Melinda worked on Oxfam's Darfur response from the beginning of 2004 until the middle of 2005, and returned again at the start of 2007.
"A woman came up to me in tears and described how her village had been attacked by militia and she had watched her child burn alive. That was four years ago, shortly after I arrived in Darfur, but I still remember it vividly today.
Then, the conflict was at its height with violent burning and looting of villages and mass displacement of hundreds of thousands of people. The first time I went to Kalma camp in South Darfur it was just a piece of wasteland, with the earliest arrivals taking shelter under plastic bags and twigs. We went to assess the conditions there and we thought the area could shelter 27,000 people at most. Little did we imagine that Kalma would eventually provide refuge for over 100,000 people, or that over two million would in time live in such camps across Darfur. Nor did people expect the camps would still be here now. They were only expected to be short-term.
Oxfam's initial response focused on providing water and sanitation. In a major humanitarian crisis, toilets are not always the first things that spring to people's minds! But they are incredibly important. In the early days, women in the camps kept stopping me and telling me what they really needed were toilets. The women had nowhere private to go so they had to wait until dark—which exposed them to the risk of violence. We were also very worried that diseases such as cholera would spread quickly in the new, crowded camps without proper sanitation. The conditions in Kalma camp at that time were horrific.
One of my proudest moments in Darfur was in early 2004 when we constructed the first trench latrine in Kalma. It was like a festival, with young children watching bemused and amazed as their mothers joined in and helped dig the pits. Although the latrine was just a simple pit with some plastic slabs, we all knew it was such a big step towards making people safe.
When I left Darfur in mid-2005 people were optimistic that the conflict might end soon. It was a shock to come back 18 months later and find no progress. The conflict has changed, but not improved. There are fewer attacks on civilians now, but there is little left to attack. Many villages have already been burned : They can't be destroyed twice. It is still far too dangerous for people to go home. Meanwhile, security for aid workers is much worse than it was before and it is getting harder and harder for us to operate.
Oxfam's work in Darfur has changed enormously over the five years. At first, we were just trying to keep people alive another day by delivering aid as quickly as possible to people who had lost absolutely everything. But now, as the situation has changed and the conflict goes on, our work has had to change, too. If someone has had no access to their farmland for the last five years, how can they support their family? People do not expect to leave the camps anytime soon, so we are working more to provide them with livelihood opportunities to earn an income.
If there is an end to the conflict soon there will be enormous challenges to overcome. People are still clinging to their last hopes for peacekeepers who can protect them. But they have been hoping for this for the past five years and patience is running out.
Resolving the Darfur conflict will need to incorporate Darfuri traditions, but also look to the future. Traditional mechanisms such as compensation for the people who have had families killed and homes burned and looted, are crucial to any sustainable peace deal, yet are often overlooked and misunderstood by international mediators. But so much has changed now and we can't just go back to how things were in Darfur before the conflict.
There are new challenges. Compared to 20 years ago, there are now far more people and animals competing for dwindling land and resources, and there is far less rainfall. Traditional nomadic lifestyles are under threat from the changing environment and urbanization, as many people now only feel safe near big towns. Darfur needs responsible and representative government to create new policies to deal with these changes. All this needs to be addressed if a solution is to be found."
Hussaam started work with Oxfam in early 2004 and has been part of our Darfur response ever since, working in camps and villages throughout Darfur.
"I began working with Oxfam just as humanitarian organizations started scaling up the response to the enormous needs in the camps here. I had just graduated from university and my first job was drawing pictures for Oxfam to use in campaigns to educate people in camps about staying healthy. The pictures were used in camps all over Darfur, and since then I've worked for Oxfam in six different camps and towns.
One of my proudest achievements over these years was our fight against cholera in Gereida camp—the biggest in Darfur sheltering over 120,000 people. Most of them arrived during just a few months in 2006. The camp grew rapidly, conditions were very basic, and there were very few organizations working there. We worked with the other aid agencies and with the community itself. It was one huge effort, but together we succeeded and nobody died of cholera.
Now the conflict has been going so many years we have to be more innovative in our work. People have heard our health messages many times—we can't just keep visiting homes and telling them the same thing over and over again. We have to find new ways to get our messages across—working with youth groups, teachers and religious leaders to educate people through music, drama, art, and at prayer sessions in the mosques.
