Hassan Hussein Noor lost his job as a community worker in Samawade 1 camp in January, when the aid organisation he worked for suspended its activities. For four years, he earned a monthly salary of $200 carrying out hygiene promotion and other vital community awareness campaigns, and data collection activities in the camp.

His family, who are themselves displaced, now lives off the small earnings made by his wife collecting and selling scrap metal. She sells what she collects twice a week, making $3 to $5. They can afford to cook two meals a day only twice a week. For the rest of the week, they need to ask for food on credit from local shops.

“The $200 I used to earn was enough for my children. We could provide three meals a day. Now we have nothing. There are no jobs in the town and the organisations I worked for have stopped operating,” Hassan told Radio Ergo.

“The truth is we can no longer provide enough food for our children. Three meals a day are no longer possible. We survive on credit. We keep hoping the organisations will return so that we can repay our debts.”

He was trained by the organisation he worked for to carry out community outreach independently in the IDP camps. Returning to construction work that he had done prior to that has proved difficult after several years away from the trade.

“I’ve almost forgotten the construction work I used to do. The clients I worked for now employ other people. I could try calling some of them, but the work has moved on. The organisation gave me work without me having to search for it, and I gradually left my old trade behind. Now there is very little work available in the town,” he said.

The closure of humanitarian programmes has also reduced food aid reaching his camp. Food distributions are now irregular, increasing hardship for displaced families.

Hassan owes $350 to local shops for food since January and $120 in unpaid school fees for his four children. He is doing all he can to prevent them from dropping out of education.

The chairman of another Galkayo camp, Danwadaag, said the loss of humanitarian programmes and outreach workers had affected all camp residents.

“These people need support and someone to speak on their behalf. They are poor and depended on humanitarian organisations. They need food assistance, shelter, healthcare and education. They lack even the most basic necessities. Any support with food, health or sanitation would make a real difference to these families,” Danwadaag camp leader Hirsi Jama Badi told Radio Ergo.

Single mother Sadiyo Abdi Ahmed also lost her job as a liaison between aid organisations, camp residents and the Danwadaag camp administration.

Her income covered food for her family and school costs for her children. Now she is struggling to make a living selling cups of tea for 20 cents.

“I survive by making tea and cleaning wherever I can find work. That is how I buy food for my family. There is nothing in our camp because it is a very poor settlement,” she said.

Sadiyo used to earn from $50 to $150 a month depending on her assignments from the aid groups she worked with. That income allowed her to support her household independently. She now owes $440 to local traders and schools attended by four of her children. The family’s meals have been reduced to one a day.

“The day that income stopped, my life became uncertain. I am displaced, and debt has overwhelmed me. Because of the financial hardship, my children have dropped out of school. Everything has declined -our livelihood, our wellbeing, every part of our lives,” she said.

Sadiyo fled Bursalah in Mudug in 2018 after drought wiped out her family’s livestock. After moving through several displacement camps, she settled in Danwadaag three years ago, where her humanitarian job became her family’s main source of income.

There used to be two community workers in each of the 45 IDP camps across Galkayo, engaged by international and national humanitarian organisations, including Danish Refugee Council, CARE International, Puntland Minority Women Development Organization, TAG International, and Galkayo Education and Development Center.

It is unclear how the gaps in community awareness and engagement, in the absence of these local community workers, are affecting the displaced communities’ welfare and wellbeing, nor what efforts are being made to fill the space.

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The outbreak has affected displaced families and pastoralists living in remote settlements where access to safe drinking water and healthcare is limited. Residents rely on untreated water from shallow wells, while the nearest hospital is a long journey aways in Kismayo.

Dr Hassan Hussein Mohamed, one of the volunteer doctors working in Bula Haji, said contaminated drinking water was the main cause of the outbreak and that medical supplies were running low as more patients continued to arrive.

“We are giving patients oral rehydration salts, intravenous fluids, and other basic medicines. The disease is spreading because people are drinking contaminated water. When the number of patients increased, the Ministry of Health provided us with a tent. Before that, we were treating people in a private compound enclosed with corrugated iron sheets that local residents put together,” Dr Hassan told Radio Ergo.

Pastoralist Adan Bakaal Sheikh’s two year-old son died in early July after developing severe watery diarrhea while the family was in the remote village of Qura’dher. Adan said there was no health facility nearby, forcing the family to begin a long journey on foot in search of treatment.

