy heap onto which he stomped to squeeze out the extra water before packing the mud into a metal form, shaped like a rectangular bread pan. Set out in the sun, a row of the soggy bricks slowly dried. It would take two days before they would be done
Abdal Azim Tigani, 9 and caked in mud, announced that he had made 51 bricks which he planned to sell for 10 dinars—or 4 cents—each.
How many had he sold so far?
None, he replied, clearly content to be messing about in the cool mud on a hot day, and undaunted by the sales task ahead. But judging by the widespread use of the bricks throughout Abu Shouk, Abdal would have a ready market for his product.
At Abu Shouk, family plots once ringed with prickly branches now stand protected by thick walls. Many of the plots have morphed into mini-compounds with separate rooms for cooking, shelters for chickens, and stalls for donkeys—all made with mud bricks.
At one compound, the owner proudly showed off his satellite dish, tucked behind a curtain made from cut-up food sacks. The TV, he said, was stashed carefully in the bedroom of one of his wives, and electricity to power the high-tech production came from a neighbor who owned a generator. Every evening the whole neighborhood gathers around his screen to watch the news and keep up with the world outside Darfur. The biggest crowd, he added, was for this year's World Cup final.
Alleyways have formed between the compound walls, connecting to the broader "streets." Hurrying down one of them was Hawa Sulieman Ahmed, a member of one of the health committees Oxfam has organized at Abu Shouk to help promote good hygiene practices throughout the camp.
Coming upon Hind and her visitors, Hawa insisted on inviting the small crowd back to her "home,"—a small complex of tiny structures tucked behind a heavy mud wall with a metal door. When Hawa's family first arrived at the camp, a plastic sheet was their only shelter. Now, a dwelling of straw walls—paid for with the bricks they made and sold—houses a bed along with several mats and a carpet unfurled on the sandy ground. Recycled plastic grain sacks serve as the roof. In the corner of her compound, a stall for sponge-bathing and another housing a latrine, completed the makeshift creature comforts.
But despite appearances, Abu Shouk is no substitute for home. Time passes slowly, said Hawa, and she longs to see her family.
"When we are in our villages, we are so busy farming and doing other things, but here, there are no activities," she said. "And we're not happy because our family is separated. My mother is in one place, my sister is in another, and me here."
Mud bricks make a show of permanence. But what Hawa wants is something more important than that. Bidding farewell to the visitors, she asked them a final question: "Why is there no peace?"
]]>Born and raised in Kutum, one of the last small towns on the edge of the hundreds of miles of vast desert that sweeps north toward Libya and Egypt, Mohammed Ibrahim has an almost encyclopedic knowledge of the dozens of different tribes and communities scattered across the region. Today he heads the agency's livelihoods program in northern Darfur, and visitors to Oxfam and the many international staff working on the program regularly turn to him for information on intricate local customs and history. Such local knowledge has helped shape Oxfam's work there over the past 20 years.
Oxfam has traditionally worked in partnership with rural communities throughout Darfur, building local capacity and providing technical know-how to help improve water supplies, sanitation, and agriculture in what has always been one of the poorest and most isolated parts of Sudan. When the current conflict escalated in 2003, up to two million people were uprooted from their villages and crowded into towns or settled into camps for displaced people. The emergency needs of the people of Darfur were clear and Oxfam responded by providing water and sanitation to around 400,000 displaced people.
But many hundreds of thousands more remain in their villages, often in highly volatile rural areas where various groups still vie for control. Many have seen their crops burned, their animals stolen, and their villages looted of assets like irrigation pumps, engines and cooking pots. The violence has prevented villagers from trading in local markets or from going out to harvest their fields. The traditional livelihoods with which they previously sustained themselves have been destroyed.
The local knowledge Oxfam has accumulated over the last two decades is essential in helping such communities. As Mohammed Ibrahim points out: "Oxfam has a long and successful history of working with communities in Darfur. In the current conflict, which continues to devastate the lives and livelihoods of millions of people, these villages have lost everything. Together we can help them along the path to recovery, to strengthen their food security and to rebuild their livelihoods."
Many villagers have had virtually everything they owned taken from them. So the Oxfam livelihoods team is first focusing on helping to replace what has been lost. Working initially in villages to the west of North Darfur in the areas of Kebkabiya, Saraf Omra, and Birka Seira, Oxfam is providing around 30,000 people with a wide range of goods and resources.
Grain and vegetable seeds have been distributed and villages will be carefully restocked with donkeys and other animals. Livestock are an important source of milk and meat and can also be sold to buy grain. Donkeys in particular are integral to the livelihoods of rural Darfur, being used for transport water, firewood, and other essentials.
