海角大神

Standing amid a sprawling camp of makeshift tents, Suado Hassan Abdi, a聽Somali mother with five young children, can鈥檛 even calculate the scale of her family鈥檚 losses.

The worst drought to strike Somalia in 40 years 鈥� marked by four failed rainy seasons in a row, with a fifth likely to come 鈥撀� desiccated the crops聽she had planted with her husband, leaving no food or fodder.

At the door of her tent,聽Ms. Abdi struggles to take stock,聽days after arriving in this congested camp聽on the outskirts of Baidoa, the drought-stricken epicenter of a nation stalked by famine.

Three of her children hover listlessly beside their new abode: mud-smeared layers of tarps聽pulled across a small frame of tree branches.

How many camels, cows, and goats did they lose?

鈥淯ncountable,鈥� replies Ms. Abdi, looking down. 鈥淭hey died.鈥�

The unfolding tragedy that triggered this family鈥檚 decision to move, to escape聽the clutches of聽drought and聽conflict, echoes聽widely among the hundreds of thousands of newly destitute Somalis聽who, forced to abandon their pastoralist lifestyle聽in search of water and food, surge to cities like Baidoa.

The displaced families聽are the sharp end of a burgeoning humanitarian catastrophe in Somalia that the United Nations and international aid agencies warn may become unprecedented in both scale and lethality 鈥� with 1.5 million children alone聽at聽risk of acute malnutrition 鈥� unless there is a聽further聽infusion of lifesaving aid and compassion.

Government-controlled Baidoa is surrounded on all sides by Islamist Al Shabaab militants and can only be supplied by air.

Ms. Abdi鈥檚 children聽have聽survived, and now play with scoops of dirt on tin plates in this bleak camp. But not every Somali family here can say the same. Many children聽were buried聽during the journey, others聽after funerals in the hundreds of camps that ring Baidoa.

Today in Baidoa鈥檚 main hospital, cases of acute malnutrition among the smallest children 鈥� each one usually comforted by an anxious mother as they undergo emergency feeding 鈥� attest to Somalia鈥檚 hard-fought battle to keep famine at bay.

Somali officials and foreign aid workers alike say the country remains at the tipping point,聽and that the response in coming weeks will determine whether another devastating famine is notched in Somalia鈥檚 modern history, or whether it will show that the worst was largely averted.

鈥淲e are knocking on the door of famine right now,鈥� says Abdirahman Abdishakur Warsame, the president鈥檚 envoy for drought response, in an interview in Mogadishu. 鈥淚f we don鈥檛 get the right, timely response, timely humanitarian assistance, we are facing a catastrophe of famine.鈥�

He weaves into his plea a theme being heard with more urgency in the developing world, that poorer societies are bearing the brunt of climate-related calamities made worse by decades of carbon emissions from wealthy, industrialized nations.

鈥淚t鈥檚 a shame for the international community. ... Nobody should die from hunger, especially children,鈥澛燤r. Warsame says. 鈥淭hat鈥檚 why I am saying, 鈥楬elp us. This is a moral obligation. This is what you have caused.鈥欌��

Scope of the challenge

Half of Somalia鈥檚聽population聽of 15.7 million is affected by the drought and facing 鈥渁cute food shortages,鈥� with 1.1 million displaced by both drought and conflict, according to U.N. figures.聽Across the Horn of Africa, a chronic shortfall of rain that is attributed to climate change聽is聽affecting 36 million people.

But there are key differences聽between聽today鈥檚聽crisis and聽the聽droughts of decades past聽that聽could help聽limit the human toll: Well-honed data collection mechanisms聽are available聽to better forecast and pinpoint needs, and government structures now聽exist to share the burden聽and聽help聽coordinate priorities.

The government of President Hassan Sheikh Mohamud, which has only been in office since May, inherited a crisis management system broken by years of official neglect, political deadlock, and the COVID-19 pandemic. Though it has not yet declared a famine 鈥� focusing instead on a new offensive against Al Shabaab 鈥� the government is credited with a serious effort to facilitate a humanitarian response that will keep more Somalis alive.

鈥淲e鈥檙e still teetering on the brink; the mortality rates are increasing in some areas,鈥� says a U.N. humanitarian official in Mogadishu who asked not to be further identified. Still, urgent appeals are starting to be heard, with a significantly scaled-up response and a 300% increase in the amount of assistance reaching Somalis.

With European Union and British donor funds having shrunk due to the Ukraine war, the United States 鈥� which traditionally has funded 50% to 55% of Somalia鈥檚 food needs 鈥� is now funding 70% of that assistance. The U.S. has nearly doubled its funding, from $460 million in 2021 to $888 million in 2022.