The security problems have made things increasingly difficult over the years. It was hugely disappointing that after all our good work in Gereida, we had to close our office there because of attacks on our staff members. We worked there in a very close team and we wanted to expand our work into the rural areas and villages nearby. It was terrible that we had to pull out—but the insecurity made it impossible to continue."
Mahmoud joined Oxfam in North Darfur in early 2004 as a public health worker in Abu Shouk camp, before becoming assistant program manager of Oxfam's work in Kebkabiya. He now works in close liaison with all our field offices throughout the region.
"When we started work in Abu Shouk camp, it was like a desert. There were no water sources, no food, nothing. We dug wells and latrines and set up sanitation systems, but most of the people arriving from the villages didn't know how to use the latrines. We had to teach them. After just a few months they quickly learned and there was a big improvement in the camp.
It has been great to see the community learning and taking responsibility. At first there were lots of Oxfam staffers: The community just didn't know what to do and they needed us to show them. Now we have fewer staff in the camp, as communities participate much more and are now able to manage their own facilities.
Abu Shouk today is totally different from then. It is much more organized, and people have much more water and assistance. As the conflict goes on, people's security is still a huge issue, but many of their other concerns have changed over the five years. Earlier, people were focused on how to get food and water. Their aim was just to survive another day. Now people are thinking longer term—how to give their kids an education, how to build houses, and how to earn an income. We are constantly developing our programs to meet these needs and make sure that our work really benefits people.
There have been so many achievements to be proud of over the past five years. Most of all, I am proud of how Oxfam is perceived by local communities throughout Darfur. They know there is no political agenda to our work, and that we try and work with whichever communities need assistance—no matter what their tribe. My biggest regret is that the great work we have done in remote villages around Kebkabiya has been so limited because of the security situation, which makes it too dangerous for us to leave the town. I hope things improve so we can work in more villages again as well as in the camps."
]]>There can be no way forward for Darfur until all parties to the conflict stop fighting and stop attacks on civilians. Yet, at the moment, the violence continues, causing untold misery for millions of people—with thousands more attacked and fleeing their homes every week the conflict goes on. People across the world must let their politicians know that the suffering of so many Darfur citizens will be tolerated no longer. The international community must put greater sustained pressure on all parties to immediately cease hostilities and return to the negotiating table.
For five years the world has promised the people of Darfur that it will protect them from violence—yet there is still no peacekeeping force capable of giving civilians the protection they need and deserve. The new United Nations-African Union force, known as UNAMID, deployed at the start of 2008 but is still woefully under strength, with only a third of its 26,000 personnel on the ground and a lack of equipment, training, and political backing. The force urgently needs more international support. Getting UNAMID on the ground took 18 months of enormous political effort, but this will be wasted unless the force is made strong enough to actually protect people.
The humanitarian response in Darfur is among the largest in the world and has had an enormous impact on people’s lives. Early in the crisis, large numbers of people died of malnutrition and disease, but over time the mortality rates have been cut and people now have greatly improved access to vital services such as water, food, and healthcare. Yet daily targeted attacks on humanitarian workers are making Darfur an increasingly dangerous and difficult place to work. Oxfam’s staffers are still managing to assist over 400,000 people – but it is becoming ever harder to do so. The international community must ensure that all the many parties to the conflict respect international humanitarian law and allow aid to reach those who desperately need it.
Despite the vast humanitarian effort and the need for a stronger protection force, the only sustainable solution to the conflict is a political one. The peace process has stalled again recently and world leaders must provide sustained, coordinated leadership to reinvigorate efforts to unite the countless factions and bring all parties back to negotiations. Greater effort must be made to ensure such talks are truly representative of the people of Darfur, by increasing the involvement of civil society and marginalized groups, and reflecting the needs and concerns of all Darfur’s many ethnic groups.
While soldiers and militia fight, it is the ordinary people of Darfur who suffer. They want nothing more than an end to the conflict and to be able to get back to their normal lives – but they need our help to make this happen. People all over the world can help ensure their political leaders do not allow attention on Darfur to fade after five years. Darfur must not be allowed to become yet another “forgotten crisis.” To do so would condemn millions of its people to years more suffering.
