After half an hour of driving, we saw a crowd of women and children. They had gathered from many
miles away at the Islamic Relief service point for their fortnightly health checkup and food supplement
distribution. I asked my Kenyan colleague if they were all from the Wajir district. He responded, "No,
our estimate is that at least thirty percent of them are unregistered refugees from across the border.
They are living with the local communities; this is taking an additional toll on the population for whom
purchasing food is becoming unaffordable while their livestock is perishing."
As the checkup started, some children's conditions reminded me of those I had seen at the IDP camps in Mogadishu—only bones covered with skin, and all seemed to be in despair.
The nurse placed some paste into the mouth of a wailing child; he instantly stopped crying and keenly
looked for more. Upon inquiry, the public health technician responded, "We call this 'magic food' that
tells us if the child has any appetite. If the child does not swallow this food, it means he has lost all
appetite due to starvation and we have to immediately refer him to be admitted in a hospital—none is
close enough though. It seems that this particular child might recover without constant monitoring."
The explanation was counterintuitive; a child can be starved enough that his body will not accept any
food.
Walking around, one could see the small straw huts spread out among the bushes. These shelters were
there were not enough resources for anyone to be interested in forcing them off the land. These people
could continue a miserable life and even die without anyone noticing that they ever even existed.
Without any doubt, it is our responsibility to provide support to the drought-stricken population on
the Kenyan side of the border also. We cannot let them perish, just like we do not want the Somalis to
continue suffering.
Ad-Free & Subscriber Log-In