Even if food targets are reached, however, other areas critical to fending off famine such as improving poor sanitation, hygiene, and access to clean water are getting less attention and cash.

鈥淲hat鈥檚 driving the high malnutrition rates is not the lack of food. It鈥檚 cholera; it鈥檚 poor sanitation,鈥� says the U.N. official. 鈥淪o to prevent the increasing rates of malnutrition, there needs to be a real investment in those core sectors ... to then prevent people getting to the need for nutrition assistance. So until that happens, there is a vicious cycle.鈥�

That grim dynamic is clear at Mogadishu鈥檚 Banadir Hospital for mothers and children, where the severest malnutrition cases are those recovering from measles.

鈥淪omehow they will survive; it depends on their condition 鈥撀爏ome arrive with shock,鈥� says Dr. Mohamed Yassin Hirey. The numbers of those hospitalized have 鈥渋ncreased significantly鈥� in the past four months, he says, with more than 20 new patients being admitted each day.

Surge of displaced people

The U.N. formally sounded the alarm when it published drought response plans in December 2021 and June 2022, though neither made waves as Russia鈥檚 war against Ukraine got underway.

But a 鈥渇inal warning to all of us鈥� on Somalia did take hold in early September, when Martin Griffiths, the U.N.鈥檚 top humanitarian and emergency relief coordinator, said he was 鈥渟hocked to my core鈥� during a visit 鈥渂y the level of pain and suffering we see so many Somalis enduring.鈥�

He said conditions today are worse聽than聽those seen in 2010-2011, when famine in Somalia claimed some 260,000 lives. The 鈥渦nprecedented鈥� combination of dangers, he said, will last at least through March 2023. The U.N. last week issued a revised funding requirement of $2.26 billion 鈥� up 55% from previous estimates 鈥� to deliver 鈥渋mmediate, lifesaving assistance鈥� into early 2023.

In Baidoa, local officials describe an exponential surge in the number of exhausted and needy arrivals at聽camps for displaced people in recent months, and put the total now at nearly 900,000.

Dubbed the 鈥淐ity of Death鈥� for its high casualties during the 1992 famine, this dusty city is defined by inhospitable heat, patchy sharp scrub, and thorn trees that stretch to the horizon in every direction 鈥� a barren view now often populated by an ocean of domed huts.

Early November brought a taste of rain. It triggered a blush of green, which may just be enough to feed livestock, but likely not to plant crops 鈥� or end the drought.

Indeed, the deleterious effects of drought have been compounded by chronic insecurity,聽including Al Shabaab destroying water sources and crops. Most of those displaced in Baidoa have left areas controlled by Al Shabaab. The militants have warned them not to return.

鈥淭he state and donors are collectively working to respond to the influx ... so that is why there are less people dying,鈥� says Baidoa Mayor Abdullahi Ali Watiin, whose city has been surrounded by Al Shabaab for 12 years.

Yet handling the current emergency is only part of the picture for Mr. Watiin, who says officials are 鈥渢hinking how we can adapt to this climate change,鈥� including finding alternatives to rain-fed farming.

Improved coordination

Coping on the drought front line are agencies like Concern Worldwide, an Irish charity that has worked in Somalia for more than 30 years, and in the camps provides everything from built latrines and clean water to hygiene kits and solar lights.

Other relief agencies fill other gaps, as identified in weekly meetings hosted by local officials.

It is a real improvement from the 2011 famine, when lack of coordination meant 鈥渟ome people were getting too much, and next to them people were dying,鈥� says Ahmed Ali Issack, who heads the Concern Worldwide office in Baidoa. 鈥淣ow the existence of the government structure, at district and state levels, facilitates this coordination.鈥�

Chairing those meetings is Dini Abdinur, head of the regional Ministry of Humanitarian Affairs and Disaster Management.

鈥淭here are animal deaths, high malnutrition 鈥� some children are dying,鈥� says Mr. Abdinur. 鈥淭he government and NGOs are trying their best to minimize the death rate.鈥�

While the new government started taking steps in late spring, more could have been done by all sides, says a second U.N. official in Mogadishu, who also requested anonymity.

鈥淭hough we probably started seeing famine-like conditions in May, we didn鈥檛 have the data for decision-makers to decide whether to act early,鈥� the official says. 鈥淏ut we could have started systematically much, much earlier.鈥�

That is not news to Asieh Hussein Buule, who cradles her 20-day-old baby daughter, Aisha Hassan Haro, while sitting on a tiny wood-frame platform that keeps the mother and her nine children a few inches off the ground in their branch-frame shelter.

The family has only the very basics in their Baidoa camp. But Ms. Buule鈥檚 gratitude 鈥� for making it this far, with all her children alive, to a place of security and survival 鈥撀爄s clear on her face, as she affectionately holds and plays with her children.