]]>I like to sleep. But by six o'clock the first rays of the sun are coming through the holes in the wall of my family's shelter, the cocks and donkeys start their shouting, and the camp starts to come to life. The first thing I do when I get up is pray. I ask God to look after my family, and bring peace to Darfur. Then I get on with the household chores... so many chores! I boil the water on the fire to make tea, I wash my brothers' and sisters' clothes, and then I clean the cooking pans. I don't enjoy cleaning and sometimes I'm tempted to do it very quickly, but Oxfam is always telling us to clean the pans thoroughly and I'm scared of getting sick if I don't!
By 8 a.m. I'm on my way to the community center. It's a short walk from my house and it's run by Oxfam. At the center I take lessons in hygiene and English. I like the hygiene class because I can see how to make changes in our house that keep my brothers and sisters healthy. Now whenever I see a woman not taking proper care of her latrine, or not cleaning her jerry can (for carrying water) I get very upset with her. I like the English class, too, but it's very difficult. Maybe next time we can speak in English, but I don't think so!
I am not married yet. Insha'allah—God willing—I will be soon. But there are few men my age in the camp. Most people here are women, old men, and children. Many younger men are away fighting. Or dead. There was a boy in my village who my friends used to tease me that I would marry, but now I don't know where he is. So for now I live with my mother, two little brothers aged 8 and 9, and two sisters aged 11 and 13. My father is no longer with us. I'm the oldest, which means I get to be in charge, but also that I have to do most of the work while my brothers get to play soccer.
At 10 a.m. it's time to go home and make breakfast. We have two meals a day—breakfast at about 11 a.m., and then dinner in the evening. I like to eat goat meat but here in the camp it is too expensive. My mother taught me long ago to make stew from vegetables, but it would be so much nicer with some chicken in it. I also like assida, which is one of our famous Darfur dishes. It's like a thick porridge made from sorghum. Back in my village, every time there was a celebration—a wedding, a birth, a new visitor—we would have roasted meat to eat and a big party in the village.
After breakfast I head to the Oxfam water point. I do this at least once every day. At the moment there are big queues. Today I had to wait for more than one hour and it was very hot. But the other women have to wait, too, so I get to catch up on all the news while I'm waiting. I usually take one of my little sisters with me to help carry the water home as it can be too heavy for one person.
We use water for everything. I can't even imagine what it would be like to be without it. Every time I eat I need water—to boil the food, to wash the vegetables, to get rid of the dirt and germs. Everything I drink is either normal water or boiled water for tea. I use the water to wash the clothes of the whole family. We don't have any animals but some of my friends' families have donkeys and the water also keeps them alive and healthy.
The afternoon is more of the same. Living in the camp I really notice how life feels very repetitive. I go to school, I cook and do chores, and then I do it all over again. In the afternoon I go back to study at the community center for an hour or so, and then I go home to prepare the evening meal. Even the food is usually the same.
I very rarely leave the camp. Why would I? Here there's a water point, a market, a community center. Outside there's danger—soldiers and guns. My mother goes out of the camp maybe twice a week to collect firewood, which we can use at home and sell what's left over. This is the only money we get. I feel guilty: It's so dangerous for my mother to do this. The women often get attacked or shouted at or shot at. They won't let me go with her. They say only older women should go as young girls are more likely to be attacked. Secretly I'm glad: I don't want her to go alone, but I don't want to go with her because I'm scared of the men.
When I first came here we saw the camp and the aid agencies and felt safe. Unhappy, but safe. Now even the camp is dangerous. At night nobody really goes outside their shelters. When I'm done cooking I stay home and study. I would like to do my English work but I have nobody to practice with. I study until it gets dark after eight o'clock, and then we go to bed and start the day again.
It's difficult for us here. Look at our shelter—it's very basic. This is not home. Soon the rains will come and then some of the shelters will be destroyed. What will happen to those people? I know the aid agencies are doing their best, but there are so many people here and everybody always needs something. I think the only way our lives will really improve is if we go home. But we can't go home because people are still being attacked. I will stay in Kalma until peace comes. I just hope it won't take too long.