Before the conflict, many villages had communal mills, which provided an income for the village and also reduced household expenditures, since families did not need to take grain to a private mill. Most such mills have now been destroyed, so Oxfam is working to replace them. Community health committees from each village have planned for the income obtained from these new mills to then be plowed back into rehabilitating schools and health centers that have also been destroyed in the conflict.
Mohammed Ibrahim and the rest of the team consult such community-based committees, women's groups, and other vulnerable sectors of Darfur society at every step to discuss the needs and concerns of each village. "These public forums have enabled Oxfam to tailor our projects to meet villagers' precise needs," he says. Such needs include not only food and farming but also protection and security. With the security situation in Darfur showing no sign of improving, it remains an extremely dangerous place, and communities expressed concern that being re-equipped with relatively valuable tools would only increase their vulnerability to looting and attack. So the livelihoods project is working in tandem with Oxfam's protection team to ensure that communities are not exposed to additional risk. The agency is providing only what is most urgently needed, including blankets, cooking utensils and tools such as donkey plows—relatively low-cost items that should not attract the attention of bandits.
Even the animals' gender can affect a village's security. Only female donkeys are distributed: They can haul firewood, food, and water every bit as well as males, but have significantly less market value and so are less likely to be stolen.
After restocking it is essential to ensure that the animals are kept healthy. Selected local villagers are to be trained as "paravets," assistant veterinarians who will be equipped with toolkits and drugs to ensure that animals are vaccinated against disease.
Mohammed Ibrahim and the team are also spearheading a new initiative to conduct research at key regional markets in North Darfur, mapping out the different production and food security patterns in different areas. Prices of animals, cash crops, and sorghum and millet (the staple grains of the region) are being compared, as well as prices of non-food items such as charcoal and firewood, which, in addition to their practical uses, provide a vital source of income for rural communities. The information gathered will be passed on to other NGOs working in the area to help shape other livelihood and food security programs.
]]>But, he adds proudly, he does know how to wash his hands properly after going to the latrine—something he rarely did just a few weeks ago. And he proceeds to demonstrate to the group of children, who—like Osman—have started attending Oxfam's child-to-child educational programs that aim to equip the children of Kalma camp with knowledge that could save their lives.
Football matches, songs, volleyball tournaments, and playground games are just some of the innovative ways in which the Oxfam Public Health Promotion (PHP) team here is teaching children how to stay healthy.
Kalma is one of the largest camps in Darfur—mile after mile of tightly packed shelters and rapidly constructed sanitation systems currently home to around 89,000 displaced people. As in most camps, the vast majority of residents are women and children. Two years ago there were just 19,000 people here, but rapid growth since then has created an abundance of health risks, to which children are the most vulnerable.
"Children everywhere need to be taught to wash their hands and keep clean," says Khaled Suleiman, one of Oxfam's PHP officers in the camp. "But here especially so, as the consequences can easily be fatal."
To make sure the messages sink in, Khaled and the team try to make them as fun as possible. Oxfam has built a series of community shelters where child-to-child interactive classes and activities are held.
Songs are enthusiastically sung about how to prevent malaria and diarrhea ("Our food should be washed, our water should be covered," the children sing, accompanied by stomping of feet and clapping of hands).
Other songs encourage children to participate in community clean-up campaigns, and explain how to set up mosquito nets and use the latrines properly. Oxfam has installed around 9,000 family latrines and 1,500 communal latrines in Kalma.
The children in Kalma love to make noise. The merest glimpse of a new Oxfam worker elicits a chorus of hundreds of voices shouting in unison, "OK, OK"—the nickname the children of Kalma have given to foreign visitors and the first English word every child in the camp learns. The welcome is followed by mischievous smiles and laughter all round, and the children's enthusiasm for loud, energetic fun extends into the classroom.
"My favorite is the singing and dancing," says Osman of the child-to-child activities, his arms waving frantically about his head as he mimes the actions to a song about swatting away flies. "And I like to learn new things." He has spent most of his short life in the camp after arriving here with just his mother. Nobody is sure what happened to his father and brothers.
Nine-year-old Hawa also likes to sing. "I enjoy the classes as I can make friends with lots of other children and learn at the same time. We sing the songs when we go home as well. I would like to go to school but so far I have not been able to," said Hawa, who has been in the camp for two-and-a-half years since her family fled their village of Shataya, nearly 100 miles to the west.
The PHP team works with community volunteers to come up with new songs that they think the children will find both educational and entertaining. "Kalma is as big as a city, so it is divided into eight 'sectors,'" says Khaled. "Recently we heard children from sectors 7 and 8—the only parts of the camp where Oxfam does not work—singing our songs! The children at our classes had been singing at home and gradually the songs spread around the entire camp."
The programs have proved extremely popular—almost too popular. The teachers—themselves displaced people living in the camp—say they often have 400 children trying to cram into a single room at the community shelter. "Every time we open the door, another dozen or so burst in," says Khadija, who teaches children in Sector 3 of the camp.
