There are places in the world where it is a simple fact of life, but Darfur isn’t one of them. Under the blazing desert sun, the fact of life is thirst, and finding clean water is anything but simple. In a region plagued by conflict and banditry, trekking to a source of water can be dangerous - matched only by the risk of drinking what you find there.
So when Oxfam Great Britain (OGB) and 15 other aid providers were expelled from Darfur in March of 2009, everyone braced for the worst. Without agencies providing engineers to ensure the flow of water to the camps, fuel to run the generators, and public health workers to supply critical materials and information, the risk of disease epidemics was very real.
But in emergencies, it is never wise to underestimate the power of communities.
In North Darfur, the community committees and leaders who had worked closely with Oxfam were able to quickly take charge of the diminishing water supply, supervising and protecting the facilities until outside help arrived.*
And the public health volunteers didn’t miss a beat. “When an epidemic happens...it will not stop,” says one. As stocks of hygiene supplies dwindled, she and others did what they still could do. “We did not stop guiding and working with our people. We never stopped raising awareness about health.”
Meanwhile, Oxfam shifted gears. As OGB exited the region, Oxfam America – one of the few international agencies permitted to remain in Darfur - prepared for a massive scale-up. Soon Oxfam was again supplying water, sanitation facilities, and hygiene programs and materials to more than 235,000 people in the camps of North Darfur and was moving quickly to expand its programs to South Darfur.
The armed conflict has taken its toll on survivors. Faces there are etched with grief, loss, and fear, and the tone of the camps is grave. But on the subject of clean water, sometimes a note of satisfaction or even happiness creeps in.
“The clean water we get is what we want for eating, for drinking, for bathing, for washing, for taking care of our children,” says a resident of Kebkabiya, where an Oxfam partner has taken charge of the water supply. “Because it’s clean water, we don’t have diseases or health problems. Isn’t it good!”
As the crisis in Darfur falls off the headlines yet stretches on with no end in sight, the Oxfam taps convey more than water; they carry a heartfelt message from the outside world: We have not forgotten you.
Donate now to the Sudan Crisis Relief and Rehabilitation Fund.
* In the interim between the exit of Oxfam Great Britain and the launch of the Oxfam America water and sanitation programs, a Sudanese government agency supported by the United Nations Children’s Fund (UNICEF) was able to step in temporarily to fill some of the needs, such as fuel for generators.
]]>There is a question that haunts survivors of civil wars: how can I live with my neighbor? Negotiating high-level peace agreements may be tough, but try negotiating water rights with the same people who killed your loved ones.
Living side by side in North Darfur’s northeastern region of Mellit are three major tribes - the Berti, the Zayadia, and the Meidob – who chose different paths and allies in the Darfur conflict. Neighbors became wartime adversaries, and access to water, firewood, and grazing and agricultural lands – once a symbol of peaceful coexistence – became flashpoints. The age-old system of keeping the peace among the tribes gave way to fear and violence, killings and reprisals.
It was into this setting that Ahmed Adam Yousif launched a year-long project aimed at reviving the peace. Yousif is the director of the Ajaweed Organization for Peace and Reconciliation, an Oxfam partner. He brought to the task strong relationships with tribal leaders and the skills of an ajaweed – a respected traditional mediator.
Trying out each others’ moves
Yousif and his organization began by helping the Mellit communities form large tribal peace committees. After a period of discussion and training in conflict resolution, the groups created a single body to represent all three tribes.
Next came the activities: the peace committees sponsored inter-tribal drama productions in the high schools, song and dance performances, and sporting events in which each tribe first competed against the others and then intermingled.
“We were waiting to see who was going to kill each other,” says Yousif, gravely.
Meanwhile, with the help of Ajaweed intermediaries, the inter-tribal committee began discussing areas of dispute.
Over the course of the year, there were exchange visits among the communities, and then the big event: a fair, in which each tribe shared its handicrafts, food, songs, and dances. At first, says Yousif, people would sing their own songs and perform their own dances, but after awhile they started trying out each others’ moves.