]]>The achievements of Oxfam and other aid agencies in Darfur have been truly incredible. Jan Egeland, the former UN Humanitarian Coordinator, described the humanitarian response in Darfur as among the most successful in the world, and he was right. The high levels of mortality and malnutrition that we saw at the start of the crisis have been greatly reduced. Many people now have better access to water, sanitation, and education than they did before the conflict. However, other things have not improved. People in Darfur still live in daily fear of violence. Those living in camps cannot go outside without risking attack. The number of people in need of help keeps rising. There are now four million people in Darfur who rely on aid.
What are the biggest challenges Oxfam faces now in Darfur?
Safety and security is by far the biggest concern for both civilians and our staff. Our ability to reach people in need is decreasing due to hijackings and attacks on aid workers. Early in my time here I drove for hours through North Darfur, from El Fasher to our programs in Kebkabiya, through quite stunning scenery. Now this road is far too dangerous for us to use and we rely almost entirely on UN flights. In terms of security, we are operating at the very limit of what we can tolerate as an organization, and if the situation continues to deteriorate then we may be left with no option but to withdraw from Darfur. The humanitarian impact of this could be catastrophic. It's vital that the world leaders do more to ensure an end to the violence so that aid agencies can continue our life-saving work.
The crisis is now in its fifth year. Is there any sign that Darfur will move on from being a humanitarian emergency and into a development and recovery stage?
Oxfam has been working in Darfur for more than 20 years, carrying out development work with local communities. We all hope that we can resume this as soon as possible. But at the moment Darfur is still an enormous humanitarian crisis and we cannot resume large-scale development work until there is a sustainable political solution to the conflict. People continue to be attacked and displaced by the thousands. We are still seeing people arrive in the camps where we work. The situation in Darfur is incredibly complex and we have to be very careful. For example, many of the villages that people have fled from are now inhabited by other communities, and if we were to provide development assistance to them we would risk legitimizing this.
What has been your proudest achievement in your time here?
The relationship between non-governmental organizations and the Sudanese government has been complicated and at times difficult. Back in early 2004 we just could not get our staff members the necessary visas and permits to get to Darfur and respond to the urgent needs there. It was very frustrating. Our staffers have since done a wonderful job in building a working relationship with the authorities—both in Khartoum and at the field level—and as a result these problems have now been eased considerably. Without this success, we would not have been able to have such an impact on the ground and provide water and assistance to half a million people.
And your biggest frustration?
When I took up the post of country program manager, Darfur was one of the world's largest humanitarian crises. Today the security situation for people there is perhaps even worse, and the prospect of peace seems as far away as ever. It has been incredibly frustrating to see the hard work of our staff thwarted by insecurity in so many places. In Gereida in South Darfur, for example, the team did a magnificent job to set up water supply to 130,000 displaced people. But since then we have had to withdraw from the area because of insecurity. Across Sudan there are still many challenges. Marginalization and poverty are still endemic, and there are increasing threats to the nationwide Comprehensive Peace Agreement.
Finally, what personal memories will you take from working in Africa's largest country?
Outside Sudan, very little is known about the country, its people, and culture. What does get attention is mostly war and human suffering. Despite the enormous problems in the country, the Sudanese people are incredibly friendly and welcoming. I can honestly say that in my years of working around the world, my job in Sudan has probably been the most satisfying and enjoyable. The Sudanese are also extremely resilient people. It is incredible to go to the camps in Darfur or to the harsh deserts of the east and see how people cope in the face of adversity. It makes me feel confident for the future that Oxfam can work closely with local communities to help build a better Sudan.
]]>More than four years of fighting in that remote western region of Sudan has forced 2.5 million people from their homes. Many of them have flocked to overcrowded camps for safety. Others have squeezed into towns bursting with displaced people.
As the co-founder of a highly successful fundraising initiative, Nick helped to raise more than $300,000 for the people of Darfur. But not content to stop there, he approached us here at Oxfam with an idea: If he could visit Darfur he could help create a vital link between a growing group of youth activists here in the United States and Darfur teens forced to spend years in the camps.
