By Haoua Lankoandé, Advocacy Manager, MMD Project, CARE Niger
Niamey, Niger – For those of us in the city, we are seeing the first signs of food crisis spreading across our country. We have seen it before. It has already started, and it is coming fast.
People are leaving their village and moving to town. (Photo: CARE/ Brooks)
By Hugh Earp, Shelter Accountability Advisor for the Emergency Capacity Building Project.
Hugh spent over 10 months in Haiti working for CARE International and Save the Children on shelter and re-construction and writes about where Haiti is now, as the two year anniversary approaches.
Transitional shelters have sprung up all over the hillside, providing people with much needed protection from rain and heat. (Photo: CARE/ Cameron)
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by Jamshed Naseer Siddiqi, Security Officer, CARE Pakistan
They say the floods that hit Pakistan on 2010 were the worst ever floods since 1929. One would think nothing would compare to the pain and misery that met the eyes during the flood response in 2010. But it seems there is no limit for human misery. Eyes can open to observe more devastation, hearts can feel more pain, and souls can be shaken again. 29th September 2011: I have never been one for remembering dates, but this date will be engraved in my mind for years to come.
Water is receding slowly, and families face another month or two of displacement before they can return to rebuild their homes. (Photo: CARE/Rauf)
by Sardar Rohail Khan, Security Operations Assistant, CARE Pakistan
My friends say I can appear expressionless, even cold at times. It’s an occupational hazard ofsecurity training, where we learn not to show too much emotion on the job. But one glance from a small village girl, and I was lost. As her eyes pinned me, sparking fiercely with anxiety, I found myself wondering almost aloud: What are we doing here? How can any amount of humanitarian aid make a difference in this poor girl’s life?
She was staring at me, reciting her lessons while looking uneasily at the guests, intruders in her world. (Photo: CARE/Khan)
by Niki Clark in Dadaab
When I told my family and friends that I was leaving for six weeks to work with CARE on temporary assignment in Dadaab, the world’s largest refugee camp, I was immediately bombarded with Facebook messages, emails and calls along the lines of “I’m so proud of you. You’re going to save the world!” and “You’re making such a difference!
A newly arrived refugee child attemps to lift the family's new cooking utensils. (Photo: CARE/Clark)
Dadaab, Blog #1, August 30th, 2011
Here I sit, 7,500 miles away from home. I’m a week in. Over the course of just a few days, my life has completely changed. On a Monday I reported to work at CARE’s Washington, D.C. office. By Thursday I was on a plane bound for Nairobi where my final destination would be Dadaab Refugee Camp, the world’s largest. I will spend the next six weeks here as CARE’s emergency media officer. It is a position that both thrills and terrifies me. As an employee of one of the most prominent global humanitarian agencies, there is always an excitement that surrounds “going to the field.” But this is different.
Niki Clark, who works in Policy Communications at CARE USA, is currently working in Dadaab, Kenya. (Photo: CARE/Wilke)
I am standing in front of the borehole well, waiting for the clicking sound of my camera. But there is no sound. The CARE engineer has just explained how ground water is pumped up and then distributed to water stations. We are wandering around Dagahaley, one of the three refugee camps in Dadaab. A photographer working for a newspaper is gathering images of how a refugee camp works. But now as we stand at the borehole I feel yesterday’s long hours creeping up on me: my camera battery has obviously run out, plus I forgot my pencil and notebook on the desk. But there are solutions to these minor problems: The photographer lends me a pen and I use the back of my permission papers for the camp to take notes. In fact, I am starting to like my day without a camera.
dadaab from above. Up to now more than 420.000 people live here. (Photo: CARE/Wilke)
Early morning in Dadaab, a nice breeze announces a day that will most likely not be too hot. Outside of the CARE canteen, people are scattered at tables under trees, taking their breakfast. CARE’s 270 members of staff live and work in so-called compounds, one in each of the three refugee camps of Dadaab, one in the main part of town, attached to the compounds of UN agencies and other aid organizations.
Theresiah Nthiani works in Dadaab in the field education since 1999. (Photo: CARE/Wilke)
Dadaab, Blog 2, August 12th, 2011
The realities of a refugee camp are hard to explain to the outside world. Many people think of Dadaab as a fenced-in area, overcrowded with tents, and people lining up for assistance. Some of this is true, to a certain extent. But Dadaab has grown for over 20 years now, and developed into an almost urban settlement of huge dimensions.
You can see the relief on the face of the father arrived safely in Dadaab. (Photo: CARE/Wilke)
“It is unfortunate that the rains have decided to not fall for the last two years.” The Kenyan man sitting next to me on the plane to Nairobi has a very poetic choice of language, which makes for a rather stark contrast when you consider what he refers to: His country and the whole region are in the middle of a humanitarian crisis triggered by a severe drought, which is affecting almost 11 million people. And yes, some parts of this region have not seen rainfall in two years. My neighbor continues: “It is all about water. If you don’t have water, you cannot raise animals. And without animals… well, that is their life insurance.”
CARE distributes food and other relief items at the reception centre of Dagahaley camp (Photo: CARE/Wilke)