Sometimes, he noticed older women crying at these events. They grew up at a time when the tribes lived together as neighbors, sharing celebrations and visits, and intermarrying, as well, but lately their days have been defined by isolation and fear. Overwhelming relief moved them to tears, he thinks. “When they see what’s going on, they remember the past, and they can’t control themselves.”
The end of a mission
Standing on a cabinet next to Yousif’s desk sits a tall whiteboard displaying a statement in flowing Arabic letters. It is a declaration of commitment, signed by the chief of each tribe in February 2009, pledging them to promote peaceful coexistence, trust, cooperation, stability, prosperity, and good human relations. It is a monumental achievement for Ajaweed and the tribes, but there’s more.
In July of this year, the chiefs sat down for a three-day meeting to resolve an array of provoking problems – the theft of livestock, murder, and disputes over grazing lands and water sources. If Yousif was still waiting to see who would kill whom, he was doing it from outside the room, because now the group was functioning without the softening influence of intermediaries. And the meeting was a success.
“By this, we came to the end of our mission,” says Yousif. The tribal leaders no longer needed a helping hand to resolve their most grievous differences.
As for the impact on the lives of community members, “We couldn’t believe the outcome,” says Yousif. “Life had become normal. Markets flourished. Roads opened. People moved freely and had access to water sources, farms, and forests. The entire picture had changed for the better.”
Security had returned to their lives, and it wasn’t from the barrel of a gun. “Security is not tanks and armies and machine guns,” says Yousif. “It is perception.”
Building on hope
If all this seems too good to be true, it is important to understand that for hundreds of years, these tribes have employed effective means of easing tensions, and preventing destabilizing reprisals when violence does erupt. Yousif and Ajaweed didn’t step in to reinvent the wheel; they simply created the space for the communities to revive their own peace-building traditions.
Around the world, hopes for the future of Darfur hang on peace talks and peacekeepers, and the work of grassroots peacemakers is far below the radar. Yet, Ajaweed and the tribal committees have brought a measure of peace to tens of thousands of people in North Darfur. Now Yousif has set his sights of the troubled regions of Kutum and Kebkabiya, working from the hope and belief that war-torn communities there and everywhere have the desire and the strength to commit themselves to peace.
Many women in Darfur no longer have homes. They are living in crowded camps for displaced people where the simple stoves on which they cook define their days—days filled with treks for firewood that expose them to attacks and sexual assault, with dangerous hunts for work to earn money for stove fuel, with painful decisions about selling some of the food donors give their families so they can use the cash to buy fuel to cook the rest.
All of these choices are grim. But in Darfur, where more than six years of conflict have set 2.8 million people adrift, this is the reality. And that's why Oxfam America is launching an initiative, together with the Darfur Stoves Project and an in-country organization called Sustainable Action Group, to bring a new kind of wood-burning stove into the camps, a stove designed to reduce dramatically the amount of firewood families need each day.
The initiative is the latest step in Oxfam's ongoing program to help women in Darfur find cheaper and more efficient ways to cook. The goal is not only to keep them safer by cutting the amount of time they spend searching for wood beyond the safety of the camps, but to reduce the demand for the resource which is leading to severe deforestation in some areas.
"A huge issue for Darfur is its fragile environment," says Emily Farr, Oxfam's humanitarian livelihoods specialist who is overseeing the stove project. "Firewood is becoming more and more scarce, and large tracts of land—especially around some of the camps—have lost all their trees."
Called the Berkeley-Darfur stove, this new device could go a long way toward addressing that problem.
Made from sheets of metal, the new stove incorporates ideas provided by women themselves in the camps. Its design looks deceptively simple. A small opening for the firebox prevents too much fuel from being stuffed inside. The stove has tabs that can hold a plate for baking bread. And vents have been designed to limit the amount of air rushing in on gusty days.