Yanked from their homes and villages—and the social and civic framework those places provided—Darfur's youth are now growing up in an environment riddled with fear and boredom. Nick heard about their hunger for places to gather, for simple pleasures like balls with which to play sports, for basic improvements to health standards, for books, for safe ways to get to school—and the list goes on.
Before Nick left, we asked him what the single most important thing was that he wanted to accomplish on this mission. He said he hoped to bring back an experience that would touch the hearts of American teenagers. He wanted to find a way for his friends—and teenagers like them—to identify with the youth of Darfur and feel moved to help them as peers.
His personal goal? "To define us as a generation that takes action and one that cares about such important causes as the one in Darfur."
]]>I went to Darfur as a youth ambassador for Oxfam America—to learn about the lives of young people trapped in camps and overcrowded towns by the conflict that has riddled the region since early 2003. Some of them had spoken to me with passion about the need for security in a place where allegiances shift regularly and lawlessness rules. Whenever I heard gunshots shatter the air, their words came back to me with a whole new urgency. This was what they had been talking about. I felt their fear.
Growing up in a quiet hill town in western Massachusetts, I was not prepared for the level of violence that clouds the lives of people in Darfur. And after speaking to youths in camps and villages, it was clear to me that the first priority for the region must be a cease-fire. The world's politicians must do more to make those responsible for the conflict stop attacking civilians.
My journey had started in Khartoum, Sudan's sprawling capital, which lies at the intersection of the White and Blue Niles. I had acclimated myself to Sudanese culture with the help of exceptional individuals such as Saleh Majid, Oxfam America's program coordinator in Sudan, and Ahmed Hamad, Oxfam's driver. I had the opportunity to visit Saleh's community, Omdurman, and represent the United States in a game of soccer with the local boys. I did not stand a chance!
Ahmed exposed me to Sudanese culture by taking me to eat at Sudanese restaurants, showing me around the capital, and teaching me the Arabic names for everything. One day, he took me to the banks of the Nile River outside of Khartoum where locals come to picnic and wash their cars in the Nile. Some of Ahmed's friends explained with gusto that, "The situation in Darfur is normal!"
However, once I finally made it to Darfur, I discovered that the needs of youths there were far more serious than I had expected based on those Khartoum conversations. With Saleh, I traveled to areas such as El Fasher, the capital of North Darfur. Nearby, three camps filled with thatch huts and plastic-roofed shelters serve as home for nearly 200,000 displaced people. In the Abu Shouk camp, the youths who I had the opportunity to speak to asked for the tools to be able to rebuild their communities. They wanted things like better education at the secondary school level, vocational training rather than strictly intellectual education, and places for youths to convene so they could socialize and exchange ideas. In Darfur, people my age—the region's next generation of leaders—are terribly frustrated by their lack of representation. All community decisions are made by elders, known as umdas, and many of the youths feel that the ideas of these older leaders are outdated.
At Abu Shouk, I formed a special bond with the young man who helped me as an interpreter—a man just a few years older than me whose family had fled their village and was now living in the camp. His name was Ahmed Yousif. He told me about his own journey to the camp—about the theft of his family's livestock and his horse—and about the education he had received in El Fasher. Ahmed was one of the lucky ones in Darfur: He had graduated from the local university. I was overwhelmed by his strength and stunned—not for the first time—at the capacity of the human spirit to endure hardship.
Traveling with Saleh deeper into Darfur, we visited the town of Kebkabiya—a place made mostly of the traditional, round, thatch huts that I had seen so often in Darfur, as well as some brick and wood structures. The town is surrounded by rolling plains and jagged mountains that turn from green to dusty red, depending on the season. After the crisis in Darfur erupted more than four years ago, about 60,000 people from the surrounding area fled from their villages to seek safety in Kebkabiya. Oxfam is working in the area to provide for the needs of the community.
I talked to boys and girls from a secondary school class in Kebkabiya who, after asking first for increased security and a ceasefire, requested such simple things as shovels to fill in standing pools of water in their school yard that serve as breeding grounds to mosquitoes that can carry malaria. Many of the young men and women complained that they could not afford to go to school, that there were very few books, and that they had to pay fees to purchase the few that are available. Transportation to and from school is difficult due to seasonal streams, called wadis, that often block roads.