“He started having diarrhea and it became worse. We recited the Koran for him because there was no treatment available. His eyes became sunken. We were told there was medical care in Bula Haji, so my wife and I carried him there. My wife became exhausted because the diarrhea never stopped,” he narrated.

Adan said they walked for three days and three nights carrying their son, as they had no transport. Near Bula Haji, a passer-by offered them a donkey cart when his wife became too weak to continue walking. Heavy rains and damaged roads delayed them further.

“We couldn’t hire a vehicle because none could reach where we were. It was a very remote place. When we finally got closer, someone helped us with a donkey cart. By then our child was already critically ill,” he said.

His son died six hours after arriving at the temporary treatment centre:

“The doctor told us the watery diarrhea had killed him. He said that if our son had received medical treatment earlier, he could have recovered. He asked why we had brought him so late, and we explained how difficult it had been to reach Bula Haji.”

Adan and his wife returned to their village without their youngest child. The family currently has four cows and 10 goats left, after most of their livestock during cycles of drought.

Bula Haji has no functioning hospital or permanent health facility. Residents have set up two temporary treatment tents with four beds for the sick. The Jubbaland Ministry of Health supplied a limited quantity of medicines, but health workers say stocks are nearly exhausted.

Many of the patients are from displacement camps around Bula Haji, including Fadumo Hilowle Omar, whose two-and-a-half-year-old son fell ill with watery diarrhea on 25 June. She first took him to the

temporary clinic, where she was advised to seek treatment in Kismayo because of the seriousness of his condition. She struggled to raise the $16 transport fare.

“People told me my child might die before we reached the town because he was so weak. I told the driver I had no money and begged him to take us on credit. When we reached the hospital in Kismayo, they admitted him immediately and started treatment,” Fadumo said.

Her son recovered after several days in Kismayo General Hospital and was discharged on 1 July.

“When my son’s strength returned, the diarrhea stopped, and he had received all the medicines he needed, we came back home. The doctors told me he had been in a very serious condition and had been admitted to the ward for critically ill children.”

Fadumo’s family was displaced to Bula Haji in February after drought wiped out their herd of 25 cattle and 50 goats. Her household of 10 people now depends on her husband’s casual labour, making just $1.50 on the days he finds work.

“Life is very difficult. There are no jobs. My husband wants to work but there is nothing to do. We lost all our cattle and goats. Now we usually eat only once a day,” Fadumo said.

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Maryan, 45, is making $8 or $9 a day making and selling wooden home and office furniture items. She used to earn no more than $3 for the odd day’s work washing clothes for other families.

She is among 60 women from nine IDP camps, including Mogey Aarow, Mubaarak, Qaydar Adde and Idaale Hal, trained by male relatives and other displaced carpenters to make beds, chairs, tables and wardrobes.

The skills were taught voluntarily and the initiative has not had any support from aid organisations. Maryan says it’s brought a big change.

“I prepare breakfast in the morning, cook rice or whatever food is available for my children at lunchtime, and I can even buy meat,” she said. “We used to cook only once a day and often went without breakfast or dinner. Since I learned how to make these beds and tables, our lives have improved. We can now live the way we want.”

She moved out of Mogey Aarow camp in February to rent a two-room house with electricity and running water for $60 a month in a secure area. In March, she enrolled two of her children in Hilal Primary School, paying monthly fees of $24.

Maryan, who was displaced from Wajid district in Bakool region in 2019 after drought forced her to abandon cultivation on her four-hectare farm, aims to buy her own home and start a business:

“I’m putting money aside in case sales become slow. Some days no one comes to buy a bed or a table, so I need savings to get through those periods. I already have $150 saved. My dream is to build my own house and improve my family’s future.”

Many displaced families in Baidoa lost the farms and livestock they relied on due to drought and conflict. Limited education, training and employment opportunities have left them trapped in poverty.

Sadio Bashir Hassan is another woman whose circumstances have changed after learning carpentry under the same initiative. She moved out of Idaale Hal camp in April after three years living there without reliable food, clean water or decent shelter.

Today she earns $10 to $12 a day making chairs, tables and wardrobes, allowing her to rent a house costing $90 a month. The new income helped her clear long-standing debts:

“I paid off everything I owed. I cleared a debt of $130, repaid another $60 for food I had taken on credit, and settled an $8 pharmacy bill. Today I don’t owe anyone anything. Life is much better.”