Many women still cook on traditional stoves: three stones lodged into the ground with a chunk of firewood or charcoal burning in the center and a pot resting on top. The Berkeley-Darfur stove is 75 percent more efficient than the traditional stove and 50 percent more efficient than the clay models some families use. The metal stoves, which cost $20 each to make, last about five years—a good deal longer than the clay versions which can collapse after just four months.
Oxfam's plan calls for the distribution of 9,120 of the new stoves. Kits with all the parts are being manufactured in India, but the stoves themselves will be assembled in Darfur—with the help of local hands. That's one of the key objectives of the program: to offer displaced people training and a chance to earn a little income. Expectations are that each worker will be able to build about six stoves a day.
In a place that gets so much sun so much of the year why not provide people with solar cookers?
"In each of the camps where we work we have to consider what suits the situation best," says Farr. "Solar stoves can't be the only kind people have because there are many foods that can't be easily cooked using the existing affordable solar technology. If people can't cook their normal foods, they won't use the stove."
Likewise, in regions where there is a reliable supply of gas, it makes sense to equip people with gas stoves because they can be a lot cheaper for a family to operate than a traditional wood stove. In camps near urban areas, families can spend between $55 and $95 a month on wood for their traditional stoves. It's their second biggest expense after food. Refilling a gas cylinder costs $18, and the gas can last between one to two months. Gas stoves are also cleaner than wood—and women appreciate not having their clothes and bodies shrouded in smoke.
Oxfam and the Sudan Action Group also provided gas stoves to some of the families in Al Salaam and Abu Shouk camps outside El Fasher, the capital of North Darfur.
"People loved the gas stoves because the fuel is cheap, it burns clean, and food cooks very quickly," says Farr. "However, there are challenges with the supply chain: gas stoves are only an option where gas is readily available, such as in more urban areas." She notes that one local entrepreneur started a business ferrying empty canisters from a camp into El Fasher where he would have them filled and then return them to the camp –for a fee of 45 cents per canister.
While the majority of people who tried the stoves could afford them, some families found the monthly cost of the gas at $18 a canister too steep.
The cost of fuel—whether it's gas or wood—and its availability are things all stove projects have to take into account. If gas is available, will people have the money to purchase it? If not, then a smart stove project will include a way for people to earn an income, says Farr.
"In a place where we're using a model that burns wood and people are collecting it, we need to integrate peace-building and protection. Even if a stove uses less wood, women still have to go out and collect it—and they need protection," says Farr.
And so does the environment, she adds. Good stove projects, like Oxfam's, include public education about the environment and steps to protect it such as asking community members to plant and nurture tree seedlings.
]]>With some champions in Congress and support from the White House, we're hoping to see domestic legislation that not only fines companies who pollute, but also uses some of these funds to help affected communities build their resilience. If we are successful domestically, we can lay the groundwork for a global deal at the UN Climate Change Conference this December—an agreement that will create a more hospitable climate for us all.
Also in this issue: A force of peace in Peru; Rebuilding in Bangladesh; Oxfam America's new role in Darfur.
]]>The agency has had to hand over its laptops and communications equipment to the government. This will adversely affect its ability to carry out its work, which was reaching some 600,000 people across Darfur, in Khartoum state and the east of the country.
Oxfam GB estimates that its supply of clean water and other programmes can continue to be run by local communities and Oxfam-trained volunteers for a number of weeks but if its appeal to the government fails then its programme will have to close.
Oxfam GB's work in Darfur is its biggest emergency program in the world. It has operated in northern Sudan since 1983 and currently has 450 staff, 90 percent of whom are Sudanese. Oxfam is an independent, impartial non-governmental organization, with absolutely no links to the International Criminal Court. Oxfam does not have an opinion on the Court's activities, and our sole focus is meeting humanitarian and development needs in Sudan.
]]>The agency said it is appealing the decision and hopes the matter can be resolved quickly. The agency urged the government of Sudan to allow it to continue its vital humanitarian efforts, which affect hundreds of thousands of lives.