However, all of the youths that I spoke to in Darfur shared a common resilience and belief that they were capable of lifting themselves out of the poverty and despair that has now fallen across the region. Provided they have a forum to share ideas and be heard by the umdas, as well as basic tools such as vocational training and continued humanitarian support, the next generation of men and women in Darfur are confident they will be able to build their communities back stronger and better than before the crisis began.
]]>One of the remarkable things about Darfur is the number of people who are still volunteering with health committees after three years of living in Abu Shouk and Al Salaam camps outside of North Darfur's capital of El Fasher.
About 60 percent of the original committee volunteers at Abu Shouk have continued with their work. At nearby Al Salaam camp, the number is 80 percent. Their help is pivotal to the success of Oxfam's public health work in the camps. Every week they spend several hours visiting households in their allocated blocks and inspecting the surrounding areas.
They go shelter to shelter talking with families and sharing information on good hygiene. They check latrines for cleanliness and wear. And they instruct families on how to keep their water clean by making sure the jerry cans in which they store it are scrubbed with powdered soap and chlorine.
"We wanted to serve our people and to raise the awareness of the population so that everyone's at the same level," says Kaltoum Ali Asad, a volunteer at Abu Shouk.
"If we don't volunteer to do something the people would suffer and there'd be outbreaks of diseases and illnesses," adds Namma Saed Haroun at Al Salaam camp. "If we didn't volunteer it would be us who would eventually suffer, so we will continue to volunteer."
Their efforts win high praise from the agency.
"The volunteers work really hard," says Hussaam Eddin Mirghani, Oxfam's team leader at Abu Shouk. "They volunteer because they're afraid of diseases, especially diarrheal diseases, spreading throughout the camp. The volunteers really feel the necessity to support their communities and their people, who are really suffering in this dreadful situation."
Camp life is bleak. Ahmed Eysa, who has lived at Abu Shouk for three years with is family, makes that clear.
"Life here is horrible," he says. "It's full of difficulties, and we don't have any solutions in our hands. There are no choices for the people living here in the camp."
But Eysa has made one choice—an important one that will make a difference to others in the camp. He chose to volunteer, and he has continued giving his time for three years.
"We have to adapt to our situation and we really need to respond," he says. "There's no way we could give up."
Soon, the rains will come and fall heavily. Living conditions in the camps will deteriorate, and the threat of diseases like cholera, malaria, and diarrhea will rise. Then, the job of the health committee workers will be even more vital.
]]>"Here, in the camp, we are sitting with nothing to do," said a woman named Khadeja, her tedium heightened by memories of what she used to do. "In the village we were very active all the time—working on the farms, trading in the markets, herding animals. Here, there are no job opportunities. No income."
Without money, it's difficult for families to get everything they need.
"Everything here is for sale," said a man. "Back home it cost you nothing. You had it on the farm and if you had a surplus you could take it and exchange it for other things in the market."
At some of the camps, people are able to find jobs, but the pay is poor and the work can be exhausting. Kaltoum Ali Asad , a mother of eight children, occasionaly picks up a bit of work in El Fasher, the capital of North Darfur. It's right next to Abu Shouk camp, which has been her home for the past three years.
"Sometimes I'll walk to El Fasher town and find a job cleaning, sweeping, washing clothes," she says. "I'll get 75 cents for washing a dozen pieces of clothing, which takes all afternoon. There isn't much you can buy for 75 cents. Maybe a bundle of firewood."
In the past, gathering firewood was one of the chores that Asad devoted time to. But she has stopped because it is unsafe to leave the safety of the camp to collect it. Now, she buys her wood from the market and a bundle doesn't last very long—perhaps just enough to cook one meal, but no more.
"Food is another challenge," says Asad. "The children might go for a month without the food we think is valuable for them—fruits, vegetables, meat. Meat is very expensive: $5 for a kilo, and I don't have the money to buy it, and there are no adequate vegetables I can get as a substitute."