Sadio has enrolled three of her four children in school for the first time, paying monthly fees of $20. She also left the camo to rent a house in town.

“My next goal is to leave rented accommodation altogether and buy a home of my own. We live in two rooms now, one for me and one for the children, but I hope to build a house with three or four rooms that belongs to us,” she said.

Sadio’s family was displaced from Awdiinle, near Baidoa, after prolonged drought destroyed production on their three-hectare farm.

The initiative began with local carpenter, Mohamed Nur Adan, bringing together volunteers to teach practical skills to women living in the camps.

“The idea came after we saw so many women struggling to survive. Most of those we trained were widows or women raising children alone without anyone to support them. We taught them how to make beds, chairs and other wooden furniture so they could earn a living and manage their own lives,” Mohamed told Radio Ergo.

He added that although some people were surprised to see women making furniture, attitudes have changed as the benefits of enabling women to support their households independently have become clear.

The volunteers are now teaching another 20 women to gain skills to earn a living and improve their families’ lives.

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Read the full report and analysis of feedback from communities across Somalia

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Many neighbourhoods were connected to the new water system in April 2026. With taps in their homes for the first time, they stopped buying from the donkey cart vendors they had used for years.

Abdinajib Hassan Nur, one of the traditional vendors, says he now doesn’t have enough income to provide for his family’s basic needs including food, shelter, and education for his children.

The father of six said that after losing most of his customers he turned to buying food on credit, but local shops stopped extending loans after his debts reached $200.

“I had many customers and worked from morning until late in the evening. Now I might leave home at seven in the morning and return with my donkey still hungry because I haven’t delivered water to a single household all day,” he told Radio Ergo.

Abdinajib, 42, says in the past three weeks he’s earned just three dollars compared to the $30 to $40 he used to make in a day. Neighbours offer some cooked food or basic groceries, but this help is irregular and insufficient. The family’s financial difficulties have also forced five of his six children out of school.

“We live in a simple makeshift shelter that we own, so we don’t pay rent. But the biggest problem is our children’s education. The two who were still attending school are now at home because we simply couldn’t afford the fees,” he said.

Abdinajib has depended on his donkey cart for a living since 2019. The cart carries a 300-litre tank fitted with a hose used to fill storage containers in customers’ homes. He is worried about the condition of his donkey as he can’t afford enough feed:

“The donkey is suffering the most. It’s a living creature that needs grass and food. Without food it can’t pull the cart properly. Sometimes I can’t even find fodder for it.”

Abdinajib and his family migrated to Hargeisa seven years ago after drought their livestock in Harshin village died due to prolonged drought. He turned to selling water in the city.

Another donkey cart water vendor, Mohamed Ali Rage, was ordered to leave the rented house where he lived with his family of eight after falling two months behind on rent, owing his landlord $50. Their electricity was disconnected two months ago because they couldn’t pay the bills.

Mohamed used to earn more than $20 a day transporting water by donkey cart, which has been his livelihood for 15 years. He has no other skills to fall back on, and his children now depend on neighbours and relatives for food assistance.

He continues touting for customers, but finds only the odd café or household needing occasional water delivery once a week. He used to supply water daily to 15 to 20 households, most of which are now connected to the municipal water system.

His family were also pastoralists, who were displaced from Balli-Abane near Hargeisa in 2013 after repeated drought destroyed their livestock.

Meanwhile, Siciid Abdi Jaama, who owns a private water point, said nearly 100 donkey cart vendors used to buy water from his business. Today, fewer than 10 continue operating, and many of them take water on credit because they can’t pay in cash.

“Their earnings have fallen dramatically by about 90 per cent. Only a handful are still working, and those few can’t support their families or even feed their donkeys. They are among Somaliland’s most vulnerable communities and deserve attention,” he said.

Siciid noted that some vendors had continued transporting water to remote rural villages not served by water tankers, where demand had not been affected by the city’s expanding piped water network.

Whilst the modernisation of the city’s water supply has improved life for many residents, Hargeisa’s humble donkey cart vendors symbolise those left behind by such development, without alternative ways to support their families.

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Abdimaciin Ahmed Mahmoud’s two-hectare farm produced tomatoes, onions, carrots, peppers, and lemons, among other crops. Locusts and lack of water destroyed almost everything, leaving him with losses of about $1,300.