Penny Lawrence, Oxfam's international director, said, "If Oxfam Great Britain’s registration is revoked, it will affect more than 600,000 Sudanese people whom we provide with vital humanitarian and development aid, including clean water and sanitation on a daily basis. 400,000 of them are affected by the ongoing conflict in Darfur, where people continue to flee from violence, and the humanitarian needs remain enormous. It will also affect another 200,000 poor people in the east of the country and Khartoum state."
Oxfam Great Britain has operated in northern Sudan since 1983 and currently has 450 staff, 90% of whom are Sudanese. Oxfam is an independent, impartial non-governmental organization, with absolutely no links to the International Criminal Court. Oxfam does not have an opinion on the Court's activities, and our sole focus is meeting humanitarian and development needs in Sudan.
]]>Known as UNAMID, and approved by the UN Security Council 18 months ago, the force today stands at less than 60 percent of its 26,000 members. It remains woefully short of basic equipment and specialized training. Only three of its expected 19 armed police units have been deployed, and the force is still waiting for the 24 rapid response helicopters it needs to monitor the vast Darfur region. The promise the UN Security Council made to the people of Darfur has not been kept. That UNAMID, one year after its deployment, is still so short of troops and equipment, is an indictment of the international community's response to the crisis in Darfur.
Many communities report feeling most afraid and at risk during the night when armed men routinely harass and intimidate civilians. Yet in most locations, UNAMID personnel are only present during the daytime. Efforts to establish a permanent presence, 24 hours a day and seven days a week, in locations such as Kalma camp in South Darfur are welcome, but they urgently need to be replicated elsewhere.
While UNAMID is seriously under-strength, it has shown that it can still have some impact with the resources it has—if it prioritizes effective protection activities. For example, women regularly face attacks and harassment when they go out to collect firewood or go to market. When UNAMID has carried out patrols to accompany them, women have reported feeling considerably safer and much less vulnerable to attack in some areas. However, these protection patrols are still not happening nearly often enough, and in many locations not at all, even in areas where UNAMID has deployed substantial troop numbers. UNAMID must prioritize such patrols, as well as patrols along main roads to secure the delivery of vital humanitarian aid to people in need.
A full strength UNAMID can make a real improvement in people's lives—if world leaders have the political will to make it succeed. The international community must ensure that UNAMID is fully deployed and supported as soon as possible.
There is still time to make UNAMID a success, but that time is running out. UNAMID itself has come under attack and 12 peacekeepers have been killed. Every day that passes with UNAMID unable to deliver the protection that civilians expect is another day that UNAMID risks further losing the support of the very people it is supposed to assist.
The international community is repeating the same mistakes it made with UNAMID's predecessor, the African Union Mission in Sudan, or AMIS. Initially, AMIS made a positive impact when it was deployed. But it was never given the troops, equipment, or support that it needed. AMIS was left demoralized, rejected by most Darfur residents, and unable to protect itself from violent attacks. UNAMID must not be allowed to suffer the same fate.
But UNAMID alone is not the solution to the Darfur conflict, no matter how large the force is. Peacekeepers cannot succeed without some sort of peace to keep, and UNAMID cannot be a substitute for sustainable peace. All parties must be pressured to immediately cease hostilities and return to the peace process.
]]>In the DRC, increasing violence has forced people to flee from their homes, and led to the deaths of almost 1,500 people a day. Though no other conflict causes that kind of death rate, Oxfam's workers hear similar stories of murder, rape, and displacement from men and women from Colombia to Sudan every day. Sixty years after the main Geneva Conventions enshrined civilians' rights to protection, they are violated in every current conflict.
Some states and non-state actors choose to kill civilians, or pursue strategies in which civilians are too likely to die. Some governments choose to protect their citizens: to keep them safe. Some do not protect all of them, or not well enough. There are, however, successful examples of protecting civilians that show what governments and others can do when they choose to.
