Two weeks ago, Yawo Douvon, CARE's country director in the Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC), found himself showing Angelina Jolie and U.K. foreign minister William Hague around the Lac Vert camp for displaced people near Goma, DRC, where they visited to meet with rape survivors. Today, as the G8 foreign ministers gather in London to sign a declaration on preventing sexual violence in conflict, Yawo calls on them to listen to the voices from Goma, support Hague's initiative and provide the means to make the initiative work.

Foreign Secretary William Hague and UNHCR Special Envoy Angelina Jolie visit Nzolo camp, March 2013. Picture Crown Copyright/MOD/LA(Phot) Iggy Roberts

GOMA, DRC (April 10, 2013) – Eastern DRC is known as the "rape capital of the world" and, as VIP visitors have come and gone over the years, it is easy to become cynical and wonder if warzone rape can ever truly be tackled given its prevalence and complex causes.

Some within the media were skeptical when the British Foreign Secretary and the Hollywood actress visited CARE's work in DRC, thinking perhaps it was more of a PR trip than anything. But, guiding them around the camp as part of William Hague's initiative for preventing sexual violence in conflict, I was struck by their sincerity and passion.

We introduced them to women like Marie and Josephine who recounted the horrific experiences they had suffered. We also showed them CARE's work helping survivors of sexual violence with their immediate needs for medical care, shelter, water and food, as well as the longer-term psychological support and financial assistance they need to move on with their lives.

William Hague was particularly interested in hearing about the situation of rape survivors in order to better understand how they can be supported in the aftermath of an attack and protected from future violence. He was moved by meeting unaccompanied children and asked what was being done to reunite them with their parents. Angelina Jolie was shocked by the level of atrocity experienced by the women she met, and wanted to know more about what could be done to help them. She was interested in how important cash transfers were to the women she spoke to and how they represent hope for them to be able to rebuild their lives.

As the G8 Foreign Ministers' meeting takes place in London tomorrow, I hope that William Hague will bring the voices of Marie, Josephine and the others like them who he met on his visit to DRC and Rwanda to the attention of his fellow foreign ministers. The task of tackling warzone rape may be colossal, but I applaud his efforts to seek an end to an atrocity that has brought so much misery and terror not only to so many ordinary Congolese people, but also to countless others the world over.

William Hague has declared a campaign to tackle impunity. By seeking to put in place an international protocol to increase prosecutions, he aims to send the message to perpetrators of warzone rape that their crimes will no longer go unpunished and rape will no longer be seen as an inevitable consequence of conflict. He has invested in a team of experts to gather evidence, investigate and prosecute such crimes. This is important first step on what will be a long and arduous journey.

It's encouraging to see a world leader – and a man – take a stance on this difficult issue and stake his reputation on it. I see in the villages in which CARE works in DRC how much more progress is made when not only women but also men challenge custom and practice, and take a stand against sexual violence.

I know of course that more is required to address the root causes of violence in Eastern DRC, which are complex and deep-seated. They involve competition for control of natural resources by various armed groups and deep grievances over power between different ethnic groups. Impunity for sexual violence crimes is rooted in wider lawlessness, which requires the wholesale reform of the national justice and security sectors.

An international protocol to tackle impunity together with deployments experts can help, but they cannot substitute for – and will not work without – long-term, difficult work to reform such institutions on the ground.

So, the diplomatic initiatives launched at the G8 will need to link to long-term aid programs, to address the unique and complex set of circumstances faced by the DRC and the different – but no doubt just as complex ­– sets of circumstances faced by every other state or region affected by conflict.

And, if they are to benefit from this work, the survivors themselves must see their immediate needs met – for lifesaving medical assistance, as well as longer-term health, counseling and livelihoods support to put their lives back together.

This is what I showed William Hague and Angelina Jolie during their visit to Lac Vert and it is this support that remains chronically underfunded.

What I hope now is that the G8 nations will review their funding to countries affected by conflict, and work with the UN and agencies like CARE to assess how to plug the gaps in frontline services for survivors. It should not be beyond our collective ability to ensure that whoever needs lifesaving assistance receives it. We have just lacked the resources and political will to make this happen, until now.

As I said earlier, I hope that the stories of Marie and Josephine are still vivid in William Hague's mind and that he will share these with his fellow foreign ministers. I ask the other G8 countries, on behalf of the many rape survivors we at CARE have assisted over the years in DRC and other war-torn states, to listen to the voices from Goma and act to end the heinous crime of warzone rape.

By launching his initiative to prevent sexual violence in conflict, William Hague has said "enough is enough." Now it is time for the other powerful governments of the G8 to join his call and provide the means to put it into action.

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Marie, 30, fled her home in Kitchanga when armed groups arrived and violence broke out in the Democratic Republic of Congo in March. Her long journey to safety – a week by foot, through fields and forest – was anything but safe.

Marie with her baby. She was raped fleeing to Lac Vert camp in DRC and currently does not know where her husband is. © CARE / Adel Sarkozi

One day, at dusk, not long before reaching the Lac Vert camp, the group of women she was with found themselves surrounded by armed men.

"As soon as we saw them, we knew what would happen," she says. "It is either die or accept your fate."

For women in DRC, "fate" often means rape

In the forest, at dusk, in front of their children, Marie and all the other women with her were raped.

Marie has a four-month-old baby. She doesn’t know where her husband is; they lost sight of each other when they fled. He doesn’t know what has happened to her, and Marie worries about how he is going to react once he does.

Somehow, after their ordeal, the women made it to Lac Vert camp. She arrived a week ago, and has been in pain and ashamed ever since.

"Everything hurts." She points to her abdomen, back, neck. She touches her head. "And here, too. I can’t sleep. What happened has been keeping me awake."

Support for rape survivors

Yesterday, Marie heard about the "house for mothers," a tent in the camp where women who have suffered sexual violence are offered support. Mustering up her courage, she came here to seek help. Now, she will receive emotional support and referral for medical care at the nearby health center.

Marie found out about the house from an educator trained by CARE. The job of educators is to let women in the camp know that such a place exists. They talk to survivors and encourage these women to reach out for help. They also speak to men to help foster a change in attitudes towards rape.

Marie says of the group with whom she traveled, "I will tell the other women to do the same, to come here. Many are ashamed and don’t want to admit to what has happened to them."

Rape with impunity

Marie says that the men who commit these horrific acts are never punished. "How can they be?" she asks. "They appear from nowhere, and disappear into nowhere. Who is going to find them?"

Her only hope is when the war stops, life will be better.

"Tell people to help us so that this stops, and we can go back to our homes," she says suddenly, a trembling plea in her voice.

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Yana*, 26, tends to her month-old baby as her two-year-old daughter sits on the floor playing with a bib – there are no toys to entertain her.

Yana's baby - born a refugee in Jordan. © 2013 Deborah Underdown/CARE

The young mother is on her own with her children, living and sleeping in the same small room. Her only possessions are in the corner of the room – a small bag of clothes, which is the only thing she could carry when she fled Syria five months ago.

"I came to Jordan with my husband five months ago. He went back 12 days ago to bring his mother over to live with us, but for the last three days I haven’t heard anything from him," she says. "I know the area he was in has had some big incidents in the last few days so I am very worried. My husband might not be able to return."

Yana doesn’t just have to deal with the stress of not knowing if her husband is dead or alive but has to struggle everyday just to find enough food for her children.

"I don’t have enough money. But my neighbors help me with food and water."

She continues, "The daily expenses are my biggest concern. I can’t afford milk or diapers. Some days I haven’t been able to afford milk for the baby. I don’t have any gas left to cook and I am too embarrassed to keep asking people for help. I make do with bread and eat it even when it is totally dry."

Yana’s baby was born a refugee and she says the arrival of her daughter made her "happy and sad at the same time."

"Three days before my baby was born, I was visited by someone from CARE. They gave me some money to help me cover the hospital expenses, "she explains. "It was very helpful. I didn’t even have any clothes for the baby at that time."

With her husband missing and no money Yana says, "I have no guarantees in life anymore. I just need the basics to survive – but I have no money left."

*name has been changed

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By Deborah Underdown, CARE UK

"Are you Syrian? Will you marry me?"

Mofeeda, a Syrian refugee in Jordan. © 2013CARE

These are just some of the questions that 34-year-old Mufeeda has been hearing since her husband, Awad, went missing in Syria.

The young family of six lived in fear in Syria, until they finally made the decision to leave their country. They could no longer handle the pressure and constant bombing.

"We decided to take the chance and leave everything behind us when we heard that Syrians who come to Jordan get assisted and provided with all the help they need," she says.

What Mufeeda did not know is price hikes, lack of income generating opportunities and exploitation were some of the many challenges that awaited her family.

After making sure his wife and children were settled in Jordan, Awad decided to go back to settle their affairs in Syria.

"I have not heard from him in 3 months – I do not know where he is or if he is even alive," Mufeeda says, obviously distressed.

Despite having arrived from Syria with no possessions, and having no source of income, Mufeeda now is responsible for providing food and shelter for the whole family. She has visited all the organizations based in Zarqa to ask for help, but all she received was a promise that they will contact her when they have something available.

She believes, "Local organisation representatives would assist Syrian women who were groomed and beautiful – nobody took notice of me as my eyes were constantly swollen from crying all the time."

Now Mufeeda puts on makeup, wears the one fancy outfit she has and heads off to the organizations to seek food packages and diapers for her children.

"Amazingly enough, it works most of the time" she added sarcastically.

Azhar, her 12-year-old son, dropped out of school and is now working full-time to provide for his family. He prepares coffee at a local coffee shop and works 12 hours for a daily wage of approximately $2.25. This is the family's only source of income and it isn't enough to feed the family, much less the other two women living with them.

They're all staying in a one bedroom house that lacks the basic utilities. They sleep on mattresses on the floor. And they have been threatened with eviction if they delay paying their rent.

"The landlord increased the price of rent to $270.00 when she discovered that more people are living in the house, and gave us a week to pay the extra rent or to leave the house," Mufeeda explains. "She could easily rent it for an even higher price once we leave."

The family's future is uncertain, especially if their financial situation remains as it is now. But what is clear is that their condition will only get worse if they don't get any help.

"I'm afraid we will end up on the streets," Mufeeda says.  

That's why she worries her only option ultimately might be to accept one of the indecent proposals she keeps hearing from Jordanian men with the promise of money.

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Following recent fighting in Mali, CARE interviewed the people of Diabaly about their experiences. Sadly, many of them had tragedies to share. The following are a few stories as told to CARE by the survivors.

Assan (left) and Awa (right) "Traumatized by the events in Diabaly, Awa doesn’t talk much now, and she is not her usual self. She is currently receiving medical treatment so that she can better deal with her distress," says Awa's sister Assan. © 2013 CARE

From Fatoumata:

“We were awakened by gunfire. Very alarmed, my husband, my three children and myself went into hiding in our room until the following day.

By the following night, we managed to flee. We reached a rice field. Soon, we were taken in by the first family we met. They were very welcoming. They gave us food and water, and did not ask many questions.

I then took a bus with my kids to Siribala to join my aunt. I did not have any money on me, and my aunt paid for our transport when we arrived. My husband continued to Bamako and since then I have no news from him.

It's really hard for my aunt and all of us.”

Red eyed from insomnia, still covered in the black burqa imposed by armed groups, Awa has a sad story to share. As she is still very distressed, it is Assan, her sister, who tells CARE Awa’s story.  

“After the January shooting in Diabaly, my sister Awa walked nearly 100 miles from Diabaly to Sibirila with two of her children and eight other unaccompanied children.

Traumatized by the events in Diabaly, she doesn’t talk much now, and she is not her usual self. She is currently receiving medical treatment so that she can better deal with her distress.

Things are tough for us now with having to look after all the children as well.”

Following the fighting on Monday, January the 11th, in Diabaly, a man in his 50s describes the longest night of his life.

“It was a nightmarish night,” he says. “We were hiding in the house, with a gut wrenching fear, but the worse was yet to come. Suddenly a bullet pierced the bedroom door of my children; it hit my 10-year-old son in the head as he was sleeping; he would never wake up again. My 12-year-old daughter was also wounded.  I confess that since then I have not been functioning well; I have been feeling very down.”

Note: to date, CARE has supported internally displaced people in Siribala with essential food distributions; over the past few weeks, CARE distributed 528 kg of food to 605 people. Overall, in the months of January-February, a total of 46,888 people in the regions of Mopti and Segou have been assisted, with 668 metric tonnes of food being distributed.

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by Claudine Mensah Awute, CARE Mali country director

About a year ago, the world started to watch with alarm the growing number of people suffering from a severe food crisis engulfing the Sahel region, which, at its peak, affected more than 18 million people.

To make things worse, Mali, once one of the most stable and peaceful countries of the region, saw an escalation of violence as fighting erupted in the north of the country. Thousands of families spilled into neighboring countries, taking refuge in camps hastily patched together on the border of Niger or Mauritania, while many others sought relief and shelter with friends and families in the south of the country.