“The locusts left eggs in the fields and the insects settled on every plant. We have been left with nothing,” he told Radio Ergo. “The biggest problem on my farm is water. The well has no working pump, storage tank or pipes, and we can’t even afford fuel. We have lost the crops as well as many of the trees that have dried up.”

People in Hero-dhagahley, in eastern Mudug, rely largely on farming for their livelihoods, selling vegetables and fruit in Hobyo, Wisil and other nearby towns.

The village well supplying water for irrigation and household use has been out of service for four months without repair. Farmers say they cannot afford to buy water transported from a private well 10 kilometres away.

Abdimaciin said they are cooking one meal a day and are finding it hard to get credit from shopkeepers. He used to make at least $700 a month from the farm that he started in 2023 with a $500 loan, after drought wiped out more than 200 goats and camels his family had relied on as pastoralists.

Today, he cannot afford water costing $5 per barrel for his family of 10 and their five goats. They have to depend on neighbours giving them a single jerrycan of water, which is far from enough.

The crisis has also interrupted his children’s education. Two children have stopped attending Koranic classes and primary school. Two older children are staying with his brother in Galkayo, who pays $10 a month for each of them to continue secondary school.

Abdimaciin owes around $600 for food and water purchased on credit during recent months. He said neither his years as a livestock herder nor his three years as a farmer had brought him such severe hardship before.

Another local farmer, Hafid Abdi Siyad, said the failure of his one-and-a-half-hectare farm had affected every aspect of life for his family of seven. The grains and vegetables he planted in February were ruined, incurring losses of around $1,200, including $800 he had borrowed to finance the farm.

“My greatest concern now is how to provide for my family. When the farm was productive, our lives were much better. Today our biggest hardship is making ends meet. The place that used to provide our income has stopped producing. Our needs keep growing, while drought has left us without water,” he said.

Hafid said his family survived on occasional support from relatives living in Galkayo and Hobyo, who sent them one or two dollars for a single meal. He also owes more than $300 to local shops, which have stopped giving him food on credit. People who financed his farm continue asking to be repaid.

For more than eight years, farming was the family’s only source of income. He said locusts, other crop pests and water shortages combined to destroy everything.

“The locusts caused enormous damage. They destroyed plants that had been growing for three months. They settled on our lemon trees, mango trees and other young plants until they dried up. There are so many of them that you can’t keep them away, day or night,” he said.

The locusts laid eggs throughout his fields. Without money and resources to clear them, they destroyed everything. Even if water had been available, he said it would be difficult to resume cultivation without wider rehabilitation.

Hafid has been looking for odd jobs loading stones at local quarries, but at best makes a pitiful $3 a week.

The family’s financial difficulties led to three of his children being sent home from their primary school in May, as he couldn’t settle four months of school fees of $160. Seeing his children lose access to education causes him deep concern. Having grown up in a pastoralist community without the opportunity to attend school himself, he had hoped his children would have a different future.

The deputy chairman of the Hero-Dhagahley farmers’ cooperative, Liban Said Siyad, said the sharp decline in agricultural production had affected more than 80 small scale farmers in the area.

“The losses have hit the poorest farmers the hardest. These are people who used to work in their fields every morning and earn a living by selling what they harvested. Now they have nothing to take to market,” he said. “The result has been hardship, financial losses and displacement. Families have lost the income they depended on every day.”

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The administration instructed residents to stop digging pits outside their homes, saying it has assigned private companies to collect waste from neighbourhoods up to three times a month. This is to improve public sanitation and tidiness, and safety by protecting children and elderly people from the risk of falling into shallow pits.

Ibrahim Mohamed Fanay, 43, used to earn $5 to $10 a day digging waste pits and says he is now struggling to provide for his family of 10. He has resorted to asking friends for help and finds it increasingly difficult to obtain food on credit.

“We don’t even have rice to put on the fire. The last meal I ate was yesterday because someone helped us. I told my wife to try and find food on credit for the children. We have nobody to support us. We used to survive on whatever work we found around the city, but I don’t have any other skills to earn a living,” he told Radio Ergo.

Ibrahim walks the city streets looking for jobs loading and unloading goods but they are few and far between. The loss of income forced him to withdraw four of his children from primary school in March after he could no longer afford the monthly $20 fees:

“We became unemployed overnight. The places we used to work in have all been paved with interlocking blocks. The people we worked for told us they no longer need us, leaving us with nothing. Today I can’t provide for my family. I pray God eases this hardship. If things continue like this, we don’t know where to turn. “

Ibrahim lives in Sahan IDP camp in Mogadishu’s Daynile district, where water costs about 15 US cents for 20 litres. His earnings used to cover food, water and school fees. He owes $150 for food purchased on credit during the months he has been unemployed.