"Having such large classes can make it very hard for us to get the message across successfully," she says. "So we have split them into groups. Group 1 comes between 8:30 and 10:30 and Group 2 between 11 and 1 pm. Of course, some children try and come to both!"
"We are trying to ensure that the children are exposed to our messages at every possible opportunity," says Khaled. "The songs are just a part of our activities and it is clear that children's health has improved since the programs began."
Cartoon drawings explaining how food can breed germs, and how failing to clean latrines will spread disease and attract rodents, are pinned to the walls of the community shelters. Football matches and other events are organized for children to attend, where health-related information is disseminated.
The PHP team is also coordinating its efforts with the four primary schools in Kalma camp. A number of children from each class are chosen as supervisors and join teachers for training in hygiene promotion. The skills and facts they learn are then passed on to their classmates and pupils.
]]>The camp is only about nine miles from their village of Abu Hamra, which once was home to about 500 families. But after Janjaweed militia tore through the community burning dwellings and looting, Omar's family fled, as nearly two million other Darfur residents have done since conflict erupted in the region in 2003.
Omar's family was among the lucky ones. They survived the attack, but lost many of their belongings, including about 110 sheep. They arrived at Shangil Tobai with just a donkey, a bed, and a few clothes. There, they have joined nearly 20,000 other people, many of them from surrounding villages, who have squeezed into Shangil Tobai and a neighboring camp, Shadad, seeking safety from the violence that has shattered their communities.
Oxfam is helping about 400,000 displaced people scattered in camps like Shangil Tobai. The agency is supplying them with clean water and sanitation facilities as well as with essential household goods like soap and water containers. At Shangil Tobai, families have received two cooking pots, a cup, a bowl, a bucket, two jerry cans, a sleeping mat, and blankets.
But while people's basic needs are being met and Omar's youngest children are in school, there is little to fill the lives of camp residents at Shangil Tobai. In their two years at the camp, Omar's family has had no opportunity to earn an income, nor have they been able to plant their fields or harvest a crop. At the end of each month, there is rarely enough food left from the rations provided by international aid groups to feed everyone in the family sufficiently. And it has been nearly two years since any of them have eaten meat—a regular part of their diet back at Abu Hamra.
Danger circles the camp. Leaving its security to collect firewood for cooking is necessary—but risky. In recent weeks, raiders on camels attacked a small group on the edge of the camp, killing three people and stealing their animals. People are increasingly worried that such attacks will take place within the camps themselves.
Omar and his family long to go home, but they find it hard to envision any improvement in their situation in the near future. Talks aimed at a political solution that would bring long-term security to the region have progressed only haltingly.
"We miss our homes. We miss our village, our furniture, our animals, and also our privacy," said Omar. But until a political settlement is reached—and safety for civilians is guaranteed—it is simply too dangerous for Omar and his family to leave Shangil Tobai.
]]>In the camps for displaced people that stretch along Chad's border and across conflict-torn Darfur in western Sudan, the concept is hard to explain. In a world of want—where violence has forced more than two million people from their homes—how do you describe an abundance so great that it needs a cookbook loaded with directions to keep it all straight?
That experience helped define just one of the jarring truths about the global distribution of food that Peter Menzel and Faith D'Aluisio explore in their new book, Hungry Planet: What the World Eats. A grand photo essay 288 pages long, the book took the couple on a journey to 24 countries where they got to know 30 families and the intricacies of each family's weekly food consumption. Family recipes accompany every profile.
Brand names and plastic packaging proliferate on some of the pages, testament to the global reach of processed foods and beverages. But on other pages, seeds and raw grains sit in burlap sacks—some more empty than full. A few of those limp sacks belong to the Aboubakars: D'jimia Ishakh Souleymane, who is a widow, and her five children.
The lessons Menzel and D'Aluisio learned from their visits with the Aboubakars are hard to forget, and they hope that readers who consume the stories and pictures in their book won't forget them either.
"What we really wanted to do was help people who didn't have a clue understand what was going on in the rest of the world," said D'Aluisio. "It's important—especially for Americans."
For starters, consider the water situation at the Breidjing camp in Chad where the Aboubakars have now lived for more than a year and a half. Their home is a small tent on a sandy plain crowded with countless others just like it. Oxfam has been providing water to thousands of people in the camp. The minimum provision in emergency situations such as this is just shy of 4 gallons per person a day.
"Water is one of the biggest problems," said Menzel. "Thirty thousand people use a lot of water. There's a big difference between having a faucet and carrying water and standing in line for water."
When the Oxfam water truck arrives to fill an empty bladder—a storage device that looks like a giant water bed—the relief that ripples through the blocks of tents is palpable, added D'Aulisio.