In recent weeks, Mali has been grabbing headlines troops continue their fight against armed groups in the north of the country.

Every day, there has been news of the troops reaching one town after another. But what has been grabbing fewer, or no headlines at all, is the number of people who have been forced to flee their homes amidst the fighting­. They have been forced to flee with little more than the clothes on their backs. And the numbers keep growing. During three weeks in January alone, there have been nearly 18,000 refugees and 12,000 displaced people in Mali.

More than 4.3 million people in Mali are now in need of humanitarian aid.

These numbers can be overwhelming, but behind them, there are people – in flesh and bone, each with a story of their own:

Rokia is a mother of four, who told CARE she fled with her four children. Months before, her husband left their village in the north because of attacks. Rokia is constantly worried about him, and distressed as she doesn’t know how she will fend for her children by herself. Haussa also is a mother of four. She’s now in Bamako after leaving Timbuktu in early January. She told us that she would like to return home though she is well aware there is nothing waiting for her there.

The needs are many. As CARE’s recent assessments have shown, displaced families lack even the most basic necessities. They are in desperate need of food, water, adequate shelter and essential items, such as kitchen utensils, blankets, mats and soap.

For those who are planning to return home, the unknown awaits – how many of their belongings have been stolen? What about the next harvest and will they be able to plant?
And there is a need to come to the aid of those living in trying circumstances in various refugee camps across the border, all of them still suffering from the strain of last year’s food crisis.
If action is taken now, lives can be saved.

For the past three weeks, CARE has been distributing food in two of the five regions most affected, having reached 54,000 people with essential food items. CARE is supporting both internally displaced people and host communities, who are still recovering from last year’s food crisis, with cash-for-work programs and the provision of tools and seeds to help ensure a decent harvest.
In the coming days, food from the World Food Program will arrive in Timbuktu, and CARE and our partners are on the ground, ready to distribute the food more than 130,000 people.

Our emergency response will include providing access to food, water, sanitation and cash programs for 30,000 families, and helping 25,000 children return to school. We’re also responding with long-term development solutions that include disaster risk reduction and food security programs. Many of our activities will focus on women, as they often suffer the most during times of crisis.

Mali is a clear example where aid will save lives. It is the very essence of why most donors support our aid program. It is also why so many individuals give donations. Despite the fact that Mali and its people might be a world away, they are in dire need of our help. And they need it now.

Thank you.

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By Amy Brenneman

In December, actress Amy Brenneman traveled to Peru with her family and CARE to visit the women and families benefitting from CARE’s maternal and child health and child nutrition programs. The following are her impressions of the experience.

I first became involved with CARE after reading "Half The Sky." I was deeply affected by this book, brilliantly written by Nicholas Kristof and Sheryl WuDunn. The seminal idea is that although the most vulnerable citizens on the planet are women and girls – they depict harrowing stories of human trafficking, wage inequality, domestic abuse and violent chauvinism a la the Taliban – that is also where the global solutions lie: in the future of women and girls. Through micro loans, commitment to education and family planning, miraculous changes can occur. I went to an event for the book sponsored by CARE here in Los Angeles and was deeply inspired to start traveling and observing their work.

Since I have two small children and worked a day job on the television program "Private Practice", I had to wait a number of years to take this trip. Last September I began talking with the CARE folks about where I could go in December, with my family in tow. They suggested seeing programs in the area of Ayacucho, Peru, and I jumped at the chance.

The name of the program I was to observe was called Windows of Opportunity (http://thewindowofopportunity.info/countries/peru/), which focuses on nutrition for pregnant and breastfeeding mothers, as well as their children. I was to be accompanied by Gabby Ayzanoa Vigil, a CARE representative based in Lima and the amazing Dr. Ariel Frisancho Arroyo, who also flew from Lima to act as sounding board and interpreter.

I truly didn't know what to expect. My family and I flew into Lima on a Tuesday, cooled our heels for a day, and then awoke at 3:30 the next morning to catch the 5 am commuter flight to Ayacucho. We were well off the beaten path, tourist-wise. In fact, the previous day in Lima, Peruvians were constantly surprised that we'd ever visit Ayacucho. Cuzco – yes. Machu Picchu, of course. But why would we travel around the world to see scrappy subsistence farmers in a rugged part of their country?

After checking my family into the lovely Plaza Hotel at the center of Ayacucho (also known as Huamanga in the local language Quechua), I climbed into a van with the CARE folks and began a bumpy, mysterious ride to our first stop, the village of Violeta Velasque.

The ride to the village was murky for me. The roads were unpaved, switch-backed and increasingly muddy from the constant rain. It is the rainy season in Peru now, as spring turns to summer. Those of us who flew at o-dark-hundred from Lima dozed. I fell in and out of a traveler's nap, neck snapping against the van seat, with dreams and thoughts co-mingling and interchangeable.  My mind was trying to catch up to where my body now found itself.

We arrived with a jolt to the village square – an empty expanse in front of a church where the rain now steadily droned. Beautiful local women greeted me with flowers, their traditional stovepipe hats keeping them warm. We were shepherded into a community building where three men – the town's leaders – stood rather formally behind card tables. Women and their children lined the sides of the squat building, which had no heating or lighting. The presentation was about to begin.

It had been some time since I had been in a place with no heat, electricity, running water, cars, or – and this is what struck me the most, oddly – glass in the windows. There were few windows and so little light on this gray day, with no lamps to help. The combined effect was medieval. I initially could only make out murky shapes and was grateful for the periodic glare of the video camera. The folks who lived there had no problem, clearly. It was I, so used to incessant noise and utility companies that defy seasons or nightfall, who had to re-discover ancient acuities that modernity had made dull.

The presentation was dignified and cogent. Speaking Quechua (translated first into Spanish and then into English for me) the gentlemen thanked us for coming and CARE for its support. They showed clear, well-detailed posters on the walls, which charted the status of each of the village's 123 souls. There was a legend on the bottom which showed which households had children, gestating mothers, running water, animals – all the details important to this life. Because my trip was focused on Windows of Opportunity, they also showed me charts where each infant and child was periodically and rigorously weighed and measured, so that malnutrition could immediately be red-flagged. The nearest clinic was days away by foot; through CARE's support, Violeta Velasquez had created its own well-baby clinic, and if any babies where not well, they could alert someone who could help.

Later, we visited a home where the mama proudly showed us her clean home and her new stove – not gas as yet, but a woodstove which now had a functioning chimney such that the kitchen no longer filled with smoke. She showed us separate sleeping chambers for herself and her children. Many times during the visits we heard about what a vast improvement this was from the days of one- room sleeping; parents, children, and animals used to crowd into the same sleeping space that they readily admitted was filthy. This mama also ran a small store on the first floor of her home, where villagers could barter for items they could not grow or make.

But what most struck me – and frankly, what I personally related to – was the "Plan Familiar 2012" posted on the kitchen wall. CARE encourages each family – as well as each community – to discern personal goals and strategies for achieving them. There were separate categories for the woman and her husband, and columns for each month of the past year. Neat checks marked accomplished goals; neat notations marked explanations of why they were not.

It was exactly what I do for myself, and what I encourage my children to do.

Here in this village, which on the surface differed so much from my home, we were employing the same strategies to lift ourselves out of vague intentions and discontents, to put pen against paper and say, against seeming insurmountable odds:
"This is who I am.
This is what I want.
And this is how I am going to get it."

In addition to material support, CARE was providing something more essential to the folks of Violeta Velasquez: the self-esteem to achieve what they most desired.

By Adel Sarkozi, CARE

Haussa and Komjo in the background. © 2013 Alpha Cisse/CARE

In an outer suburb of Bamako – Mali's capital - with half finished buildings on dusty dirt roads covered in litter, you enter a two-storey house. Like many other derelict houses in the neighborhood, you're told, it is inhabited by "Northerners."

They are most often women with their children, or just children, torn apart from the rest of the family and forced to flee the Timbuktu region, its violence and chaos, its dread-filled streets, empty shops, schools and health centers shut down since last April.

Their stories sound the same, with small variations, punctured by half sentences, and words, such as – "fear," "had to flee," "on the road for four days," "could not take anything with us," "husband left behind," "life turned upside down." They are probably the best summed up by Komjo, a grandmother in her 60s:

"Everything that was good in my life, I had to leave behind. I live on memories, those before the fighting," she says.

I find her seated on the floor, surrounded by younger women and their children, some her relatives, some neighbors from Timbuktu. There are about 40 of them in the house, having joint relatives or just good-hearted people. At night, they cram in two semi-bare rooms, and on a bare balcony.

As every morning since she fled to Bamako six months ago, Komjo is bending over a large plate full of small shells. ‘She is reading the future," says Haussa, a woman in her 30s, seated on her right.

"So what do the shells say today?," I ask.

I expect her to say something about her future, that of Timbuktu – liberated just the day before – or that of Mali, but she starts telling me about my own future. And from the way she touches upon my past, I cannot help believing that her predictions might be true as well.

When I ask about Timbuktu, she says, "Only God knows…We cannot be sure." She starts tossing the shells in front of her for a few seconds, and then she adds, "But I would go back straight away, this very instance if I could."

For the first time, there is passion in her voice, and a shade of smile on her face neatly lined by the trace of time, tucked under a bright headscarf.

"We will go back as soon as there is complete peace there," Haussa picks up the story.

She arrived in Bamako on January 10, after a four-day journey, most of it by boat. The story of her family's journey over the past seven months is intricate, marked by painful decisions. Last May, Haussa and her husband decided to send their three older children – between 7 and 12 years old – to Bamako, in the safe hands of helpful relatives. The parents were worried about the children's safety after violence erupted in Timbuktu last April, but they also wanted the children to continue going to school.

"In Timbuktu," she says, "there has been nothing since last April – no schools, no clinics, no electricity, no water, no services whatsoever. It was hard for the children."

They kept only their youngest son with them – Abdul, a playful, 2 year old. Then, a few weeks ago, fearing the worst, her husband insisted that Haussa leave with their little one. The two set off leaving the husband and father behind. He stayed because he was worried that their house would be vandalized.

Abdul found the journey difficult, Haussa explains, and often cried out of tiredness, pleading for them to stop.

Haussa pulls Abdul over to her lap while Abdamane, the eldest son, joins them on the floor. When asked what he misses about his life in Timbuktu, Abdamane says shyly, "Everything … my school … my friends … my father, most of all."

His story is sadly too common – of families torn apart, predicting a future just as uncertain and disrupted, they say, as their recent past.

A bright, articulate boy, Salif, is taking refuge in the same house with two of his younger brothers. School is important to him, he says. He wants to become an agricultural engineer, and is now in his last year of high school. Last year, he spent five months out of school, until he too fled from Timbuktu.

I turn back to Komjo who is still staring at her shells.

"More news?" I ask.

She pauses, eyes still cast on the shells.

"Life is hard here. Everything is expensive. We live from one day to another. We have to borrow money, cope with whatever little we have. When we heard Timbuktu was freed, we were filled with joy. It was unbelievable. There is little left there. It will be hard, but we want to go back … as soon as we can," she finally says.

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As told to CARE by Ibrahim, 57 years old

Ibrahim, a 57-year-old IDP in Mopti with his family and the family of his brother. 'I don’t work and the children are not going to school. We manage to eat only thanks to NGOs such as CARE. We need help,' he says. Ibrahim is one of the 21,000 people benefiting from food supplies being distributed by CARE in Mopti. Photo: © 2013 CARE

I had to leave my village of Temara (near Timbuktu) eight months ago because of the crisis in the north of Mali. Since then, I have been living in Sévaré [near Mopti] with my family and that of my brother – about 20 people – in a house we have been renting.

I don't work and the other family members don't either, so we don't have any revenue. The children are not going to school either. God to be praised, we manage to eat once and often twice a day thanks to donations by NGOs such as CARE, or support from our parents.

We are facing enormous difficulties. The main issue is the lack of food as I can't even ensure the three daily meals for my family. Also, my family and I have problems with the accommodation despite the two tents and the one toilet that we were given by the Red Cross.

We need help from aid organizations, especially clean drinking water as at the moment we are using untreated water from the well. I would like especially to receive the emergency supplies that CARE and the World Food Program are currently distributing in Sévaré.

A Mother on Raising Her Family in a Conflict Zone

Rokia, 40-years-old, displaced in Mopti with her 4 children. Her husband had fled before her after he was assaulted by armed groups. © 2013 CARE

MALI: Humanitarian Snapshot (as of 21 January 2013). Click to download.

As told to CARE by Rokia, 40 years old

I am from Niafounke (near Timbuktu).

I have been living in Mopti for nine months. I came here after my husband was assaulted by armed groups and he had to flee. He left me with the four children and we are living now with the village chief of Massaya Daga in Mopti in a small house.

I am very worried about my husband as I don’t often have news from him. But I thank God that my children and I can eat three times a day thanks to food distributions by CARE and the World Food Program. As for water, we use water from the river, mixing it with bleach. Not having an activity to enable me to earn money means that I am faced with a lot of problems trying to raise the children by myself.