A farmer from Daafeed in Lower Shabelle, Ibrahim fled to Mogadishu in November 2025 after conflict and poor rainfall destroyed farming prospects on his three-hectare plot.

For several years, the Banadir administration has been upgrading roads with asphalt and interlocking paving blocks as part of wider urban improvement projects. As part of that programme, roadside waste pits and private drainage trenches, which became common after the collapse of the Somali state in 1991, have been removed or prohibited.

Although the city-wide sanitation programme has received significant investment, residents of displacement camps like Sahan say they have not benefited from improved services.

Another waste-pit digger, Ibrahim Dhugure Abdulsalam, 45, said the new city rules also deprived him of the only work he had for three years. The father of 11 earned $8 to $10 a day digging waste pits. He has no savings because his income just covered his family’s daily needs.

“Some days we eat, other days we don’t. We are rural people forced into the city by hardship. The only work that kept our families alive has disappeared because every house now has paving outside instead of the waste pits. We are labourers, but our strength is no longer worth anything,” he complained.

The family can’t now afford to improve the makeshift shelter they built from plastic sheets when they arrived at the camp. The plastic has worn out, leaving the family exposed to the sun during the day and cold at night.

Five of his children have dropped out of the Koranic school he’d enrolled them in when they came to the city because he can’t pay the monthly fee of $2.50:

“Three girls and two boys were studying there. Now they all stay at home. They have never attended formal school, and now they have also lost the religious education they had. Poverty is the only reason.”

Ibrahim spent most of his life farming in Tabiid village near Afgoye before being displaced in 2023 after fighting damaged his four-hectare farm. He now lives in a camp on privately owned land, where residents face the constant risk of eviction.

The chairman of the casual labourers’ cooperative, Mohamed Abukar Ali, said the only long-term solution would be creating alternative employment opportunities.

“The impact on these labourers has been severe. Many are sitting at home with nothing to do. District administrations ordered people to stop digging waste pits, while roads in many areas have been paved with asphalt or interlocking blocks. As a result, the labourers who depended on digging those pits have lost their jobs.”

He estimates that nearly 400 men have been affected by the ban on waste pits. The cooperative has appealed to the district authorities, but has not received a response.

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He says the knowledge he gained from regularly listening to Radio Ergo encouraged him to diversify his work and improve his income.

Ahmed, 47, now makes $80 to $100 a week that covers household expenses, supports relatives, and pays school fees for two of his children.

“We are now able to provide our three daily meals. It’s not only my immediate family that depends on this income. I also help friends whenever I can, sometimes with 10 dollars, sometimes smaller amounts. I support my parents with their daily expenses, and relatives often come needing assistance. Even with all those responsibilities, this work has enabled us to manage our lives,” Ahmed told Radio Ergo’s local reporter.

He rents a two-room house in Wadajir for $100 a month. One of his proudest achievements is being able to pay for his children’s education without depending on others:

“My children’s education comes with many expenses. I pay about 15 dollars every month. This work has given me independence. I no longer have to ask other people for help or wait for someone to support me. Instead, I work, earn my own income, and I am now in a position where I can even assist others.”

Ahmed’s business revolves around giving new life to discarded materials. He trawls through the rubbish collection sites to gather seeds from thrown out fruits and vegetables. He germinates them, nurtures the seedlings, and later sells them.

He also collects dry leaves, vegetable peelings and other food waste to make into compost to enrich the soil used for growing his plants. Although some people question why he searches through waste, Ahmed says he sees value where others do not.

“I have always found opportunities in waste. I collect these dry leaves people sweep away and turn them into compost to sell. I make use of things people throw away. Grapes, avocados, olives, oranges, even cassava stems – people discard them, but I plant them. After a few months they produce food. Waste can become something valuable if you know how to use it,” he stated.

Ahmed attributes much of his progress to the practical information he has learned through Radio Ergo’s Environment programme. He says he listens regularly through Mogadishu FM radio stations that rebroadcast Radio Ergo’s programmes. In March 2025, Radio Ergo published a story about his work. He says that exposure introduced many new customers to his business at a time when demand for his seedlings was still limited.