They have an interest in protecting civilians, because mass atrocities fuel the conflicts that, in an interdependent world, create security threats that cannot be contained. And an increasing number of governments have a "moral interest" too, because their electorates expect them to help prevent, not just condemn, the atrocities they see beamed around the world through modern information technology.
To do so, they need to make four key changes.
In early 2003, two rebel groups—the Sudan Liberation Army (SLA) and the Justice and Equality Movement (JEM)—both from Sudan's western region of Darfur, launched major offensives on government bases there. The rebels claimed that Darfur had suffered decades of political marginalization and economic neglect from the Sudanese government in Khartoum. Government forces responded and the fighting escalated. Arab militia, commonly known as Janjaweed and widely believed to be supported by the government, attacked villages, forcing inhabitants from their homes—particularly in those villages and among ethnic groups thought to be sympathetic to the rebels. Now, those rebel groups have splintered into numerous factions and the situation is growing increasingly complex.
Estimates of the total number of people killed vary widely. The Government of Sudan pegs the figure at 10,000, while many activists say the true amount is up to 400,000. Most reports say around 200,000. Violence is one cause of death. Many people have also died from illness and malnutrition—particularly early in the crisis. Since then, the enormous humanitarian response has stabilized conditions in the camps, but renewed insecurity is threatening this progress, and the large-scale displacement of people across Darfur is continuing. Already this year more than 200,000 people have abandoned their homes in the face of ongoing attacks.
Some of Darfur's camps for displaced people are the size of small cities—teeming with tens of thousands of people, many of them having been there so long that they have replaced their makeshift shelters with homes of mudbrick.. But unlike cities in the western world, these dense settlements have no modern conveniences. Pit latrines and water faucets are all communal. Food is cooked over open fires. At night, it's dark. There is no electricity.
Shortages of basic necessities add to the tedium of days spent with little for people to do. For many stranded in camps far from their villages, fields, and pastureland, life has become one long wait—for food rations, for limited amounts of water, for peace. Because of attacks on its convoys, the World Food Program, which helps to feed more than 3 million people in the region, cut rations in half in May and threatened again in early September to suspend some deliveries. In July,2008, about 50,000 people got no food aid at all because of ongoing insecurity. And now, there are fears that malnutrition is rising again.
But leaving the camps is not an option. Many people no longer have homes to return to: The fighting has reduced their villages to ashes. And venturing beyond the perimeter of the camps exposes people to attack. There are continual reports of women being beaten or sexually assaulted when they leave to collect wood for their cooking fires or fodder for their animals.
Almost daily attacks—including vehicles being hijacked, aid workers assaulted, offices robbed—have made it increasingly difficult for humanitarian groups to meet the needs of some of the more than four million people across the region who need help. Darfur is a dangerous, and deadly, place to work.
More than five years after the conflict first erupted, millions of people continue to live in fear without adequate protection—even after the United Nations Security Council passed a resolution more than twelve months ago approving the deployment of the largest peacekeeping force in the world. Known as UNAMID, the force is meant to have 26,000 military officers, police officers, and civilian personnel. But by September, 2008, only a little more than a third of that force is now at work in Darfur—less than 10,000 troops—and they are short of not only things like helicopters, but some of the most basic equipment, too. Troops have been painting their helmets blue—the color the United Nations uses—because there are not enough UN helmets to go around. And forces can't go out on long patrols because they don't have enough ration packs to support those missions.
The international community has failed the people of Darfur by not giving UNAMID the support it promised. Countries around the world are responsible for the delays in deploying the troops and providing for their needs. The ongoing violence—perpetrated by the Sudanese government, rebel groups, and militias—is also hampering deployment. The logistical challenge is enormous in bringing large numbers of troops and equipment from Port Sudan across 1,000 miles of rough terrain—some of it without roads. And the UN's own lengthy procedures slow the works down, too. But Sudan has agreed to the force and it?s up to the international community to work with the government to ensure the troops are deployed.
UNAMID, however, is only part of the solution. A ceasefire and a return to peace talks are also essential.