"The water is so precious," she said. "I do not turn a faucet on without thinking of all those people."
D'Aulisio's relationship with her garden has also changed since visiting the Aboubakars. Now, she wastes nothing from it, preferring to invest whatever time it takes to can the extra fruits and vegetables it produces.
D'jimia works hard for the little bit of extra food she buys for her family. She earns about $1.35 a day toiling in the fields of nearby villagers—when she can get the work. She uses the money to buy fresh tomatoes or dried okra. But the bulk of her family's diet—three meals a day—consists of the aiysh she stirs up in a big black pot over a fire outside her tent.
Aid groups provide the rations for the roughly 30,000 people in the camp. The allotments are far from lavish, and amount to about 2,100 calories per day per person in the form of a cereal, such as sorghum or millet, and small scoops of pulses and a corn-soy blend. The rations also include small amounts of sugar and salt.
"Most of everyone looks like they're on the minimum amount of calories needed," said Menzel. The rationing system takes into account only the numbers of people in a family, not the size of their appetites or where they fall on the growth charts.
"If you've got a lot of teen-age boys, you've got some difficulty," added D'Aluisio, speaking from her own experience mothering hungry boys.
D'Aluisio and Menzel learned about some of the ins and outs of camp management during their three-night sojourn in a tent at the Oxfam compound outside of Breidjing.
"Staying in the compound was great," said D'Aluisio. "We got to hang out with the people who were there."
One of the things that became clear to the couple during their stay at Breidjing is how complex the business is of feeding, sheltering, and providing water and sanitation for tens of thousands of people in a remote, arid place.
"Most people who see it from the outside don't see the difficulty," said D'Aluisio of the logistics in just getting enough food to people. "Sometimes there is a disconnect between the giving and the getting, and that disconnect is infrastructure."
For example, the camp was giving food out every 15 days instead of every 30 days—which would have been half the work—because it didn't have enough on hand. Food reserves were far away, and there was no guarantee when new supplies would arrive.
The difficulty in stocking Breidjing—or any of the camps in Chad and Darfur where hundreds of thousands of displaced Sudanese have lived in limbo since early 2003—is just the tip of a problem that affects millions of people around the world every day.
"Most hunger in the world is politics based," said D'Aluisio. "There is more than enough food on the planet to feed everybody. It's just warped in terms of who's getting the food and who already has the food. There needs to be more equality than there is."
]]>If she does, there's a chance she will be beaten or raped. If she doesn't, she won't be able to cook breakfast for her children. Even the donkey might starve. Piles of rotting carcasses along one edge of the camp are a constant reminder that many other animals have perished.
Muna isn't her real name, but the difficult choices this mother of five has to make are very real. And so are the dangers she and countless other women face each day in Darfur. In some camps, women, children, and old men make up the majority of the population. Many of the younger men have been killed in attacks.
Not collecting firewood or fodder would have other consequences as well. The first provides cash to help Muna feed her family, and the second keeps her donkey healthy enough to haul water.
Muna and her children are among the hundreds of thousands of families in Darfur who receive monthly food distributions from the World Food Program. The staple grains, a protein-rich mix of corn and soy, and cooking oil are a welcome contribution, but Muna needs a few other ingredients to prepare even the most basic meal. She sells some of the firewood in the local market to earn a few extra dinars to buy onions, tomatoes, dried okra, or chilies to supplement her family's diet. Without the firewood, she would have to sell a portion of the food ration itself in order to buy the additional items. But the amount she receives each month is already barely enough to survive.
The donkey fodder is also very important, since Muna needs her donkey to carry water from the nearby well several times a day. When that well runs dry, as it often does this time of year, she must travel even farther to fetch water. This, too, can be a perilous journey that exposes her to potential violence.
But even the camp that Muna shares with 15,000 other displaced people isn't particularly safe. The straw walls of her small compound provide some privacy, but no real protection. Her "house" is just a shelter made of sticks and plastic sheeting. Sometimes armed men come into the camp at night. They shout and laugh and fire their guns into the air, terrorizing the population.
On the day an Oxfam team arrived for a field visit, the body of a camp resident had been found near the dry riverbed on one side of town. People said he had been beaten to death during the night. The previous week, a group of men from outside the camp visited a house not far from Muna's. They beat the man who lived in the house and raped his wife.
Beyond the perimeter of the camp where Muna lives, there are other groups of people who don't seem afraid at all. Nomadic tribes continue to roam freely in this area. Some of them ride horses and camels, and some of them carry guns. They keep watch over enormous herds of cattle, camels, sheep, and goats. Their animals graze peacefully among the charred ruins of mud-brick huts in the many abandoned villages that dot the landscape.