“I always follow Radio Ergo’s environment programme because I want to keep learning. Whenever there is something new that can improve my skills, I listen carefully. Since people heard about my work through the radio, many have contacted me. Some even called the radio station to get my phone number before reaching me. More customers started coming, and I am grateful because it has helped my work grow.”

Ahmed strengthened the business at the beginning of 2026 by applying more of the techniques he had learned through the broadcasts. Alongside selling seedlings, he also designs decorative plant containers made from cement, red soil and coloured paint.

“The two businesses are different, but they support each other. When I make decorative plant pots, people also want plants to put in them. Once I expanded into growing more fruit trees, demand increased. Many people want more greenery around their homes and they also want fruit trees they can benefit from. Each activity brings its own income,” he said.

Ahmed believes no form of honest work should be looked down upon if it provides a livelihood. His longer-term goal is to pass on his skills to unemployed young people so they too can earn income. He has trained more than 10 young people free of charge, many of whom are now using the skills to support themselves and their families.

Ahmed says continuing to listen to Radio Ergo’s daily programmes has helped him build knowledge and develop practical improvements for both his business and his household.

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Sahra Faah Ali owned a small café in Madah-lagu, where she cooked and sold meals and groceries, making $6 to $10 a day that covered food, water, her children’s education, and other household expenses.

But the shop and her corrugated iron house with two rooms, a kitchen and latrine were all burnt down and destroyed in the violence. Her six goats, some of them milking animals that supplied milk for her children, also had to be abandoned as they fled.

Sahra said she started her business with an initial $100 loan. It had grown to hold around $300 worth of stock that constituted her modest savings.

Hundreds fled to nearby Ari-adeye, where Sahra and her eight children and dependent on occasional meals and other support shared by relatives.

“We cook only once a day, and sometimes we don’t cook at all because there is nothing,” Sahra told Radio Ergo. “The relatives hosting us help when they can, but they are struggling too. We arrived with nothing, and our needs are many.”

She can no longer afford basic necessities, including drinking water. Families in Ari-cadeeye buy water from privately owned wells, where a 20-litre jerrycan costs about $1. She asks for 20 litres a day from the household hosting them, which is enough for drinking and cooking, but not for bathing and washing clothes.

“We have no proper shelter. We built a hut from plastic sheets bought on credit and sticks we collected. The mats people gave us are not enough. The children sleep inside, while we sleep outside. During the day we stay under trees because there is nowhere else,” Sahra told Radio Ergo.

Widowed four years ago after her husband died from illness, Sahra, 41, is the family’s sole provider. Since arriving in Ari-adeye she has searched for washing jobs but hasn’t found any paid work.

Three of her children had to drop out of their Koranic school that cost $30 a month in fees. She has other debts too:

“I owe $300 now, including the vehicle that brought us here and the plastic sheets we bought for shelter. I had no choice but to borrow after losing everything in the conflict. I don’t know how I will ever repay it.”

Hinda Farah Jama also lost her home and grocery shop when the fighting spread through Madah-lagu Hoor. The shop that supported her family of seven was burned, destroying goods worth around $3,000.

The family depends on irregular cooked meals shared by earlier arrivals in the displacement settlement.

“We cook only once a day,” Hinda said. “Sometimes we find food, sometimes we go hungry. Whatever we receive is never enough because we are a large family, but we have no alternative.”

There are no basic services in the settlement, forcing her to carry jerrycans from a well about one kilometre away. The water is salty, but she cannot afford cleaner water sold for $1 per container.

The conflict has also halted the education of four of her children, who were in primary school: “There are no schools here, and I could no longer pay the $8 monthly fee for each child.”

With her elderly husband unable to work, Hinda is responsible for supporting the family. After several weeks in the camp, they are still sleeping in the open at night and spending their days crowded into the small shelter of another displaced family.

The scale of displacement has overwhelmed the local community’s ability to cope.

The chairman of the Ari-adeye displacement settlement, Abdisalan Abshir Abdirahman, said local authorities had registered around 370 displaced families since the conflict began. The violence struck just as communities were beginning to recover from three consecutive years of drought.

“We have tried to mobilise assistance, but the needs are far beyond our capacity. People need food, shelter, healthcare and education. They have lost everything. Some are living in the displacement camp while others are crowded into relatives’ homes,” the chairman told Radio Ergo.

Having lost businesses, livestock and homes, these displaced households face an uncertain future with little means of rebuilding their lives once the conflict stops without external assistance.

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