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by Sarah Zingg, CARE DRC

Today, in the IDP camp of Mugunga III outside of Goma, CARE staff member Rose leads a training against SGBV. The men and women have been chosen for their literacy and enthusiasm to take on social responsibility in the camps. (Photo: © 2012 CARE/Sabine Wilke)

Hands clap and fingers snap as a group of women and men watch CARE staff Rose Vive Lobo’s lips and respond to her questions.

"What does sexual violence mean? Do you know different forms of such violence? What are women’s and men’s rights and obligations?"

Twenty women and men have been selected to participate. They’re representatives from each of three displacement camps in Goma, the provincial capital of North Kivu in eastern Democratic Republic of Congo.

After several months of escalating violence, more than 150,000 people have been newly displaced, uprooted from their communities and mostly left to themselves in spontaneous camps.

To prevent sexual and gender-based violence, and care for survivors of it, CARE trains men and women to become community educators. They will share their knowledge within the communities to help break the taboo – and stigma – associated with these types of violence. Husbands, families and even whole communities often marginalize and discriminate against survivors because of the shame they are believed to bring.

As a result of the fear of isolation and stigma, survivors seldom dare to speak about their experience and hardly ever reach out for help. CARE works with women and men to change attitudes and views about sexual and gender-based violence and break the cycles of violence and discrimination against women and girls.

The topic is not new to the group; they all have experienced some kind of sexual or gender-based violence or know someone who has. This is as much a problem in the camps as it was in their villages before they had to flee.

Now, women and girls face the threat of being raped when they venture out to look for firewood, but domestic rape is common as well, yet less talked about.

The participants also know other forms of gender-based violence – the topic of today’s training session – and the group members share their own experiences, some hesitantly, others more freely.

Many forms and norms of violence

Violence and discrimination comes in forms. Rose explains that privileging sons over daughters when it comes to education and heritage is not fair. The group members first react with consternation, but as the discussion takes off, more and more agree that this treatment hinders the economic success a woman can have in her life.

One of the women stands up and explains with a quiet and sad voice that she could not find any words when her daughters asked her one day why they had not been educated while their brothers had. An elderly woman also speaks up and says, "I took the decision to educate my daughters because it is through them that their own children will benefit as well." However, she adds that she lacked the money to send her daughters beyond the first years of primary school.

The men and women participate enthusiastically in the discussions. Those who can write take notes, and others listen attentively and share their own experiences and opinions. As the group takes a short break, 32-year-old Patrick speaks.

"I have learned a lot during the last two days and I will share it with everyone in the camp." He adds, "In my family, my sisters didn’t inherit anything. I know now that this is also a sort of violence against women."

Nineteen-year-old Aline, mother of two, expresses a similar point. "Before the training, I knew that rape existed, but I didn’t know the different types of sexual violence," she says. "I also learned that it mainly happens to women who wander off into the forest on their own. I want to use what I have learned here today to tell people how to protect themselves from violence."

"If ever I am in a situation of being attacked, I would have two reactions," Aline continues, "Fleeing, and denouncing the perpetrator! I would tell the first person I meet what has happened, and would try to make sure that [the attacker] is being arrested."

With these powerful role models, sexual and gender-based violence hopefully will become less acceptable, and women will gain more respect. Survivors of rape will also have more confidence to talk about their experience and reach out for help, which will allow them to receive the necessary medical and psychological care.

Changing practices and norms takes time, but it starts with community educators as these 20 women and men who are determined to share their knowledge and lead the way.

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It was the gang rape that got the world’s attention, though that certainly wasn’t the intention of the attackers. The story has been told a thousand times, but the family speaks out for the first time in the media in the New York Times. As the family of the victim tells their story, further levels of tragedy are spelled out. We are left scratching our heads at the cruel irony of a state in conflict, where worlds collide, serving as a microcosm of the intense complexities of the nature of globalization in a world in overdrive.

Badri Nath Singh speaks to family on the phone in Medawara Kalan, after the death of his only daughter from a gang rape so brutal, her intestines had to be removed before she finally succumbed to her injuries. Image: New York Times/ Heather Timmons & Hari Kumar

Badri Nath Singh left a muddy rural town called Medawara Kalan over three decades ago to pursue the opportunities that big global cities like Delhi provide. Unlike the vast majority of fathers in underdeveloped countries, he took his daughter’s education very seriously. He worked day and night, sold land, and borrowed money to put his only daughter through school in the Indian capital.

Finally completing her medical school studies, she often showed off her white doctor’s coat to her family after receiving an internship in her career, symbolic of the rags-to-real opportunity narrative of her family’s journey. From thatched-roof huts along a one-lane dirt road to a physiotherapy degree in the biggest megalopolis in the world’s second-most populous country.

India is a country of juxtaposed high contrasts. Ultra-modern and ancient, colorful and dry, opulence and destitution, overcrowded but soulful. Thirteen years ago, places like India that possessed such unbelievable poverty appeared only mitigable, but certainly not possible of the progress we have now seen since the appropriation of the UN Millennium Development Goals in 2000.  Not only are we globally set to meet or exceed many of those goals by the goal date of 2015, we are posed to champion a brand-new era of human and economic development that may finally justify collective hope for a brave new world.

However, the key to unlocking that future only recently became clear in a popular sense: educating young girls. Empirical data gives us an idea, but it’s the real stories from the front lines of international development that really drive this point home, again and again and again. Educate a girl and you can change the world.

The key to unlocking her future: her education Image credit: Flickr/Zuhair_Ahmad

Badri Singh knew that, defying the odds and expectation of his culture well before gender-based development programs hit the front pages of the world, and sparked dialogue that would change the face of poverty.

He just dreamed that his daughter would have a better life – a good life, one that would make his suffering and hard work worth it to see his offspring prosper in ways most dare to dream of. But instead, he returned home to his family village, where he carried his only daughter’s ashes.

His wife, the mother of the victim, didn’t sit for the New York Times interview – she sat in a dark corner of the house, adjacent to a courtyard where children played. Wrapped in a blanket, she raised her hands in “namaste” to greet the reporter, but did not speak. She has not been well since the attack, said her family. The brother of the victim is also inconsolable, crying throughout the interview.

The victim’s struggle to survive was remarkable, given the brutality and horrific violence of the crime. After being beaten and raped by five men, she was also raped with a metal rod, which destroyed her uterus and intestines. They had to be removed in surgery after being transferred to a hospital in Singapore. She also suffered significant brain injury, infection of the lungs and abdomen, and extreme blood loss.

Following the rape, the assailants dumped her and her fiance’s limp bodies on the side of a Delhi road to die, but not before attempting to run her over. Her fiance, after regaining consciousness, pulled her out from underneath the bus lest she be crushed to death. Then, there they laid for nearly an hour, while people walked and drove by, sometimes pausing to peer at the naked, profusely bleeding duo.

Before the victim succumbed to her extensive injuries two weeks after the attack, the country as a whole reacted in one collective voice that demanded revolutionary change in everything from social norms and attitudes, to the justice system, to the media portrayal.

The layers of horror to this crime only compound the viciousness of its social context… The fact that rape goes unreported because women fear humiliation and backlash from law enforcement (though some that do report suffer such humiliation, such as being told to marry their rapist, that they commit suicide). The savage nature of the crime itself, the prolificness of rape and sexual assault and violence against women in India and it’s acceptability in India (see: bride burnings). Also, the confounding uselessness of the “justice system,” where rape cases sometimes take 10-15 years just to prosecute, let alone sentence.

India Calls for Reform in Society and the Law /Image: AP

Protesters mourn the victims of gender-based violence and call for reforms in society and the law. Images from The Daily Mail

Image: The Daily Mail

Image: The Daily Mail

Image: AP/ Getty

Image: Zuma

It seems as if this specific case galvanized the public like never before, and what once seemed like contentious or controversial issues (such as women’s conduct in relation to their treatment in society, and the related problem of victim-blaming) became hot topics of yesterday’s norms, giving way to more progressive ideas (you know, like feminism). Indeed, this appears to be the beginning of a second- or third-wave feminist movement within the context of Indian national history. I am personally proud to see this exploding on a national scale, knowing it will likely lead to real and lasting, badly-needed change. But its source is ultimately tragic, and the reminders of this fact are omnipresent.

India may be ushering in a new era of humanity and history, as the national dialogue has been dominated so heavily that it has spilled into the larger global discourse of human issues. I certainly hope, as do countless others who have taken to the streets, that this is the case.

In the New York Times article, the father explains that his village never knew crime, and he had never even heard of theft until he moved to Delhi. Is it possible that the urban environment, in its rapid forward movement and alienation of those that get left behind, is partially responsible for the creation of social problems that characterize this case?

He came to Delhi to provide his children with better lives, leaving his impoverished, but relatively safe village behind for thirty years – only to be robbed of not just that opportunity, his hard work and investment, but the cruelest theft of all – his beloved only daughter and his family’s peace. The tragic irony of the intersection of poverty and crime, urban and rural life, yesterday and tomorrow, globalization and the traditions and lifestyle of previous generations dominates the undercurrent of these headlines. Perhaps the cruelest, saddest, most tragically ironic twist of all is that his daughter might still be alive and well if he had stayed in his safe little village, a world away from higher education and the promise it keeps.

In the meantime and for a long while, globalization’s impact on populously exploding societies will serve to both usher in the exchange of progress, new ideas, and economic growth, and dichotomously create new problems that only a new generation can solve.

On December 15, a CARE team returned from an evaluation mission to South Masisi territory in the North Kivu Province of Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) — the first one to take place in the region by any humanitarian organization.

Starting in mid-November, the rural areas surrounding Goma, the provincial capital of North Kivu, had been inaccessible due to increased fighting. A CARE team of three visited several villages in south Masisi in a convoy organized by the World Food Programme as soon as the security situation allowed.

In the villages they visited, CARE found large numbers of new arrivals — internally displaced people who've recently fled fighting near their homes. CARE already had programs in the area; organizing food distributions through a cash and voucher system at the local market, providing plastic sheets to cover huts against rain and supporting local health centers with medicine and advice.

When fighting intensified, CARE and other humanitarian organizations had to temporarily withdraw from the region. The CARE Masisi team continued to work around the clock from Goma to ensure an immediate intervention could be launched once the humanitarian corridor to South Masisi was reopened.

CARE's three field staff came back a week after they had left for South Masisi with many observations and analyses of the current needs of the displaced populations, and recommendations for interventions CARE could undertake given the conditions on the ground.

"Most of the displaced persons have been here for five months," reported Emmanuel, one of the CARE staff who visited South Masisi. "They were working in their fields when they heard the fighting in the villages. They fled immediately without having the chance to go back home to take some belongings such as plates or pots."

"They arrived there without anything," he explains. "They sleep on the ground. You know, it's very cold in Masisi and without any household goods it's difficult to prepare to eat. They also don't have easy access to water."

Emmanuel recorded the stories of some of the people he met

Munyarubuga, 62, father of four
"I am a farmer. Thanks to this work, I feed and take care of my family. Due to the insecurity at home, I am blocked here, and I have no way of providing for my family. My family does not even have the most basic items to survive because we fled the hostilities when we were working in the field. We left everything behind. Our little hut here is not big enough for the family and back home our house has been burnt down by armed groups. Upon our return back home, I will have to start from the beginning, buy everything again. That's really terrible."

Uwizeye Therese, 35, mother of five
"When I was working in the field with my husband and my children, we saw smoke above our village; armed groups had put our village on fire. We took our children immediately and left with other people of the village. Where we are now, we suffer. Look at our hut …

It's difficult to find enough to eat, and we have no plates or pots to cook, eat or collect water with. I only have the clothes I am wearing, and to wash my family' clothes in the river takes me a whole day. When it rains, they don't dry and we have to borrow clothes from neighbors."

Madame Nyirabazairwa, 30, mother of two
"Since I've arrived here, I have only received a plastic sheet. Access to resources and services is difficult, and there is not enough space in the camp. I work on a daily basis on other people's land, which is not always assured. Look, my child who sits next to me is starting to get sick because of malnutrition. We really suffer a lot."

Madame Agishanimana, 28, mother of one
"I have been here for around five months. Life here is difficult. Look at my hut, that's all I have. I only have one set of clothes. Finding food is difficult. We hope that when CARE comes here next time, we will receive food. The number of displaced people has increased lately, which limits the chance of getting day work in local fields on which we depend. Everything I use in the hut has been offered by a local family. If I receive a means to prepare to eat, and a blanket to cover my children, that would help a lot. You see, my child who is asleep in the hut suffers from coughing and fever, maybe as a result of the cold and the bad living conditions. There needs to be peace for us to be able to return home and to end this misery we live in."

CARE Distributions

A few days after the assessment, CARE, in partnership with the World Food Programme and the Government of Luxemburg, distributed food and shelter items to more than 8,000 displaced families.

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Interview conducted by David Rochkind

Mireille Henry, 44, sits where the foundation of her home used to be on January 7, 2013. Mireille lost everything during the earthquake of January 10, 2010. © 2013 David Rochkind/CARE

Milton, Haiti (January 2013) – Three years ago, a massive earthquake destroyed Mireille Henry's home in Haiti, killing her mother and trapping her daughter under the rubble for five hours.

