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"Our life is poor – in the house there is nothing to eat. I have eleven children to look after but I can only take food for three."
- Abdul Qadir, a Kenyan dealing with the food crisis

In mid-February, I visited the Horn of Africa as part of Islamic Relief’s delegation to assess the food crisis affecting that part of the continent. Our trip from Nairobi to Mandera, in Kenya, began as many others do, with boarding a flight and loading luggage - except that the flight was a day late and the bags were loaded from the tarmac not into a luggage hold, but onto our laps. The apprehension that I felt at that moment was heightened by the fact that I, like most Americans, had never heard of Mandera before so I had no idea what to expect.

After a bumpy ride on the twin engine Cessna, (their new ad campaign should be “You’ve never experienced a 25 foot drop, until you’ve experienced it in a Cessna”) we arrived at the dusty military air strip that served as the airport for Mandera District. The UN World Food Program’s country director for Kenya, Tesema Negash, has summarized the situation perfectly. Speaking of the food crisis, she said, ““Many Kenyans – facing a fifth consecutive season of failed or poor rains - are already living on the edge and unless donors respond immediately, we fear for the worst.”

The area was an immediate departure from the relatively mild climate of Nairobi. The naturally hot and dry conditions in Mandera have been exacerbated by a drought that has afflicted the region since 2003. As the Cessna made its approach, all we could see was desert; miles of burnt orange sand speckled with the husks of dry bushes. It was part beautiful and part frightening.

More than 30 million people across Africa are going hungry, according to the United Nations World Food Program. Just in the two countries that the Islamic Relief delegation visited, over 3.5 million people in Kenya and 4.9 million people in Malawi have been facing food shortages due to the current drought and depletion of food resources.

The local Islamic Relief staff informed us that during years with normal rain, the area produces abundant flora and fauna. Going from Los Angeles - where air-conditioners are considered a human right and SUVs a necessity - to a place with a desperate lack of water was deeply humbling.

From the very first moments of our trip we experienced the poverty of the local Manderans, the majority of whom are of Somali ancestry. Mandera is small and quaint, in an African way. There is a local dirt soccer pitch, where children often play; small businesses and shacks that sell everything from t-shirts to tea; as well as a Kenya Mail post office, which serves as a primary conduit to the outside world.

The majority of the district, however, is populated by small villages of pastoralists that herd sheep and goats. This livestock is the primary means of income and sustenance for the people of Mandera and the drought has hit these animals the hardest. The size of the livestock herds has dwindled dramatically as the water level has dropped.

Abdul Qadir, a local pastoralist, explained that as the local shallow well’s depth dropped from 40 feet to past 80 feet, it became harder and harder to retrieve the water necessary to keep the goats surviving. The lack of rainfall has killed the shrubbery that he used to depend on to provide food for his goats.

In addition, the water has become infected with malarial larvae and tape worms, which has made it unsafe for humans to drink and has caused the animals to become ill. Over the past couple of months Abdul Qadir’s emaciated and sickly herd has dwindled to half its size, leaving him almost completely dependent on aid for survival.

“The children are suffering. Some of them are ill because of hunger. My youngest baby cried last night from hunger – she is one year and seven months old,” Abdul Qadir told us.

We found this story to be common among the villagers we spoke to in many areas throughout the district. However, despite the hardship they are suffering, I was personally affected by the stoic way in which the villagers took their predicament. We could see the weary sadness in their eyes after dealing with three years of severe drought, but they would always explain their situation calmly, with a hint of urgency.

The malnourished children I saw in Mandera emphasized the reason for that urgency in the voice of the elders. After three years of drought, Mandera, and indeed, much of the Horn of Africa, is on the brink of famine.

The carcasses of the animals that Manderans depend on for their survival lie baking in the sun. The once mighty river Duau, that forms the border between Northeast Kenya, Somalia, and Ethiopia, has been reduced to a stream. The pack animals of the townspeople are used to transport water over long distances, but they have also begun dying off and lay along the route to the river. One by one, the pillars of Manderan subsistence and survival are breaking down.

The week that we spent in Mandera passed quickly, yet the suffering and dignity of the people there has left a lasting impression on me. The day before we left Mandera, we witnessed six thousand people praying for rain at the main masjid. The sight was characteristic of my experience, with the desperation just barely showing under the patient appearance of the Manderans. As we waited on the dusty military strip for the plane that was to take us back to Nairobi, I could not help but admire their resilience and make a small prayer of my own for their well-being.

Shamiq Hussain
Islamic Relief
April 2006