For children, who rise at dawn, household chores can consume a good part of the day, especially if one of them is wood gathering. They tell of walking for five hours, in groups of boys and girls up to 10 strong. Collecting grass to hawk in the markets is another task children assume, though a sale can take a long time. Preparing meals and washing are chores that fall to the girls, but both boys and girls fetch water. And if school is open, children attend classes between 8 a.m. and 2 p.m.
When darkness comes, everyone retires.
"We're too scared to go out when it's dark," says one girl. "We go to sleep."
Fourteen-year-old Mahmoud sums it up this way. "I've been here three years with my mother and father, six brothers and three sisters," he says. "We're not happy with the life here. I'd like to be living back in my village—like it used to be."
]]>So, three times a week, and sometimes more, women from the Abu Shouk and Al Salaam camps head out on four-hour treks to scavenge for fuel. If they don't come upon any trees, the women resort to clawing through the hard-packed earth to reach bits of root that they can burn instead.
But hard work is only part of their problem. Looming larger for these women is the constant threat to their safety: By venturing even a short distance outside of the camps they could face harassment, sexual assault, or even death. Since early 2003, conflict has wracked this region, forcing more than 2 million people from their homes. Many of them have sought shelter in camps like Abu Shouk and Al Salaam. But the demands of daily living—the need for wood, for jobs, for food—often require them to leave the safety of those camps.
Now, Oxfam America, together with the Sudanese Agency for Environment and Development Service (SAEDS), has launched a $132,000 program that will help thousands of displaced women stay safer in this volatile place. The agency is providing 4, 200 households with fuel-efficient stoves that, in many cases, will completely remove the need for women to hunt for wood. Two thousand of the stoves are kerosene-fueled; another 2,000 are efficient wood-burning stoves; and 200 of them use gas. The project will benefit about 25,200 people.
Women were excited about getting the stoves, said Sahar Ali, an Oxfam America program officer, who paid a monitoring visit to Abu Shouk in late January.
"Traditionally, the provision of firewood and fuel for cooking has been the responsibility of women," said Ali, in a report she filed after the visit. "There are few other sources of cooking fuel available to them."
But with the introduction of kerosene and gas, they now have other options. And the small round stoves that burn wood efficiently—as opposed to open fires—means women will need to make fewer of the dangerous scavenging trips.
Still, convincing women that gas is a smart way to cook has taken some doing, said Ali. They worried about its hazards.
"This is the first time for them using gas, and most of the houses are made from wood," said Ali. "If it burns, it burns all the camp. They said we prefer kerosene—not the gas."
The hesitancy about gas notwithstanding, the new stoves are bringing another important benefit to the region, too: some relief for the environment.
"North Darfur is mostly desert, and the few trees that provided a nearby source of cooking fuel when the camps were first created more than two years ago are all gone," said Ali in her report.
It's a trend that Ibrahim Suliman, a program coordinator for SAEDS, has watched for the past four decades as it's crept across the region.
"When I was a child, most of Darfur was covered in forest—even North Darfur," said Suliman, a native of Dar el Salaam, a small village about 30 miles south of El Fasher. But in the last 30 years, those trees and grasses have given way to desert. Why?
"Because of overgrazing," said Suliman. "Because there is no planning for animal breeding. And the firewood for cooking. And for houses—people build their houses from wood. And charcoal traders."
But with the introduction of the stoves, some of that degradation can be slowed since less wood will be needed for cooking. Suliman has even convinced his mother to switch to kerosene.
"She's very happy. It's clean," he said.
SAEDS is taking its concern for the environment a step further: It has launched a replanting project in Dar es Salaam and plans to begin a similar effort around the camps.
"Our philosophy is to restock the forest and all these things will be improved," said Suliman. "If we try to stop cutting trees and every year we try to plant many new trees, within four to five years we will be able to restock a big amount of trees. And we'll be able to at least make the environment more attractive than before and people can find grasses for their animals and be able to cultivate again. It might take a long time, but we have to start."
In Dar el Salaam, thanks to SAEDS, about 4,500 new saplings are now growing.
"In five to 10 years, I'm sure it will be green," said Suliman.
Near El Fasher, trees might also grow again. Oxfam's project with SAEDS calls for the planting of 10,000 seedlings around the camps. Families who have recently received the fuel-efficient stoves will be mobilized to do the planting.
]]>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.
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