The mother of four lost everything she owned. Mireille didn't even have a spoon to feed her children, she says, or a blanket to keep them warm. She relocated to a field with her family. On the luckiest days, they got to sleep under a tree.

It's been a challenging – and chaotic – journey for Mireille, 44, since the earthquake that affected millions of Haitians and left hundreds of thousands in displacement camps. But Mireille has rebuilt her life, through the help of her community and an innovative microsavings program.

In 2011, CARE introduced a Village Savings and Loans Association (VSLA) in Haiti and Mireille's community. The program serves the poorest of the poor – people who do not otherwise have access to the types financial services much of the world takes for granted.

Every group of 20- 30 women receives intensive financial training. And the group's members contribute a minimum of roughly $2.00 each to the group's savings fund every week. The women can borrow from the group fund to invest in small businesses, pay for seeds and fertilizer or cover important family expenses, such as school fees and doctor's visits. The loans are repaid quickly, with a low interest rate, set by the group members. The interest is then shared with everyone in the group as profit, distributed as "pay-outs."

Today, there are nearly 5,000 VSLA participants in Haiti, and 81 percent of them are women. These groups have saved a total of $179,646.00!

Mireille received three loans through the VSLA program, which she used on her children's schooling. And she plans to use her next pay-out to restart her fabric business.

Before the earthquake, Mireille purchased fabric in bulk and then resold the material at the market near her home. When the earthquake destroyed her home, she tried to salvage the fabric that was left. She stored some at the market, but it was all stolen, leaving her with nothing.

Eager to start her business again, Mireille says the VSLA has taught her how to save funds that will bring her fabric business back to life.

"Even though we don't have a lot of money, we now have a way to save," she says. "We don't have to go to a bank. I'm very proud of that, and I want to see this continue in the future."

Mireille, like many others in her community, are making strides since the tragic earthquake. Today, she lives in a small home with walls made out of tarps and a ceiling of aluminum. Her new home sits right next to the foundation of her former home.

With hope and determination, Mireille continues to participate in VSLA in order to increase her income and strengthen her financial planning skills. She also volunteers as the group's treasurer, and the group admires her strong-willed and serious nature. Mireille is responsible for keeping track of money – counting and verifying it at each weekly meeting – and for keeping the cash box safe.
Her VSLA group has lots of big ideas, Mireille says. They've thought about opening a bakery together or starting a sewing studio.

Mireille says she especially enjoys showing other women, who are not part of VSLA, how much the program has helped her. She has encouraged many of these women to participate, and use it as an outlet for their voices to be heard within the community.

"I know that women can be strong leaders," she said. "I really believe that. I want to become a better leader, a stronger leader, myself."

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NOTE: Some names have been changed to protect those quoted. Masisi is located in North Kivu Province of the Democratic Republic of the Congo, where heavy fighting has displaced more than 800,000 people so far.

On December 19, CARE participated in a joint NGO fixing and registration in the Bulengo camp, just outside Goma, that hosts people displaced due to recent escalation of violence in North Kivu, DRC. © 2012 CARE/Sabine Wilke

It is 3:30 a.m. and everyone in Goma is asleep.

Almost everyone.

A group of 50 people from CARE and two of its partner organizations are awake and on their way to their designated meeting point. Seven NGOs and four UN organizations have teamed up to do a census at all of the sites in Goma that have become spontaneous camps for displaced persons. The mission: To count everyone, record their names and determine their needs.

Though we often see reports about the distribution of relief items during emergencies, the public knows little about the many rounds of coordination, data collection and logistical preparations that make the effective distribution of aid possible. So what exactly happens before much-needed help such as food, blankets or hygiene articles are given out to those who have lost everything?

The recent surge of violence in the Democratic Republic of Congo's North Kivu, the easternmost province of the country, has brought with it a sharp rise in the number of people forced to flee their homes. Many of these families have settled in spontaneous sites in Goma, the provincial capital. They shelter under flimsy plastic sheets, in makeshift huts, or in overcrowded classrooms and churches. They need food, water and other relief items. But how exactly do you count the number of people living in such spontaneous sites? How do you ensure that everyone receives support while no one is benefitting twice? How do you identify those in need of special assistance, like breastfeeding women and unaccompanied children?

To get to their census locations on time, many CARE staff have been awake since 2:00 a.m. At 4:30 a.m., everyone puts on their CARE shirts to be easily recognizable once they enter the camps. For this census, CARE will cover one part of Mugunga I camp, where an estimated 12,400 households have settled in recent weeks.

Every census team member receives spray paint and 120 yellow coupons. Their job is to go from hut to hut to find which are inhabited and by whom. People come and go quickly, so some temporary shelters have already been abandoned. The head of the household, if present, is given a coupon to go to a registration desk and submit more information about their situation. CARE staff prefers to give the coupons to a female head of household as they are typically more reliable caretakers of everyone else in their family. The census takers also find out other key information such as if there is a pregnant woman or someone with a chronic disease? How many children live in this household? In the language of emergencies, this is called a "vulnerability analysis."

As soon as the team arrived at Mugunga around 5.30 a.m., things became quite busy. In a spontaneous settlement like this, it is hard to find your way around and make sure you cover the part that you were assigned to. Many families were of course surprised by the unannounced visitors, but it was important to do the census at the same time in all camps and early in the morning before people left to look for work, firewood or go about their daily routines.

"In an emergency situation, this type of census is the most reliable method of getting accurate numbers," explains CARE's emergency response manager Sébastien Kuster. "There will never be a perfect method, but with this exercise we have tried very hard to take all possible circumstances into account."

Once they've handed over a coupon, CARE staff spray paints a mark by the door to make sure no household is counted twice. While the team goes about the job, security officers make sure that the situation stays calm. This is a tense situation for the camp population and this is why all teams have been thoroughly briefed about what to say and how to engage. CARE's values – dignity, humility and respect – were being put to test on this day and the reaction spoke for itself.

"We have largely been welcomed. The people here are very friendly and it was humbling to see how patient these families were about their dire living conditions and how thankful they are for our support," says Joseph, a CARE staffer.

CARE reached out to close to 3,800 households that morning. To ensure that no one was left out, a few CARE staff members and other partners also worked extra hours at a complaint desk. Here people could state their case and they were then accompanied back to their shelter to see whether or not it had been overlooked.

"It was really encouraging to see the whole team getting mobilized for this," says Aude Rigot, CARE's Provincial Director for North Kivu. "From our project officers to the cleaning staff, from finance staff to the emergency team leader, everyone worked hand-in-hand to get the job done."

After all the data is consolidated, CARE and its partners can begin the distribution of necessary relief items. CARE will provide plastic tarps and team up with other agencies to hand out several goods at the same time.

The next morning, everyone is back at their desks in the CARE office and goes about their usual activities to keep CARE's programs running. These early birds might still have tired eyes and swollen feet, but their spirits are high and the job has been done. For today, that is all that counts.

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About CARE
Founded in 1945, CARE is a leading humanitarian organization fighting global poverty and providing lifesaving assistance in emergencies. CARE places special focus on working alongside poor girls and women because, equipped with the proper resources, they have the power to help lift whole families and entire communities out of poverty.
Last year, CARE worked in 84 countries around the world to assist more than 122 million people improve basic health and education, fight hunger, increase access to clean water and sanitation, expand economic opportunity, confront climate change, and recover from disasters. To learn more, visit www.care-international.org.

NOTE: Some names have been changed to protect those quoted. Masisi is located in North Kivu Province of the Democratic Republic of the Congo, where heavy fighting has displaced more than 800,000 people so far.

On Dec. 12, CARE participated in a joint NGO fixing and registration in all camps and spontaneous sites that are hosting people displaced due to recent escalation of violence in North Kivu, DRC. CARE’s teams were responsible for parts of Mugunga I camp and went from door to door to hand out coupons for registration. © 2012 CARE/Sabine Wilke

Claudine* has lost everything. Only 22 years old, she has lost her family, her health, her dignity and has no way to earn a living.

Claudine is one of an estimated 130,000 people who have fled conflict in eastern Democratic Republic of Congo's North Kivu province during recent weeks and is one of countless women there subjected to brutal sexual attacks. When she describes what happened to her, she speaks softly, with her head tilted down, never looking up into the listener's eyes.

Claudine was forced to leave her home in Bweremana, a village in the territory of Masisi. There and in surrounding areas of North Kivu, violence flared up again in May between armed groups and the army. Claudine's family fled their home so quickly, they lost track of each other. Claudine found shelter in a camp outside Goma, but had no idea where her parents and siblings had gone.

When she went to look for wood in the nearby national park to construct a hut, she was approached by two guards with sticks.

"They said I was not allowed to cut wood and they asked me to hand over my machete," says Claudine. One of the men then walked away. The other one took Claudine by force, tore off her clothes and raped her.

This pattern is frustratingly common in eastern Congo. Women and girls are forced to venture out of their camps or villages to collect sticks or firewood. When walking long distances all by themselves, they are easy targets for attack and rape.

"When I went back to the camp, I didn't talk about it. I was ashamed." Claudine recalls. "Two months later though, I was still not feeling well, so I decided to look for help. I was hospitalized and found out that I am pregnant."

In November, a new wave of fighting in and around Goma forced Claudine to temporarily leave the camp. When she came back a few days ago, she found her hut destroyed and her few belongings stolen. She spends nights with friends and neighbors who can sometimes accommodate her. During the day she carries goods across the camp as a way to make a little bit of money to buy food. The heavy loads make her back hurt and endanger the unborn child.

In eastern Congo, rape is systematically used as a weapon of war. It destroys not only countless women's lives, but breaks apart families and communities. Despite epidemic levels of rape, survivors are still severely stigmatized. Husbands, families and communities often marginalize and discriminate against survivors because of the shame they are believed to bring. As a result of the fear of isolation and stigma, survivors seldom dare to speak about their experience and hardly ever reach out for help.

Furthermore, sexual and gender-based violence is also deeply engrained in the norms and structures of society there. More than half of the men responsible for sexual violence in North Kivu over the first six months of 2012 were civilians, according to the United Nation's Population Fund. The region is dominated by patriarchal norms and rape-supportive attitudes among men that subordinate women and normalize rape, as shown in a recent study by Promundo and Sonke Gender Justice Network.

To provide survivors such as Claudine with timely and adequate medical and psychosocial assistance, CARE works in camps and villages to train educators to identify sexual and gender-based violence. Community workers organize activities and spread messages to break the taboo of sexual violence and encourage survivors to reach out for help. CARE trains these community workers in three camps around Goma—one of them where Claudine is sheltered. CARE also provides psychosocial assistance and medical support to health centers, such as post-exposure prophylaxis kits and antibiotics to help prevent the transmission of HIV and other sexually transmitted infections and diseases.

Medical and psychosocial support are paramount to support survivors. But they also want to get back on their feet economically and regain a respectable position in their communities. Therefore, CARE supports survivors and other vulnerable people to form groups and helps them start small activities to earn money. Claudine will be part of this program. CARE also provides socioeconomic support through village savings and loans groups, which allow poor communities to collectively save money and start small businesses.

After connecting with CARE staff, Claudine now plans to visit the health center for regular pregnancy checkups and to get treated for the abdominal pain she's had since her attack. Through one of the camp groups she is now part of, she hopes to save enough money to pay for a trip back to her home village. Someone told her they saw her mother there recently, she says, her face lightening up for the first time. The thought of being reunited with her mother is a beacon of hope for Claudine in this desperate time.

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December 11, 2012
Sarah Zingg
sarah.zingg@co.care.org

*name has been changed

About CARE
Founded in 1945, CARE is a leading humanitarian organization fighting global poverty and providing lifesaving assistance in emergencies. CARE places special focus on working alongside poor girls and women because, equipped with the proper resources, they have the power to help lift whole families and entire communities out of poverty.

Last year, CARE worked in 84 countries around the world to assist more than 122 million people improve basic health and education, fight hunger, increase access to clean water and sanitation, expand economic opportunity, confront climate change, and recover from disasters. To learn more, visit www.care-international.org.

My name is Safari Ngayabaseca* and I am here with my husband and children. We are living in this classroom at Don Bosco orphanage – it is the only place that we can find where we feel safe.

Everywhere now is very dangerous – there is nowhere to run to where there is not fighting or bombing. We have come from Kibumba originally, and fled to the camp at Kanyaruchina where many other displaced people went. We were told that we would get help there and that we would be safe.

We were given some food and some other things like a water container and a plastic sheet. We stayed there four months but things were not very safe. Every night we heard shooting and there were always soldiers around. Then, last week, there was some heavy fighting nearby and we were told that we had to leave the camp by rebels so we ran here to Don Bosco.

We heard from others that we would be safe here. Now all we have is this mattress and some clothes that we are wearing. We have been given a little food and there is a medical center here if we need it, but this isn’t any way to live.