Of course, not all nomadic tribes are affiliated with the notorious Janjaweed militias that continue to terrorize civilians throughout Darfur. But the contrast is striking: Most of the nomads the Oxfam team met in the Wadi Salih area were confident, reasonably well-fed and secure, while Muna and her neighbors are often sick and hungry, and live in constant fear.
Although people in Muna's camp can see their destroyed village in the distance, they insist that it is too dangerous to return. The armed groups prowling the countryside have effectively imprisoned the displaced Sudanese in the camp.
Retrospective mortality studies have shown that violence has been the leading cause of death in Darfur since the region plunged into conflict in February 2003. It is difficult to calculate exactly how many people have died, but one thing is dreadfully clear: The violence continues.
Every morning, in hundreds of camps and towns across Darfur, mothers like Muna get up to face yet another day filled with threats of robbery, murder, and rape. The fear is debilitating, but the options are few. After agonizing over the alternatives, Muna will go out to collect firewood and fodder. She can't afford not to.
]]>For that reason Oxfam America's duty is clear: We and our project partners must help reform government policies, laws, and social injustices that deny people the right to live a decent life. We do this by providing funding, training, and the moral support people need to make real, substantive and transformative changes. The courageous and visionary people who do this work are setting out to build a movement for social justice—and Oxfam America is one of the few organizations to which they can turn for the help they need.
]]>It's called the West Salvation Road, and it remains unfinished. In Darfur, where nearly two years of violence have left close to one-third of the region's six million people homeless, salvation is just a dream. The rutted dirt roads that link the villages offer little hope that deliverance will come any time soon.
Darfur is not an easy place to navigate no matter what mode of transportation you choose. Heat, banditry, mud and dust, armed attacks, even little boys throwing stones—all of it conspires to make travel across Darfur slow and exhausting.
In parts of the south, up to 40 inches of rain can fall in a year, leaving sections of roads deep in sloppy silt. When it's dry, the fine sand piles in drifts across the roads, swallowing vehicles to their axles. Sometimes, the only way to get where you want to go is to put on your shoes and walk.
It was the shoes that kept catching my eye at Abu Shouk, and other temporary camps where tens of thousands of homeless people now wait out endless days. Mostly, they were slip-on sandals, leaving the wearers' heels to crack in the hot sand and their toes to cake with dust.
Were these the shoes that carried some people across sizzling plains and dried-out riverbeds on their long trek to safety? Many of the people fleeing their torched homes left on foot—and walked for days.
I look down at my boots, glad for the thick leather and lug soles insulating my feet. Could I have trekked the desert in flip-flops?
The only walking I've done is to the market—just once—a half-hour trudge through waves of red sand lapping over one of the few, and very busy, paved roads in El Fasher. Dodging the slower but heavily burdened donkeys, tiny blue and white taxis rattle past in a steady stream. Their interiors are packed with more passengers than it seems could possibly fit. But fit they do, and they don't look unhappy about it. It's better than walking.
Mostly, aid workers in this capital of North Darfur don't walk. They drive, or, more properly, are driven. It's hot, and offices and guesthouses are spread out across a city that some say numbers 200,000 people while others say is twice that. In a place without street names or house numbers, residents must be hard to count.
Driving in Darfur takes skill and patience. It helps to have a sturdy truck since miles of dirt tracks and sharp rocks take their toll on even the toughest vehicles. Breakdowns and mishaps are common. A flat tire and a smashed rear window—courtesy of a little boy tossing a stone—punctuate the round-trip expedition of an Oxfam convoy to Tawila, a town nearly two hours from El Fasher.
The better drivers know how to plow through the sandy drifts to firmer ground. Others simply get stuck, every wheel of their towering transport trucks sunk in the sand. For these drivers, patience is paramount. It could be a long time before they dig out again.
At Zam Zam station, a small trading post of thatched stalls near one of the camps for homeless people, a collection of trucks headed toward Nyala, the capital of South Darfur, has pulled off to the side of the road. Piled high with jerry cans, sacks, plastic chairs, and wooden pallets—all powdered with dust—the trucks look like they're here to stay. Banditry plagues South Darfur and the speculation is that the trucks, with their valuable cargo, dare not make the journey—yet.
So, the drivers wait, catching up on their sleep in the midday heat. One has pulled out a bed strapped to the back of his cab. Others tinker with a giant gear pried loose from the underbelly of a truck. Two watermelons cool in the shade behind one of the wheels.
Endurance, I think, must be a prized virtue among those in the Darfur driving profession.
In this poor and undeveloped place, the four-legged conveyances that compete stubbornly for street space seem more reliable than the four-wheeled variety. Donkeys don't get flats. They don't guzzle gas or require painstaking repairs or expensive new parts. All they need is food and water.
But at Kebkabiya, thousands of these precious donkeys suffered a grim fate last summer. They died of starvation, their carcasses littering the streets.