The crisis in Darfur can't be resolved in isolation from other conflicts and tension roiling the region. There is violence in Chad and the Central African Republic. The peace in South Sudan is fragile. UNAMID is not the only peacekeeping force in the region. It needs to coordinate closely with others as any change in security in this part of the world could trigger large movements of people across borders. The peacekeepers must plan together to address the safety of everyone.
]]>A crowded camp sheltering 25,000 people from the horrific violence of Darfur's five-year-old conflict may seem an unlikely venue, but this is no ordinary pop concert. The tunes are traditional, but the lyrics talk of hygiene and explain how people can avoid fatal diseases. Kaltoum is one of a dozen women who have teamed up with Oxfam to hold weekly music festivals in Shangil Tobai in North Darfur. The concerts bring an afternoon of fun to people who have had fled attacks on nearby villages—but they educate as well as entertain.
"Singing is a part of our lives and we like to sing whenever and wherever we can," says Omer, sipping a small glass of extra sweet tea after the concert ends. "We enjoy it, and the people listening enjoy it, but most importantly our singing now helps change people's lives for the better."
"We take Oxfam's advice about good health and sanitation and put it to our own music," she continues. "You can see the songs changing listeners' behavior. The camp is much cleaner now and there are far fewer cases of malaria and diarrhea. Children wash their hands now without being told. When you tell young children to wash they don't always do as they're asked—but when we sing it to them they join in and have fun, and they really pay attention."
The songs change over time to reflect the needs in the camp, adds Zaharisa, another member of the group. "We used to sing about the need to clean the latrines regularly, but now people are doing this well so we no longer have to sing about it. At the moment my favourite song tells people how to safely and hygienically dispose of waste and get rid of rubbish."
Zainab Basher, an Oxfam health promoter in Shangil Tobai, helps the women organize the concerts. She says the impact has been enormous.
"We hear women and children singing the songs at home and work, and the communities keep asking us when the next performance will be," says Basher. "Now the women perform at weddings and religious festivals, as well as the weekly concerts. Each community has its favorite singers, and keeping latrines and water points clean has become a source of pride. Everyone wants to keep their area of the camp the cleanest. Participation in regular clean-up campaigns has increased greatly."
As the conflict has dragged on five long years, Basher says she and the Oxfam team have had to adapt their work. "We held committee meetings, we visited people's homes, and we trained individuals to become community health mobilizers, but the longer people are here in the camp, the more these methods become routine and ineffective. We needed something new and exciting, so we approached the women singers and they were very keen to help."
The concerts are held in different areas of the camp each week, attracting an audience of hundreds each time.
"We want as many people to hear the songs as possible," says Omer. "Oxfam gives us megaphones for the concerts, to make them louder. The next step is to get cassette recorders to tape the concerts, which we can hand out as gifts to neighbours and relatives so people can listen to the messages at home. Not everyone can sing but we still want to involve them somehow. Some of the women who can't sing are good at playing drums, while others help us write the lyrics."
All over the world, children like to imitate their favourite pop stars. Darfur is no different, and Kaltoum and the women have inspired a new generation of singers who meet every week at the Oxfam health centers in the camp. One popular chorus goes:
"Let us go to school to read,
Let us learn to be healthy,
Let us clean ourselves,
All children, let us do this."
Manahir, a 15-year-old girl from the camp, leads a group of children aged 5 to 16. Some sing, some bang on small drums, and others just clap and cheer. A chant of "clean the jerry can, clean the latrine" gradually gets faster and the drums louder, until the children lose their breath and burst into applause.
"We have great fun, and we learn at the same time," says Manahir. "My friends and I come to the center every day from all over the camp."
Nearby, as the women's concert reaches its finale, another singer named Mahasa takes the megaphone and leads a chorus in praise of Basher and the Oxfam team's recent distribution of blankets and jerry cans for carrying water.
"We thank the aid agencies and the people around the world who send us these things when we have nothing," she says. "If they didn't help us we wouldn't be able to stay here in the camp. We'd have to go home and be attacked all over again."
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