All I want to do is go back to Kibumba, but we have been told that our house has been burnt down so now we have nowhere to go. This is the third time in my life that I have had to flee my home and leave everything behind. Now, I don’t even have a home to go back to.

On Monday, I think that we will decide what to do next – but we don’t know what is going on with the government or with the soldiers. So it is hard for us to make a decision. We have no money and no means of returning to Kibumba and no means to build a new house.

I am scared for my children and scared for our future.

*name has been changed

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by Sabine Wilke

This picture could have been taken in Switzerland or at any other lake surrounded by mountains, maybe in Bavaria or British Columbia. But I took this photo in Goma, the capital of North Kivu, an Eastern province of the Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC). A place where, for decades now, armed conflicts and chronic poverty have taken an unimaginably heavy toll on the civilian population.

The news we receive about DRC are always, always terrible. Human rights abuses, deplorable poverty, unsolvable conflicts. Maybe that is why the global public has grown tired of taking a closer look. Maybe that is why DRC simply is this big, black hole to the outside world. But three weeks ago, the world laid its eyes on Eastern DRC once more, when an armed group called M23 seized the town of Goma and forced out the Congolese army. It was the peak of an escalation of violence that has raged in this region for several months and has forced more than 800,000 people to flee.
Today, Goma is frighteningly calm since the M23 has withdrawn on December 1. Frighteningly is the most suitable expression, because the people of Goma do not really want to trust this calm. What if the next storm is just around the corner?

During the latest wave of violence, 130,000 people alone have fled. Countless women and young girls have been raped and injured on their way, and the spontaneous camps and settlements around Goma are no safe haven for these survivors. Attacks and pillages are a daily ordeal. North Kivu has suffered from armed conflict, battles over commodities, chronic lack of infrastructures and ethnic rivalries for a long time; all the while, the international community mostly turns a blind eye on the region.

Looking back at the photo from the lake shore, I think (and hope!) that this could be a glimpse into a possible future – a future where Goma will be a town of peace and recreation, where tourists can enjoy the magnificent volcanic landscape and come face to face with mighty mountain gorillas. Where the population lives in peace and safety, where children can go to school and women are protected from sexual violence and abuse.

Goma’s current reality, unfortunately, is much better portrayed in the pictures taken by photographer Kate Holt, who recently travelled to Goma for CARE.

In light of the new emergency, CARE has scaled up its programs against sexual violence, supports health centers with medical items such as post-exposure prophylaxis against sexual diseases and trains community educators in the camps. Displaced families receive plastic sheeting for a dry shelter and CARE also implements a voucher program that helps poor families to purchase much-needed goods on the local market.

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By Sarah Zingg

Women who have been raped in recent fighting between rebels and government soldiers pose for a photograph at a hospital in Goma, DRC on November 25, 2012. Sexual violence has been used by all sides of the conflict, and thousands of women have been subject to it. © 2012 Kate Holt

"My husband won't come back. He heard that I've been raped. He will never come back,"Marie, a mother of seven and pregnant with her eighth, speaks as she sits upright, eyes fixed on the listener. "My husband left for Bunia [up north] where he went to look for work and food for the children. I tried, and still try, to keep what happened to me as a secret, but someone told him."

Rape in the conflict-ridden eastern part of the Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC) is epidemic, and continues to be a taboo. Husbands, families and communities often marginalize and discriminate against survivors because of the shame they are believed to bring.

Marie and her family are among almost 130,000 people who have been displaced as a result of the renewed violence between government forces and rebels in North Kivu, a province in eastern DRC. It is not the first time Marie had to flee. She left her home village Ngungu in Masisi territory in August when armed groups fought each other and attacked surrounding villages. She found refuge in a camp in Goma, North Kivu's provincial capital. But her feeling of safety did not last long.

"I went to look for wood to construct a hut. Two men came up to me and asked me for my machete. They took my machete, and then they took me by force."Marie was raped by both men, she explains with a clear voice, her hands calm on her lap.

This pattern is frustratingly common in DRC: Women and girls are forced to venture out of their camps or villages to collect wooden sticks or firewood. When walking long distances by themselves, they are easy targets for attacks and rape.

For a long time, Marie was too ashamed to speak of what had happened to her. She still suffers from abdominal pain. Marie only went to see a doctor four months after it had happened. By then, it was too late to receive post-exposure prophylaxis (PEP) that helps prevent the transmission of HIV and other sexually-transmitted infections and diseases. The PEP kit has to be taken within 72 hours to be effective.

When November came and with it another escalation of violence, Marie left the camp and sought refuge with relatives in Minova, a town about 50 kilometers south of Goma. A few days ago, Marie came back to Goma, but only with her youngest son; she didn't have the money to pay for the transport costs for her other six children.

When she returned to the camp, she found her hut had been destroyed. "I am scared to go out again to look for wood to build another hut,"she says. She found temporary shelter in a school. Classrooms are crowded, hosting anywhere from 165 to 300 people.

Despite these desperate conditions, Mary has a plan, "I am waiting for the food distribution. I will sell the food and with the money, I will send for my children."

Marie goes about small activities, such as working in the fields of the local community, to make a little bit of money to buy to eat.

CARE, in collaboration with International Rescue Committee (IRC), is working in three camps around Goma to train community workers to help prevent and treat cases of sexual violence. These community workers will organize activities and spread messages to help break the taboo of sexual violence and encourage survivors to reach out for support. CARE and IRC also are providing psychological and social assistance to survivors to help them overcome the traumatic experience.

In a recent survey undertaken in one of the camps, many women expressed a strong wish to start economic activities. That is why CARE now organizes small groups of survivors and other vulnerable people in the three camps to and helps them start a small business to get back on their feet so they can provide for themselves and their families. Marie will be a part of this program.

"Yes, I will participate, and I will also tell women about the importance of getting medical assistance as soon as possible after an attack,"she affirms as she tights up her son with a colorful cloth around her back and returns to her chores.

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by Anders Nordstoga
NOTE: We recently found a few stories that got lost in our inbox. While they are from November 9, 2012, we thought you still may like to read them. Here's one:

Zhoor was seven months pregnant when the family had to flee their home in Syria. Now with her newborn baby in the Jordanian capital of Amman, the family gets cash assistance from CARE to help pay for food and accommodation.

"Crossing the border was very difficult. We had to walk for a long time. We had to go up hills, down and up again. It wasn't even walking, it was more like running," explains the 18-year-old mother.

Her father Abdul believes the stress and fear of that night is why Zhoor was not able to nurse her baby, a boy who was born in Amman in June.

The family, including Abdul's wife Faten, his other daughter 16-year-old Duhook and his ailing 86-year-old father Mohammad, left Homs in March when the bombing got too bad and soldiers began entering homes. "They killed young men with knives; they raped women and killed them. I have two daughters. We couldn't stay," says Abdul.

Lost everything

Waiting to leave for Damascus in a safer part of Homs, the family received disturbing news.

"They burned down our house. We lost everything," relates Faten. "They stole everything they could take, and burned the house. We had only the clothes we wore. You cannot imagine what it was like. I don't want anyone else to go through what we did." Tears appear as she speaks. "I would go back today, if I could, but we can't."

The family didn't feel safe in Damascus. After a few weeks, they went on to the border town of Daraa. From there, they were escorted across the hills to Jordan. Having crossed the border, they were taken by Jordanian soldiers to the Zaa'tri refugee camp.

"Conditions there were very bad. We were fortunate to have family in Jordan who could help us get to Amman" says Abdul.

Life as refugees

"Here in Amman, the biggest challenge is having enough money to pay rent. As you can see, this is not a good house. It's humid and it smells, but the rent is still very high. It's difficult to have enough money for food. And my father needs medicines every day. I myself suffer from a heart disease and I have two slipped discs in my back. In Homs, I worked in a communications company, but here it's hard to find work," Abdul explains.

"If it weren't for the cash assistance we got from CARE, we wouldn't even be able to live in this apartment," he affirms. "Before we received this assistance from CARE, we were two months behind on the rent. The landlord was threatening to throw us out. The cash from CARE took a lot of problems off our shoulders. At least now we know that we will have a roof over our head the next month."

"Now another problem is preparing for winter," Abdul continues. "We have no heater, too few blankets and no warm clothes. We're very worried. It's going to get very cold, and with the damp in this house …"

Uncertain future

Asked about her biggest concerns, Zhoor mentions her husband, who stayed behind in Syria. "Two months ago we were told he died, but we're not sure. For me the hardest thing is not having my husband here and not being sure I will have money to buy medicines if my baby gets sick. It's a heavy responsibility. We're okay today and will be okay tomorrow, but we have no certainty about the future."

by Anders Nordstoga
NOTE: We recently found a few stories that got lost in our inbox. While they are from November 9, 2012, we thought you still may like to read them. Here's one:

Eleven-year-old Rafa and her family fled from Homs when bullets were coming through the walls of their home. Now they get cash assistance from CARE to help pay for rent and food in the Jordanian capital of Amman.

"We were very afraid when we left our home," Rafa begins. "We had to leave in a hurry and we couldn't take anything with us. No clothes, no toys, not the doll that I had always had with me. A lot of bullets were hitting our house and some entered into the rooms. I was very afraid that one would hit me."

"Some day"

In spite of these memories Rafa wants to go back home as soon as she can. "It's okay here in Amman. We can go to school, and this is something that makes us happy. The teachers are good to us, even though we have difficulty with some of the subjects, like Jordanian geography. But I like my country better. When we were leaving Homs, I kept asking my mother when we could go back. ‘Some day,' she said."

Rafa's mother Rana, 27, still gets the question. "My youngest son asks me all the time: ‘When are we going back? I want my [toy] motorcycle.' But the children are happy that we escaped the bombing. We used to huddle together in corners and they cried. And they are very happy that they're able to go to school. That's something they talked about a lot in Syria: they didn't like missing out on school."

In the end, the family had no choice but to leave their home in a hurry.

"They said that if we didn't leave, they would shoot us," explains the mother. "Soon after we had left, our house was bombed. We stayed in Damascus for two months, and then we went south and tried to cross the border to Jordan. Even though we had passports, the Syrian police wouldn't let us pass, so we went to Daraa."

From there, they were escorted across the border at night. "We had to pay them with our clothes. It was very hilly and we walked for hours. The children were terrified. They were told not to make a sound and not to stop walking. They will never forget what they went through, but at least now they feel safe."

Sold her gold ring

Having crossed the border, the family stayed two weeks at the Zaa'tri refugee camp before they managed to leave for Amman. Getting by in the city would be a challenge.

"I had a gold ring, which I sold, so we could pay for rent the first month. I got 150 dinars (US$ 210) from CARE which took a heavy load off our shoulders. Even with this help, we have gotten into debt. Without it, we would probably have had to ask other local organizations for food and sell what we could. My husband works at a factory that makes food packages for the Zaa'tri refugee camp, but the salary isn't enough for us all to live on."

Notes: Some names have been changed to protect those quoted. Masisi is located in North Kivu Province of the Democratic Republic of the Congo, where heavy fighting has displaced more than 800,000 people so far.

Jolly who has been raped, and had a baby as a result, poses for a photograph at shelter in Goma, Democratic Republic of Congo on the 25th November 2012. Sexual Violence has been used by all sides of the war and thousands of women have been subject to sexual violence. © 2012 Kate Holt/CARE

November 28, 2012

"I come from Kibati in Masisi, and came in August of last year. When I fled from Kibati, I took a truck to Sake and then from there came by foot to Goma after spending the night in Sake. It took nearly a whole day – the road is long. My father was the one who brought me here but after he dropped me I haven't seen or heard from him again. I heard from people in my village that he has gone to Rubero but he hasn't tried to contact me.

"This is my first-born daughter and she is just over a year old now. I didn't know her father – he took me by force and that is how I became pregnant. It happened to me when I was 17 and I am now 18 years old.

"In Masisi, we had a good life. My family were farmers and I had three brothers who are younger than me. After my mother died about five years ago, it was up to me to look after them and make sure that they were okay. My mother died during childbirth. Many women in Masisi do. I had an elder brother, too – he was in the FARDC (Congolese Army) but he was killed – we were not told how he died or where – my father was told by somebody that he was no longer alive.

"I want to go back to Masisi to be with my brothers – they are my family. I also want to be able to go back to school to study. I was in form five primary when this happened to me but, when I realized that I was pregnant, my father made me leave and brought me here.

"My father wants to put the men that did this to me in jail but when he told this to people in the village he made enemies and now he can't go back – this is why he has gone to Ruhero. The men were from an armed group – people knew who they were.

"One day I was walking home from school through the fields. I was with some girlfriends. Some men came towards us who we didn't know. Two men came up to me and took my arms by force and took me to the forest and did bad things to me. I was very upset. I went back to my house and told my father what had happened and he was very angry. But it was after four months that I started to feel strange and told my father, and that is when he brought me here. I cannot go back to the village even though I want to. I am scared of those men – scared of what they may do to me.

"My hope for the future is to have peace around us in Congo. There is too much violence here and there are no jobs for anyone. I do not know how to support this child when I leave this center. The men who did this to me should take responsibility for this child and for me because they have destroyed my life."