The donkeys belonged to some of the 60,000 homeless people who have streamed into Kebkabiya after being driven from their villages by the ongoing violence. It wasn't easy for people to leave the town to gather the grasses their donkeys desperately needed. In June, July, and August, the sturdy animals began to die—2,800 of them.
"It was a very big problem," recalls Esther Kabahuma, one of Oxfam's public health promoters. There were so many carcasses around that people began shoving them into the nearby riverbed to get rid of them.
"This town was stinking," adds Kabahuma.
Somehow, linking that word—stinking—to these dependable beasts sums up the sad truth of Darfur: What was good has gone bad. Even the completion of the West Salvation Road might not be enough to bring back the old Darfur.
]]>In the camps where people driven from their homes now live, they make shelters from any scraps they can find: cardboard, strips of cloth, frayed pieces of plastic. In the streets of El Fasher, the capital of North Darfur, goats nose through the slim pickings in the trash pits outside the homes, but there is little in them. Everything here seems to get used, and reused. In the market, shopkeepers wrap the produce in artfully folded bags they make from old newspapers. Tin cans morph into pitchers.
On this morning, we have been bouncing along in a Land Cruiser on the long and dusty road to Tawila, where Oxfam has been building latrines and bathing shelters at nearby Dalih camp. Mindful of the rules of this holy month, I have been trying not to take swigs from my water bottle, at least not in public. I'm parched, so when we make a brief stop at the Oxfam guesthouse I sneak a sip before climbing back into the truck—still thirsty.
Just then, an aid worker opens the door and quickly passes through a bag. Inside are four bottles of Pepsi, miraculously cold and beaded with condensation: one for each of us Westerners.
"As I said, American imperialism at work," crows one of my colleagues, twisting off the top and swallowing his drink with pure pleasure as the Land Cruiser lurches off again.
It's good. So good. Pepsi never tastes like this at home—not when you can have it whenever you want. Here, at high noon during Ramadan, it's illicit, and I savor it even more because of that-not knowing the best is yet to come.
When we finish our drinks, someone unrolls the window and, with a heave, sends one of the empty bottles flying out. To my surprise, another goes, and another.
I'm the only one left clutching a bottle, and I intend to hang on to it: How could they be trashing the place so wantonly? It's dusty and empty out there, but that's no reason to muck it up with sticky plastic bottles.
Go ahead, urge my colleagues. Toss it. It's not trash. The bottles are like treasure for the kids. They love them.
Treasure? I think of the photo I saw recently of boys in one of the camps playing with a small toy truck they had made from found parts. I remember hearing that other children save bits of plastic twine they find and weave them into jump ropes.
I unroll my window and wrestle for a second more with my own political correctness. Then, with the thrill of doing something wrong that is now suddenly right, I let go of the bottle. I have littered! Or have I recycled?
It's the latter, I'm quite sure.
"This is a bonanza to them to have these plastic bottles," explains Sally Field somewhat later. She is a public-health promoter working out of Oxfam's El Fasher office. In the courtyard near the kitchen at the office lies a heap of used plastic water bottles. I wondered at first why they were left there. Now, I understand, they have a destination—a very useful second life.
The ones the kids don't use to tote their water around in will wind up in the local market where shopkeepers fill them with the juice they squeeze and sell, says Field.
"The bottles are sacred," she adds.
"The kids come knocking on our door asking for them. They play with them," says Leslie Morris, an Oxfam staffer working on hygiene promotion in the town of Kebkabiya. "I like how they recycle things here. The last time I was in El Fasher I brought back as many of those pop bottles as I could."
Morris plans to adapt the bottles for use in the hand-washing program she is promoting. She'll punch small holes in the tops so the water can dribble out like a portable faucet.
Now that I'm tuned in, I begin to see the precious bottles everywhere: tucked under a child's arm for safekeeping, attached to a bit of wire for a toy, a circle of them planted in the hard earth as a colorful garden surround.
Knowing about the underground life of plastic bottles makes that Pepsi even sweeter—and maybe less illicit—than it was during Ramadan.
]]>From flooding in Haiti to drought in Ethiopia, water has long been central to Oxfam's work. Our emergency water systems are a hallmark of our agency. And our efforts to help communities access water for farming and fishing enable people to realize security.
But in recent decades, some extraordinary water pressures have emerged, as water resources are being swallowed up by dams, mining, and other commercial projects. The result is that, for the villages along the rivers, in the watersheds, and on the floodplains of East Asia being swamped or dried up by dams…for the indigenous people and farmers of South America whose rivers, lakes, and wells have been destroyed by mining…water is quickly becoming a major issue—and a major issue for Oxfam.
