Blog

Adnan Ansari, IRUSA’s vice president of programs, reports on traveling conditions for Somali refugees seeking relief from famine.   

When Dr. Ismail returned from Mogadishu last night, we compared his observations with mine from my trip last week.  Dr. Ismail, representing the Islamic Medical Association of North America, confirmed what I was dreading. 

“Cholera outbreak has been in the IDP camps for some time, it seems,” he said. The World Health Organization declared the outbreak only yesterday, although from the accounts of my Islamic Relief colleagues, health conditions at the IDP camps have been consistently declining.

“The US Embassy IDP Camp[1] had eleven deaths yesterday, we were told while we visited. One couple had been losing a child each night for the last three days.” Dr. Ismail told me. “The suffering that I saw in the IDP camps in Mogadishu was multiple times what we saw in our trip to the refugee camps in Dadaab!” He kept shaking his head.  Without doubt, he was correct.

Dr. Ismail and I have been travelling together during the last week, trying to develop a health service program for Somali beneficiaries—it was important that we compare notes to set up priorities. Trying not to sound too discouraging I suggested, “Since the needs are immense and on the rise, we can only make a slight impact on the situation; let’s focus our efforts in one location.  How about providing services only inside Mogadishu?” He agreed.

As we ended our meeting, the memories of my interaction with the residents of the IDP camps kept flashing back.  Witnessing the last breaths of a child has left very uncomfortable memories. Now that the death toll is on the rise, what impact is it having on my colleagues in the city who are observing so much death?  Of course, irrespective of the humanitarian aid workers, the overwhelming concern is for the people undergoing the suffering.

During a visit to an IDP camp, our team had conversations with several residents. An old gentleman had told us, with our Somali colleague, Hassan, acting as translator, “I am not sure how I am even here today.  I was selected to be left behind.”

“What do you mean?  Why should you be left behind when you had been travelling for days with your family?” Hassan asked him.

“You need to understand the situation out there,” was the response. “When we set out on our journey, we all were in agreement that not all might make it, but at least some of us should reach the city.  There was never enough water or food on the way for everyone. My daughter had to leave two of her children over the few days on the dirt paths.  All we could do was pray that someone might have helped them; they were too weak to walk with us and we were too weak to carry them.” 

He pointed to a woman, his daughter, standing on the side. The grief on the woman’s face cannot be captured in words.  The mental torture she must be going through every minute cannot be imagined. 

“A few days back, I also agreed to stay behind. I was supposed to die, but I managed to continue and made it here.  My grandchildren were too young to have faced this destiny.  God knows what they went through.  No one knows if they are still alive.  What will happen now, especially to these children who did reach this camp?   How much longer will they be with us or us with them?”