CARE's Response: As soon as access is secured, CARE plans to scale up our emergency response in the areas affected by the recent fighting, in particular by providing shelter to those displaced and assistance to women affected by sexual violence and help to prevent further cases of sexual violence. Our emergency response in other areas, including South Lubero, continues.

Donate Today: Your donation to CARE can help us respond to emergency situations like in DRC and carry out our lifesaving and poverty-fighting work around the world.

Notes: Some names have been changed to protect those quoted. Masisi is located in North Kivu Province of the Democratic Republic of the Congo, where heavy fighting has displaced more than 800,000 people so far.

Bandora and daughter Elizabeth, ten years old, displaced by recent fighting between rebels and Congolese Government soldiers pose for photographs in Mugunga Camp in Goma, Democratic Republic of Congo on the 27thNovember 2012. © 2012 Kate Holt/CARE

November 28, 2012

"My name is Bandora, and I have two daughters, Elizabeth and Merita. One is 9 and one is 10. I had four other children but they all died before we left Masisi. Merita has gone to fetch water this morning. We take it in turns to fetch water from the lake in the mornings. It is far. Sometimes there is water in the pipes in the camp, but more often the taps are empty.

"We fled from Masisi in April, from a village called Rukopu. We got very scared in April – there was a lot of fighting and many people were being killed. One night the fighting came very close to our house – my husband fled and left me with the girls. We then ran into the night. We followed everyone to Sake and when we go there, we were told to go to Kanyaruchina camp which is what we did. But when we go to Kanyaruchina camp, there was nothing for us there. People had told us in Sake that if we went there we would be given things that we would need. But we got nothing and were cold and hungry.

"So in September, I moved my family to Mugunga where we still are. For the first time since we got here in September, yesterday we got some soap and some plastic containers to collect water with. I haven’t yet got any food. We are still very hungry. I have my own pot that I brought from Rukopu but that is all I have. We also have a piece of plastic sheeting that I found in Kanyaruchina but it is old and not that waterproof. Some friends helped me to build my house from straw but when it rains it leaks badly and we get wet.

"At home my eldest daughter went to school but the younger one didn’t – we couldn’t afford to pay for her. There are no schools in the camps for them.

"At night I get very scared. We are alone – three girls and there is no security. There are other people around but we are scared of the war. At night people come to take things from us – civilian bandits. Last week, when there was fighting in Goma at night, some people came and stole my basin. I don’t know who they were.

"I don’t know what will happen to us but I know that if the war comes close to us here, I will run again with my children. I don’t know where we will go but I will run because we have to survive. Every day is hard for us."

CARE's Response: As soon as access is secured, CARE plans to scale up our emergency response in the areas affected by the recent fighting, in particular by providing shelter to those displaced and assistance to women affected by sexual violence and help to prevent further cases of sexual violence. Our emergency response in other areas, including South Lubero, continues.

Donate Today: Your donation to CARE can help us respond to emergency situations like in DRC and carry out our lifesaving and poverty-fighting work around the world.

Notes: Some names have been changed to protect those quoted. Masisi is located in North Kivu Province of the Democratic Republic of the Congo, where heavy fighting has displaced more than 800,000 people so far.

Women recently displaced by fighting pose for a photograph in a school in Nzumu where they have fled to from Sake following fighting between Congolese Government soldiers and rebels near Goma in the Eastern Democratic Republic of Congo on the 24th November 2012. Rebels claimed control of Goma in the eastern Democratic Republic of Congo, causing thousands of people to flee, many of whom had already been displaced by years of fighting.© 2012 Kate Holt/CARE

November 28, 2012

"I am 57 years old and from Kibati, in Masisi. I came to Goma two weeks ago because I needed help. I was born in Masisi and am a farmer there. My husband is also a farmer and we cultivate things like beans and maize and ground nuts.

"I have had 14 children but only four are still alive. The others have died from diseases and one died from fighting. This was about three years ago. It was when the CNDP were fighting with government soldiers. He was 17 years old and there was fighting in our village and he was caught. There wasn't a health center to take him to and he died. During this time three years ago after he was killed, we fled to Goma and stayed in one of the camps and returned to Masisi when the fighting stopped. But since then Masisi has had fighting nearly every day.

"There is a lot of shooting and a lot of violence – much worse than before. In April, we fled to Rutshuru because of the fighting, but when fighting broke out in Rutshuru, we went back to Masisi.

"There are armed groups around us the whole time – they drink and push us around and loot everyone's houses. Two weeks ago, I was farming our beans when we saw armed men walking around the edges of the fields. We knew what they were going to do – everybody knows that when they come to the fields it is to rape women. So we hid in the greenery but they found us. One armed man took me and raped me. There were some other women around and the same thing happened to them so we decided that it was better that we all come to hospital in Goma together, which is why we are here. My husband was very supportive and said that he wouldn't abandon me even with what had happened. I am very lucky that he is so supportive and grateful.

"I have been tested for HIV and tomorrow I will get the tests – it was an armed man and we know that all armed men have HIV so I am worried.

"He was very violent with me and I am in a lot of pain. I will stay here until the pain goes and I feel better and then I must go home. I look after a lot of orphans from my family – children of people who have been killed. I have three from my sister and one of her children's daughters too. They need me to look after them even though I am getting old. All I want now in life is peace – I don't want to be raped again and I don't want to have to keep on running. This war has destroyed us – all we want is to live in peace."

CARE's Response: As soon as access is secured, CARE plans to scale up our emergency response in the areas affected by the recent fighting, in particular by providing shelter to those displaced and assistance to women affected by sexual violence and help to prevent further cases of sexual violence. Our emergency response in other areas, including South Lubero, continues.

Donate Today: Your donation to CARE can help us respond to emergency situations like in DRC and carry out our lifesaving and poverty-fighting work around the world.

September 27—600 people wait patiently until CARE sets up the place to start the distribution of seeds and agricultural tools. The distribution is taking place in Luofu, South Lubero in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, but people from five surrounding villages have been registered for this assistance provided through CARE’s Dutch Ministry of Foreign Affairs and FAO funded emergency response project, Umoja+.

CARE is organizing a distribution in Luofu, South Lubero, on September 27. People from five surrounding villages have been registered for this assistance provided through CARE’s Dutch Ministry of Foreign Affairs and FAO funded emergency response project, Umoja+. Through this initiative, CARE is providing support to internally displaced people (IDPs), returnees, as well as host families.. © 2012 CARE

Through this initiative, CARE is providing support to internally displaced people (IDPs), returnees, as well as host families. While in South Lubero thousands of people remain and even continue to be displaced due to attacks by armed men, there is also a significant number of people who are returning home to restart their lives after periods of displacement. CARE is providing both types of households with enhanced means to gain a sustainable livelihood, as well as assistance for more immediate needs, including relief items and shelter.

"Thanks to this distribution, I have something to plant for this year’s planting season and we will have [something] to eat next year," 25-year old Jorgine says as she buttons together a cloth filled with seeds. Because people often go hungry, there is a danger that they will want to eat the seeds instead of planting them. "I will tell my family that the seeds contain poison so that they don’t eat them." Jorgine and her husband and two children have been displaced from their home and have been living with a host family in Mitero for six months. She will be planting the seeds in the field belonging to her host family.

A community volunteer tells the beneficiaries with a microphone that the seeds should be planted and not eaten, which requires patience, but will give them much more to eat at the end. The message resonates with most and only a few decide otherwise. "I will plant half of the seeds and eat the other half. I am already sick and need to eat today," Muhongya who is 72 years old understandably argues.

Kyakimwe, a 40-year old mother of six, who is back in her home village Kataro after having been displaced for one year, says that life continues to be unstable. "The manioc I planted last year was stolen by members of a local armed group. Even these seeds might be stolen once they are ready to be harvested," she laments as she looks at the corn, beans and soya seeds she just received.
Besides food insecurity, they also live under difficult conditions with no real roof over their heads. "The bandits have taken everything; we live in a small hut with nothing now." But Kyakimwe lightens up when she affirms that she will benefit from the shelter distribution Umoja+ is planning in the area in two weeks time.

29-years old Francoise who also lives in Kataro explains similarly, "We have learned to live with the torture of armed groups. We just give what they ask for and in most cases, they then leave us alone. One year and a half ago, they would have physically tortured us either way." Armed men often attack women working in fields and Julienne remarks, "It’s good that we received two hoes, like that my husband and I can work in the field together … The harvest will hopefully improve the life of my four children."

Despite all the insecurity and challenges, the beneficiaries smile and chant as they leave with the bags of seeds balanced on their heads and the hoes in their hands, full of hope that the harvest will provide the food their families desperately need.

September 26—"We never thought we would be elected. No one expected us to be elected," a member of a village committee proclaims with an air of astonishment. CARE, through the project Ujasiri, funded by the European Commission, has recently supported the election of a ‘crisis committee’ in the remote village Kaseghe in South Lubero. It’s the second in a series of such elections in conflict-affected villages across the region.

Kyakimwe, a 40-year old mother of six, who is back in her home village Kataro after having been displaced for one year, says that life continues to be unstable. “The manioc planted last year was stolen by members of a local armed group. Even these seeds might be stolen once they are ready to be harvested,” she laments as she looks at the corn, beans, and soya seeds she just received.. © 2012 CARE

The committees are responsible for developing an action plan to reduce risks associated with conflict and natural catastrophes. The plan will help these vulnerable communities respond effectively to crises, reducing their exposure to the threat of abuse and destruction.

The villages selected to participate in the Ujasiri project are characterized by a high number of internally displaced people (IDPs) and exposure to regular attacks by armed groups. In some places, people have difficulty accessing their land because of armed men roaming in the fields. CARE will support the committees in developing these action plans, which could include mechanisms to protect women working in the fields from abuse and sexual violence or indicators to evaluate the level of risk of an escalation of a crisis.

Kaseghe’s population of around 2,700 was represented at the elections through the participation of 320 people from different neighborhoods, organizations, such as the youth and traders’ groups, churches, as well as IDP representatives. Kaseghe already boasts a number of local committees, but the population insists that they are not representative.

The euphoria of having transparent and fair elections could not be missed as community members arrived at the voting site. 27 candidates stood for the 12-member committee. After the candidates introduced themselves, people waited in line to cast their vote. The voting was quiet, disciplined, and completed within a short period of time. The counting of the votes took place immediately after the vote and was conducted in front of the voters to ensure no rigging is involved.

Five women and seven men from different backgrounds were elected: The president represents the Catholic Church, the vice-president, a woman, is a displaced person, and a 22-year old woman is representing the youth population.

"I will be able to speak to the youth. I am ready to be sent anywhere and to do anything to represent the young people of this village. There will be no discrimination, everyone is represented," Faida of the youth group says enthusiastically with a big and confident smile.

"Yes, if we all collaborate, we will see a change," Kavugho, the vice-president, who has been displaced in Kaseghe for several months, agrees.

"IDPs suffer, there is no place for them, there is chronic malnutrition, and diseases like tuberculosis are an everyday struggle," another member, Kavira, who has seven children and who hosts another six displaced children at her house, explains. "I am happy. Through cooperation by all of us and transparency, we will change this village," she adds.

In addition to empowering these communities to respond to and prevent crises, CARE is furthermore planning food security interventions in these zones through micro-credit for seeds and farming parcels and food distributions through the cash and voucher system, which allows beneficiaries to choose at open markets what they need most, while the local economy is safeguarded at the same time.

September 25— "I had no idea how to make a living, but now I know how to save money and reinvest it. I used to sell corn once a year; now it's several times. We live a better life now. My children go to school; I have no more debt at the health center; visitors get to eat at my house; we have enough cooking oil and salt; and I don't fight with my husband anymore when I want to buy a new dress. Thank you, CARE," Jacqueline, a 40-year old mother of eight, explains. Jacqueline is the president of a group of 30 that benefits from CARE's socio-economic program that advises members of poor communities on how to collectively save money and better invest it in small businesses.

© 2012 CARE

Jacqueline's group lives in Mulo, a rural village of 8,500 people right outside Lubero center in North Kivu in the Democratic Republic of the Congo. The group is mostly made up of women and they have gathered this morning to officially end the first one-year cycle of the group's existence. They sit in a circle on benches outside with the money they collectively saved presented in the open.

"The money is safe; no one steals here," the accountant tells the CARE staff that attends the meeting today. When they first came together as a group a year ago, some contributed 500 Congolese Francs (CF), which is around 50 cents, others up to 2,500 CF to a common pot. They continued with weekly contributions, which not only provided members with a savings mechanism, but allowed the group to provide members with small credits. With the interest paid, the group managed to accumulate a total of $1,341, which gets divided proportionally today.

"In the beginning, it was difficult to trust that the money won't get lost. But we all stuck to the agreement," one member says. Most of the group's members have invested in the production of a local alcoholic drink and the sale of palm oil and fish.