]]>"Mission incomplete: why civilians remain at risk in eastern Chad" reviews the performance of the UN protection mission one year after the UN Security Council authorized the mission. The report finds a mission marked by serious delays in deployment, bureaucratic hurdles and a lack of coordination. As a result, almost half a million vulnerable people who fled their homes due to the conflicts in Darfur and Chad are not adequately protected and are exposed daily to attacks, thefts, rape and forced recruitment.
The mission, mandated by the UN Security Council in September 2007, is made up of two components: UN police (referred to by its French acronym MINURCAT) responsible for security inside refugee camps and sites for internally displaced people, and the European Union military force (EUFOR), responsible for general security. To date, only 320 Chadian police have been trained to provide security but have yet to be deployed. This law and order vacuum has resulted in increased attacks on aid workers and civilians as bandits can rob and kill with impunity.
"Having fled the violence in Darfur and Chad, people thought they had found sanctuary in the camps. But eastern Chad is a volatile, lawless land and they are now marooned, living under constant threat. Every day, people face the theft of livestock, attacks, robberies and rape. They are afraid to plant their fields or collect firewood. EUFOR troops are doing their job in attempting to keep a lid on the violence, but they cannot do it alone, and urgently need the back up of the mission's promised police" said Roland Van Hauwermeiren, Oxfam's Country Director in Chad.
The report finds that EUFOR, which is almost fully deployed, has made many feel safer by patrolling the main roads, destroying unexploded ordnances, and by positioning battalions around camps during rebel and government fighting. But the EU troops are a military force, not a police force, and are thus less capable of dealing with the upsurge in banditry and criminality.
While the UN must do more to protect civilians now, the report recognizes that without a comprehensive political solution to the internal crisis in Chad, there will be no hope of long-term security for the civilians who are currently at risk. Oxfam thus calls on the international community to start working for a negotiated settlement of the crisis in Chad.
"Chad deserves more than band-aids. If the root causes of this protracted crisis are not addressed, the mission will have spent resources and risked the lives of its personnel in vain. The United Nations Security Council, must task the UN Special Representative in Chad with developing an inclusive peace process, as only with this political mandate will the mission be truly capable of protecting the people and securing Chad's future," said Van Hauwermeiren.
With the mission's mandate coming up for renewal on the 24 September, Oxfam is urging the United Nations Security Council to ensure that the mission is capable of dealing with current security crisis in eastern Chad and giving people the protection they urgently need by:
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?As the conflict in Chad and Darfur continues, victims of violence remain desperately in need of basic support systems. Now more than ever it is critical that the international community work towards putting an end to this crisis,? said Not On Our Watch co-founder Matt Damon.
The grant allows for Oxfam to serve over 200,000 vulnerable people at a time of desperate need. Plagued with continuing violence, a lack of basic services, and depleted food rations, refugees and displaced persons are becoming more vulnerable to hunger, disease and poverty every day.
The funding provided to Oxfam will support immediate action to avert future hunger and provide access to clean water for some of the region?s most vulnerable citizens?displaced families and their host communities. The programs include:
These actions will better equip communities to deal with upcoming challenges. With improved water, sanitation, agriculture and income, more resources will be available in times of need.
Oxfam continues to provide vital assistance to more than 500,000 people affected by the crisis, both in Darfur and eastern Chad. The agency provides essential access to clean water and sanitation, public health education, and livelihoods opportunities and training.
"Living on the brink of disaster, any additional factor could result in a sudden crisis for the people of Chad," said Raymond C. Offenheiser, president of Oxfam America. ?The funding from Not On Our Watch helps Oxfam to plan for the future, and will help thousands of people to provide for themselves during lean times.?
]]>“Wherever I went you could hear the sound of gun shots. There were armed men around every corner,” said Anderson. “I couldn’t understand how violence like that could be so routine.” Commenting on conversations he had with a local he was traveling with, Anderson noted, “to me it’s a disaster, to him, it’s life.”
In Kebkabiya, a small town that has seen its population swell to over 60,000 people after thousands settled there to escape attacks on their own villages, he spoke with young people, ranging in age from 14 to 20, who had been displaced from their homes and are living in temporary shelters. He asked them all the same question:
“If there was one thing you could ask Americans to help you with, what would it be?”
Anderson found that the responses varied little regardless of whom he asked. He heard two things consistently —the need for health care and technical training for jobs. The health care Anderson heard about is not what immediately comes to mind in the U.S.
“They need shovels to fill in holes and ditches in their schoolyards because during the rainy season, stagnant pools of water form and become breeding grounds for mosquitoes that carry infectious diseases like malaria. In addition, many of the young people in Darfur are looking for training in technical skills—things like carpentry and metalwork so they can get jobs and help to rebuild their communities,” said Anderson.
Also, he observed that young people did not have any way to become active participants and leaders in their communities, to have a voice in what was happening around them.