Through the project Pamoja, funded by the Dutch Ministry of Foreign Affairs, CARE supports post-war communities in developing sustainable livelihoods. Celestine's group benefits from what is called Village Savings and Loans Associations (VSLAs), which allow very poor communities or groups to save money and invest to start small businesses. Pamoja has already established 228 such groups in Lubero and is planning to create another 122.

"I am so happy where I am today. As soon as we conclude the meeting, I will go to the school to pay for my children's fees. I don't have much to say, but thank you so much," Anastasia, 59 years old and a mother of ten, intervenes.

"It's the same for me," Dieu Donné, a 31-year old father of four, confirms. "Since we've started, our lives have changed. Our clothes are always clean because there is always soap."

Everyone agrees with a shout of ‘yes' that they will continue with the group's activities into the second cycle. Dieu Donné jumps up and says jokingly, "My wife pushes me every day to not drop out of the group and when I am travelling, she attends the meetings for me." The group giggles as Dieu Donné retakes his seat.

Also in Mulo, only about 1,640 feet away, the joy is similarly big. Through the project Ushindi, CARE works with seven vulnerable women, including survivors of sexual violence, to reintegrate into society and earn a living. As the CARE team arrives, the group is in the middle of a soap production—the first one since they have been trained in soap-making a few days ago.

"This will change our lives. It helps us to make some money and the community will benefit from soap at the same time," 25-year old single mother Imakele says. It's the first local soap production in Lubero and the group's members are proud.

Ushindi, funded by USAID through consortium lead International Medical Assistance, provides training for income generating activities to survivors of sexual violence and other vulnerable members, which helps them to develop sustainable livelihoods and regain a respectable position in their communities.

"We have also learned how to make soap. I will use what I make to send my children to school, feed them, and buy medicines," a mother of 12 affirms.

In addition to improving their lives, they will also be able to participate and pay their share in a VSLA. The seven women agree that the group has not only trained them in soap making and given them an opportunity to make a better living, but they have also gained new hope for a better future, thanks to the solidarity and encouragement they have experienced in the group.

Today at 2:00 P.M. CT at the 2012 World Food Prize Borlaug Dialogue in Des Moines, Iowa, CARE President and CEO Helene Gayle will join USAID Administrator Rajiv Shah and three other distinguished panelists for a discussion about the U.S.'s Feed The Future program to tackle global food insecurity.

The panel focuses on the importance of strong partnerships between governments, businesses, universities and NGOs. And the panelists will also explore the crucial role of women's empowerment in successful global food security strategy.

CARE's experience makes clear that empowering women is essential to improving food security and overall nutrition in the developing world. For example, CARE's SHOUHARDO program in Bangladesh reduced child stunting (a measure of child malnutrition) at double the rate of typical food security programs. An independent scientific analysis of SHOUHARDO found that the program's women's empowerment initiatives were the single most important factor in the program's enormous success. And this year CARE launched its Pathways program to improve the food security and long-term resiliency of women smallholder farmers and their families. Supported by the Gates Foundation, Pathways will use the success of CARE's Village Savings and Loan Associations as a platform to enable women farmers to access the skills and services they need to promote sustainable agriculture in their communities and reduce poverty and hunger.

The full day's events are being webcast live at WorldFoodPrize.org. The panel featuring Dr. Gayle begins at 2:00 P.M. CT.

While you wait for the webcast to start, watch this inspiring video on CARE's remarkable SHOUHARDO program.

While in Tanzania, Melinda Gates visited a CARE Village Savings and Loan Association, led by CARE gender in agriculture expert Jemimah Njuki (in red next to Melinda). Photo: © 2012 Gates Foundation

Acknowledgment of the success of our VSLAs from Melinda Gates would be very meaningful to us under any circumstances, but it was doubly so yesterday. That’s because the same event also included the African launch of CARE’s new Pathways program to improve the food security and long-term resiliency of women smallholder farmers and their families. Supported by the Gates Foundation, Pathways will use the success of VSLAs as a platform to enable women farmers to access the skills and services they need to promote sustainable agriculture in their communities and reduce poverty and hunger.

In a session following Gates’ talk, Pathways Team Leader Dr. Jemimah Njuki explained the program's aims, and discussed how Pathways is setting standards for other CARE programs. For example, the measurement tools developed by CARE for Pathways are already being used in four other CARE programs. Over five years, Pathways will help 150,000 people in Bangladesh, Ghana, India, Malawi, Mali and Tanzania.

To learn more about CARE’s Pathways program, visit www.CAREPathwaysToEmpowerment.org. To find out more about the African Green Revolution Forum and efforts to boost sustainable agricultural growth in Africa, visit www.AGRForum.com.

And for a short photo blog detailing Melinda Gates' visit this week to a CARE Village Savings and Loan Association near Dar Es Salaam, Tanzania, visit the Gates Foundation's Facebook page.

September 5, 2012

Marie-Claire, a 32-year-old single mom, who has arrived from Kasheke two weeks ago with her six kids and one on the way, is grateful for the beans, flour and oil she received from CARE, but is worried that it won’t last for long enough. © 2012 CARE

CARE is on the ground in The Democratic Republic of Congo. When the most recent fighting broke out in April, CARE projected to provide emergency relief to 60,000 people. With the intensification of the crisis, we had already reached 84,000 by early September and we have scaled up our response to cover a total of 180,000 people in need. Today, we are responding in a variety of ways – helping families access food (as you'll read below), delivering essential medicine and supplies, providing emergency psychological services and care for survivors of sexual violence and we will soon distribute shelter kits.

"We heard shooting and when we realized it was coming closer we took our baby and ran." They had no time to take cloths, cooking pots, or any other belongings with them. "I waited for a few hours until the gunfire was gone and then went back to the house to get food, but the village and my house were burnt down," Jean, the 20-year-old father recounts of his flight.

Over the past couple of months, tens of thousands of people have been fleeing similar attacks by rebels in southern Masisi territory in the province of North Kivu in eastern Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC). More than 330,000 people have been displaced in the province alone. Several rivaling armed groups are continuing to create havoc in southern Masisi, where most of the displacement is concentrated right now and CARE is present.

When the CARE team visited the spontaneous displacement camp in Kibabi on a sunny day early September, Jean, his wife and five-month-old baby, it had been three weeks since the family had left their home village Ngululu. They had walked for four days until they arrived in Kibabi where they decided to seek safety and shelter. They collected hay to construct a little hut where the family is staying. With the arrival of more than 2,310 families, more or less 13,860 individuals, the camp has grown into the size of a village.

"I don't know when we will be able to go back home," Jean says as his head is tilted down. "We are cold at night and when it rains, we are not protected because our hut has no plastic sheeting." Temperatures drop to close to zero degrees at night and the rainy season has started in full swing.

Jean continues, "We usually manage to eat [potatoes] once a day.  I work in the fields of the local community, and my wife goes around asking for donations. But it's not every day we eat and we eat very little." Luckily, Kibabi has a natural water source where the displaced collect their drinking water.  

"It came as a relief, when we received food from [CARE]. We've got beans, flour, sugar and some cooking oil. We have shared it with the people around us because not everybody received a voucher to go to the market. We can eat from it for a whole week." Jean's wife took their baby with her and walked for two hours to Rubaya, where the distribution is taking place. It is only the second food assistance in the area since the uprooting started late July.

CARE, through the Dutch Ministry of Foreign Affairs-funded project UMOJA+, and together with local partners has organized a weeklong food distribution for almost 4,000 households, or 24,000 people, through a voucher system. CARE spearheaded the innovative voucher system through which beneficiaries buy their food on the local market, which not only empowers them to choose items they need most, but also supports and safeguards the local economy.

Marie-Claire, a 32-year-old single mom, who arrived from Kasheke two weeks ago with her six children and one on the way, is grateful for the beans, flour, and oil she was able to purchase using vouchers received from CARE. But she's worried that it won't last for long enough.

"We share the food with everybody and when it is finished, we will die just like that," she says with an exhausted voice and fatigue in her eyes. 

Others echo similar sentiments of thankfulness. "Ever since we fled home, I've had difficulties feeding my six children. With the food fair, we finally have something to eat," 47-year-old Charles says with a sign of relief as one of his six kids holds his hand. They left their home village, Buoye, two months ago and took refuge in Katoyi. When Katoyi came under threat of an attack two weeks ago, they decided to pack up again and join the local population as they made their way to Kibabi. They found shelter in a primary school where up to 10 households, about 60 people, are crammed into one, small classroom filled with thick cooking smoke.

"We are going to eat for the first time since we left our home, Katoyi, four days ago," 23-year-old Julienne says as her newborn baby sleeps silently in a cloth tied around her back. Francoise, 30, expresses similarly, "with the food fair, CARE is helping displaced people, children who are suffering of hunger."  She rests on the lawn next to her bags filled with rice and beans to regain some strength before she starts her four-hour walk back to Bukumbirire where she is sheltered in a host family.

As clouds suddenly appear on the sky, wind starts blowing down the hills and chilliness overtakes the place, hundreds of women, children and men continue to stand patiently in line to receive their food coupons, which will allow them and their families to eat for up to two weeks.

CARE has also helped families establish community gardens and has distributed seeds and agricultural tools to thousands of households. CARE provides lifesaving assistance through various emergency projects in North Kivu and has already reached 84,000 people in need since the outbreak of the most recent crisis in eastern DRC. As the food distribution nears its end, UMOJA+ is already planning its next intervention in the area to provide shelter material and latrines.

By Thomas Schwarz

Brother holding 10 months old sister, who is for three days without milk/Za'tari, Jordan. © 2012 CARE/Thomas Schwarz

We are in Za'atari, the camp for Syrian refugees, not far from the border to the war torn country. I started early morning in the capital of Jordan, in Amman, to get to Za'atari. We wanted to get our own picture about what we are reading in the international newspapers, on TV channels around the globe or in the internet. We wanted to get the "right" picture, first-hand information ourselves. Buying cheap goods in a second-hand-shop may be fun. It's a different thing to only have second-hand-information. This camp was started only six weeks ago, in the last days of July - when I first visited Jordan this year. When I came to Za'atari then, there were only between 2500 and maybe 3000 refugees. Now it is almost 40000. One must admit, that in this short period of time, the UN refugee organisation UNHCR did a really good job. Well, it's not everything working perfectly here, but given the fundings - which are still not enough -many things are working quite well.

"We would never call it home"

There is clean water for the refugees. From tent to tent we could see electricity cables along the wooden towers. Although this seems to imply that each tent has electricity, which is not the case of course.

The whole day long it looks as if we are on a huge construction site. Trucks driving around. Water tanker lorries bringing in water. From an unloading area people receive water bottles. Several hundred meters away the refugees are receiving foam mattresses. Things seem to be fully implemented here for such a camp. Even the kids are joking and playing around among the many tents and seem to be relaxed for these rare moments, somehow at least.

Ahmad and his wife are not relaxed. They have a different impression. "You know, here it is more safe, especially for my wife and our children. But this is not a home," he says. He is gesticulating heavily in a typical Arab manner - with two hands. Nevertheless he is not speaking in an aggressive way whatsoever. He pauses between his sentences, not only for the interpreter, but also to weigh his words and thoughts. In other situations this could appear somehow "theatrical", not here. He breathes deeply, when making these pauses. He smokes. Then, after a short smile, he describes. "I have nine children and my wife. One of the children is only three months old." A pause again, breathing. Then he expresses what seems to be most difficult for him: "At home I could take responsibility for all of them. I was working, I earned money to support my family. Now I can not do anything." He adds that the food they receive would not be enough for all.

There is not a single word of criticism against the United Nations. Several times he emphasises how grateful his whole family is for the hospitality of the Jordanian people, that they opened their borders for all of the refugees coming from Syria. He is praising the king of Jordan, again and again. Ahmad tries to stay neutral as well as fair when it comes to the situation he is forced to live in. But is this possible, after having fled your own country where war and terror and violence are reigning?

Sharing with others is important here

The wind is blowing constantly. This is good against the heat, but bad in a desert-like area with so much sand. Very fine grains of sand are all over the bottom of the tent. Outside they are just collecting the garbage to take it somewhere - with a truck. What they did not collect is being used by the refugees. They take the rest of the paper and use it for a little fire on which they boil water for tea. There is no wood here at all they could use. They will share THE tea with everyone in the neighbourhood, no matter who it is. Sharing, this is an important word here. While we are listening to Ahmad, his wife gives a sign to the children. While she is breastfeeding her baby, she is making some funny movements with one of her hands. Minutes later the kids come with something to drink for us, and some biscuits. We feel ashamed and agree, that we would like to accept their generous invitation in case we would visit them in Syria one day. When they are better off.

The conversation goes on and on and on. On the thin mattresses we feel quite "at home". We talk about football, about Schweinsteiger and Rooney, about Real Madrid and Barcelona, and - of course - about Messi. The boys know them all. We are laughing about this and that with the whole family. Making jokes about women and men alike. Then, out of a sudden, one sentence from Ahmad. Brutally honest from his side. He says: "If somewhere in this world a bird is threatened with extinction, the so called international community mobilises everything, the best experts and the most expensive technical equipment to save it. They do everything." Again, he is breathing deeply. He makes a pause. "But in Syria, in my home land, where i am at home... people are dying like flies. And what happens?"