“For teens in the U.S, there are so many ways to connect with each other and get involved in things that matter to us. In Darfur, so many of the young people I met would love to go to school, but don’t because they can’t afford it, or because the roads to the schools are unsafe and they worry about what might happen to them if they try to get to class,” said Anderson. “For those who are able to go to school, that’s all they can do in a day. Once they return from class, they have to stay at home since they are not allowed to leave their homes after dark because of security concerns.”
Anderson approached Oxfam about going to Darfur after co-founding a successful national high school challenge to raise awareness and funds for Darfur by using the social networking site, Facebook. After helping to raise over $300,000, part of which helped to fund Oxfam’s relief effort in Darfur, he felt the next logical step was to see the region for himself and bring his experiences back to share with other teens.
“I feel it is my moral obligation to be a representative of my generation, and to show that we have a strong voice and can take positions on important issues playing out here in the U.S. and abroad,” Anderson concluded.
Oxfam took Anderson on in this ambassador role as a reflection of his contribution to raising awareness on the crisis in Darfur and recognition of the opportunity to involve and educate the next generation of leaders.
Oxfam is providing vital assistance on the ground to about 500,000 people affected by the crisis, both in Darfur and eastern Chad. In addition, access to clean, safe water and sanitation as well as basic necessities such as blankets, soap, and jerry cans for carrying water are provided. Oxfam also offers public health education programs to try and prevent the spread of disease; and, as the crisis continues, Oxfam is implementing projects to provide livelihood opportunities to help people find some alternative to the reliance on external aid.
In addition to its humanitarian relief efforts in Darfur, Oxfam is calling for a full and effective ceasefire by all the many parties of the conflict; better protection of civilians and aid workers, and improved humanitarian access so that aid agencies can reach those in need.
]]>"The humanitarian need in Gereida remains enormous, and we have been extremely keen to return. It is with great regret that our security concerns have not been addressed, leaving us with no choice but to relocate our programs elsewhere. Since the attack, we have repeatedly stressed our desire to return to the town. But the local authorities have not lived up to their responsibility to ensure our staff can work safely. Despite our repeated requests, none of the perpetrators have been held to account, none of the assets stolen in the attack have been returned, and we have not received credible assurances that similar attacks would not take place if we did return," said Caroline Nursey, Oxfam's Sudan Programme Manager.
Gereida is under the control of the Minni Minnawi faction of the Sudan Liberation Movement (SLM), a signatory to the Darfur Peace Agreement in May 2006. Since the signing of that agreement the situation in Darfur has deteriorated significantly.
"Without action and assurances from those in control, we cannot operate in areas that have proven to be so extremely unsafe for our staff. The international community needs to ensure that parties to the conflict in Darfur take their responsibilities under international humanitarian law seriously," said Nursey.
Oxfam has reached an agreement with the International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC) that it will take over maintenance of water and sanitation services on a long-term basis. However, Oxfam's important health education and livelihoods work in the town will cease after August. This work has helped prevent the spread of disease in the vast, crowded camp and also provided opportunities for people to improve their livelihoods and reduce their dependency on aid.
"As usual in Darfur, the people who will suffer most are the civilians who have already been attacked, forced from their homes and had their lives thrown into turmoil. For the last six months they have not had the level of assistance that they need," added Nursey.
The attack in Gereida on December 18th 2006 saw armed men raid the compounds of Oxfam and Action Against Hunger/Action Contre La Faim. 12 humanitarian vehicles were stolen, a female aid worker raped and an Oxfam staff member very badly beaten. Other aid workers were subjected to mock executions. Communications equipment and money were also taken. Oxfam staff were among 71 aid workers evacuated from the town as a result. Since then Oxfam has maintained some basic public health services through local staff in the town, but most operations have been suspended.
While the incident in Gereida was particularly serious, targeted attacks on aid workers have now become a daily occurrence in Darfur, gravely threatening the entire humanitarian response on which 4 million people depend. Aid agencies' ability to reach people in need has been greatly curtailed as a result.
Oxfam began working in Gereida in mid-2004 as people began to seek shelter there from attacks on villages in the surrounding area. In early 2006, work was scaled up considerably to respond to escalating violence, that in just four months more than tripled the population of the camp. Until mid-2006 Oxfam was one of only three agencies working in the town and provided tens of thousands of new arrivals with access to clean water, sanitation and other essential items such as blankets and shelter materials. By the time of the attack in December Oxfam was pumping 15 liters of water per person per day into the camp (more than 2 million liters in total) – compared to four liters per person per day just four months earlier.
Despite the withdrawal from Gereida, Oxfam is still assisting around 400,000 people affected by the Darfur-Chad crisis, by providing life-saving clean water, sanitation, health education and livelihoods work. It is now looking at new areas of South Darfur state in which to extend its work.
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