They invite us to come to Syria, when peace will have come back to them. When war will finally be over. "We will show you our beautiful country," Ahmad says. He is smiling again. "And we will drink tea." His wife adds: "And we will eat something together as well." Allah may bless all of us, and our families, they say while we are putting our shoes on again. And they say "Shoukran", which means thank you. "Shoukran, and may God bless you!"

Haoua Daouda, membre de MMD et cliente de la banque de céréales de Koygourou. © 2012 CARE/ Niandou Ibrahim

"I can assure you that considering the crisis of this year 2012, I can claim that it is the women who saved our village and even families from other villages ..." says Gado Fandou, her eyes now looking up on the cloudy sky, and then laid tenderly on his wife Haoua a Daouda. It seems a kind of power emerges from this old couple who are so combative, so welded in the face of adversity.

It is 4 p.m. on this Friday, August 31. Life at Koygourou village, located 130 kilometers east of Niamey (Niger), is idling. Food crisis has been hitting the 1,500 inhabitants hard since December. In June, while hope seemed to be revived with the first rains of the season, colonies of locusts suddenly ravaged the young millet shoots. Farmers had to replant two to three times. Thus several different stages of evolution of millet can be seen in the same field. The last sowing is unlikely to produce any panicles if there is no rainfall until October. The heavy August rains have flooded the fertile lowlands. Here and there, gutted houses and uprooted trees show the violence of the recent rains. This is a difficult time through which households have to endure. Yet in this apparent desolation, Mata Masu Dubara women (ingenious women) are very active in the village. They represent the collective pride of Koygourou.

The Program Mata Masu Dubara is implemented by CARE in Niger with funding from NORAD. The impacts of the Mata Masu Dubara system in the economic and social promotion of women were already widely known in Niger. CARE collaborates through this program with 1,056 villages in 100 municipalities. CARE helped 217,839 women to create 8,209 groups of savings and credit. The evidence was made that women have now a better access to income because they got access to credit. Food security is improved in communities thanks to the banks of cereal launched by women.

"When we were establishing our cereal bank, we did not know it would be of such importance in the life of the village. Yet it feeds the most vulnerable people in Koygorou, such as my household today ... "claims Haoua Daouda, Gado Fandou's wife.

Koygourou MMD cereal bank was established after the 2005 food crisis, with one ton of corn contributed by the women of the network's three savings and loan associations, to reinforce the resilience of households.

"Already in 2010, the bank was used to alleviate food crisis by providing grains on credit. Then CARE helped us acquire a 15 ton grain subsidy from the WFP (The World Food Program). The stock which was reconstituted during the November, 2011 crops was 95 bags of maize and 200 bags of millet purchased at 18,500 f and 15000f /bag respectively, including transportation. This is the stock we have been selling at retail price to households since June. We sell the measurement of corn at 600f compared to 650f on the market. This indeed enables us to make only a narrow benefit margin, but we sell cheaper than the market and therefore at a more affordable price for the poor” explains Mariama Kimba, president of the MMD network.

Gado and Haoua's household is one of those poorest households in the village. Gado, who is over 70 and sickly, cannot work hard, though the couple cares for seven children: their own two children and five grandchildren aged 4 to 14. The latter are the children of their recently deceased daughter.

The small field cultivated by the household yielded very little in 2011. Now the whole family sleeps in one straw hut following the flood which damaged their mud house. Haoua sells condiments to feed the family. To carry out this business, she takes credit from the MMD association. With the revenue generated by this small business, she can buy daily measures of millet at the cereal bank. "What should we have done without the MMD loan and the MMD bank?" asks Haoua, adding that dozens of other households in the village like them benefit from these opportunities created by women in Koygorou.

To ensure a proper operation of the bank, the MMD network has established a sales committee: Aissa Issa is responsible for sales and Rabi Harouna is the treasurer. The committee has undergone trainings and is available to clients any time of the day and night.

"These women are so well organized they can save everyone here. Even the less vulnerable people are somewhat relieved because they receive fewer requests to assist their poor relatives. Five days ago, a man from Tcharandi, a village which is 15 kilometers away, came up here on foot to buy some measures of millet grain at the cereal bank. This is a real honor paid for our entire village." boasts Amadou Sanda, the village tailor with delight.

"With the uncertainties due to locusts and floods this year, we are going to further reinforce our network," claims Mariama, the MMD President, while all the women sitting by the cereal bank around her approved by nodding their heads. Meanwhile, the first drops of another rain of this month of August had started falling.

In this village where Mother Nature shows little leniency, women's energy is the main preserver of men's dignity.

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By Marie-Eve Bertrand, CARE Canada

Although they are hungry and in the midst of a food crisis, the Malians welcomed CARE with calabas filled with baobab leaves, wild grapes and other native fruits and herbs. Later, CARE distributed food aid to the village. © 2012 CARE/Marie-Eve Bertrand

Visiting Swala
Mali, a country in the Sahel. The Sahel, or Sahil in Arabic, is the border between the Sahara and more fertile and green lands. It is a dividing zone, a mixture of cultures, odours, tastes. Here in Mali, the number of ethnic groups and tribes are too numerous to be counted. Here, they talk to me about tolerance, love and sharing. Actually, they live it before they talk about it.

In this region of the world right now, there is a food crisis, caused by a combination of events: a poor rainy season last year which causes the water level of the Niger River to stay very low and crops to wither, chronic poverty, environmental degradation, all resulting in poor harvests and a sharp increase in prices. A crisis hitting a region that already experiences chronic malnutrition and food insecurity. According to the Malian Ministry of Livestock and Fisheries, the situation of pastoral communities is at high risk, with even the livestock losing weight because of the lack of grass and water.

Follow me as I meet with the inhabitants of the Swala village in the Djenné region, an hour and a half from Mopti, a town in the middle of Mali.

There were eight of us in the vehicle, including the driver, three colleagues from CARE, the A.A.D.I (our local NGO partner). coordinator and, as well as its president, her grandson and me. And of course, since Malians are very generous, I had the honor of having the front seat to myself. When we turned the corner around the village wall, I heard the percussion instruments, a warm and joyful melody. Then songs. And then I saw them. There were hundreds of women, men and children waiting for our arrival for the second food distribution in their village in two months. The women were dancing, the men were playing tambourines. It was a party in our honour. A wave of tenderness rose within me, a wave of solidarity... a wave of humility. They are the ones who should be celebrated for their courage, their strength. They surrounded me with their warmth, their joy for life. Behind my sunglasses, tears flowed. Like when you feel unworthy of such an honour, or too small for all the love.

They danced all the way to the village chief’s hut. It is an ancient village, very old. A village with walls of mud, thatched roofs, holes for windows. And everyone was squeezed into this small space. Us, the dignitaries, on mats. Them, directly on the ground. They were all so beautiful, smiling, proud.

The village chief’s representative spoke, taking the time to greet us, to thank us. His name is Dramane Coulibaly. "We thank you for this gift of food and your visit that is so precious to us. Before you came, we had no hope, and we didn’t know what to do to continue, to be able to feed our families. The first CARE food distribution eased our empty stomachs, but it wasn’t enough. More than half of us weren’t helped. All of our village suffers from hunger," he said. "Because the women are the ones who can best tell you about the challenges we face." Dramane told me.

Then Pointou Coulibaly, the president of the women spoke. "We are so happy that you are visiting us. Our storehouses have been empty for a long time, because the rains weren’t good for us last season. Our harvests were insufficient last year, and we are suffering from it. Our people farm the land to live, and we usually sell our products. But last year, there wasn’t even enough to feed our families, so selling was impossible. Our only concern is to feed ourselves. Because without food, our children are sick. They cannot go to school because they don’t have the strength," she told us while sitting among her loved ones.

"It is true that hunger pangs make us suffer, when we are used to eating three meals per day, we become rather inefficient... now we have a meal with a little meat and potatoes in the evening and some millet or rice if we are lucky at noon," she continues.

"Half of the families couldn’t have food because of criteria and limits set by the World Food Program. But you know, we are people who stick together. Malian solidarity. It is out of the question for us to let our neighbour go hungry and suffer. So we all share what little we have. We prefer to have less, but to have peace of mind, because we helped those around us."

Generosity, solidarity. That puts the focus back where it should be, when you realise that to share, you don’t need a lot, you just need a big heart. It was the whole village that gathered to thank us, because it is the entire community who benefits from CARE’s assistance.

Their economy rests on three main thrusts in the region: agriculture, livestock and tourism. Rain didn’t fall from the skies last year, and the storehouses are still empty. And even though it has been raining recently, no one knows what tomorrow holds, and there are still four months to wait before the next harvest. The price of rice is ever-increasing. People are hungry. Thirsty. But they are proud and hard-working. Plus there is the livestock that have fallen. The animals were too hungry and thirsty too. Some died; the remaining ones are very thin. Too thin. So the sale of livestock has suffered, as well as the demand, because people don’t have much money, since tourism has fallen off. The tourists who also ate the meat are no longer coming, because they are afraid of the political insecurity in the northern region of the country. The region here, like the famous town of Timbuktu, is classified as a world heritage. Here, you find the history of centuries and centuries of hard work, majestic sites, vestiges of the past. Places that are so old, so different. But that no longer have as many tourists as before.

The oldest person in the village, as they call him, spoke, "Ma’am, I would like to make a request for our survival. Give us efficient tools to farm, seeds that will grow and knowledge to improve our harvest. We are farmers and we want to work to fill our storehouses."

And that is when I understood that these proud and courageous people in front of me had, themselves, understood the essence of development. They know that food distribution is temporary and aspire to becoming self-sufficient once again. They are capable of working; we have the resources to help them prepare for the future and build resiliency plans.

As the meeting was ending, the village chief motioned me to come forward so he could give me a packet with nuts. Kola nuts in fact. A gift that is reserved for great occasions, great celebrations. A rare gift.

I left with a heart full of hope, love and pride. I left with my hands full of a gift that touched me. But also with a full stomach. Because from the little they had, the villagers made us a meal. Malian solidarity.

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A woman who arrived in Katoyi, North Kivu without clothes said that during an attack on her village, five of her family members, including her mother-in-law, husband and child, were killed.

Mapendo Marie (her real name has been changed to protect her identity) doesn't know her exact age, but she looks about 16. Last year, she was raped while returning from the fields where she had been working that day. Mapendo is from the village of Kisheke in North Kivu, eastern Democratic Republic of the Congo.   After it happened, she returned home and didn't tell her family at first –only when she was about six months along in her pregnancy. Her grandmother Georgette Dunia (her real name has been changed to protect her identity) insisted she visit the nearby clinic for a prenatal visit. Soon thereafter, her son Jackson was born. He will likely never know his father since Mapendo herself didn't know who her rapist was and has never seen him again.

Mapendo had to leave her home due to the conflict that has ravaged North Kivu since April of this year. She lives with her son on the outskirts of Goma, not far from her native village, in a makeshift shelter with her grandmother and several other family members. Mapendo often does not know where their next meal will come from. But she is too scared to return to their village any time soon.

One of CARE's programs in the Democratic Republic of the Congo helps to support rape survivors by giving them what they often need most: a way to make a living. CARE provides socioeconomic support by establishing village savings and loans associations (VSLA), which allow very poor communities or groups to save money and invest to start small businesses. In addition, CARE supports women through income generating activities – Maputo will receive assistance though these as well.

However, much more needs to be done to stop sexual and gender-based violence in the Democratic Republic of the Congo. So that one day, no woman, no child or no man needs to fear of such an attack on their body. Until then, CARE is there to help.

CARE, one of the largest aid organizations worldwide, calls for total protection of women and girls in eastern Democratic Republic of the Congo as the conflict in North Kivu enters its sixth month. The recent escalation of violence affects over 350,000 people, including between 270,000 and 275,000 who are displaced in the Democratic Republic of the Congo and some 54,000 who have fled to neighboring Rwanda or Uganda. Women and girls are particularly vulnerable to sexual and gender-based violence in this context. Working at the community and camp levels, CARE has been able to provide support to survivors of sexual and gender-based violence as well as to prevent such atrocities in the Democratic Republic of the Congo. In collaboration with humanitarian partners, CARE is running four projects that treat survivors and work to stop sexual violence in conflict areas in North Kivu.

Rose Vive, CARE's gender-based violence and socio-economic reintegration expert.

CARE gender-based violence and socio-economic reintegration expert Rose Vive visited Kanyaruchinya, where 30,000 displaced people have been living since mid-July, having fled the intensifying conflict in the Democratic Republic of the Congo. CARE sponsors health and gender-based violence interventions, so Rose was passing by conducting routine activities with the health clinic there. 

On the day of her visit, she was introduced to two women, aged 26 and 28, who had been raped the day before. They were seeking treatment at the CARE-sponsored clinic. Rose could see the women were distressed, so she sat down with them in the small, spartan examination room. Soon, they began to tell their story.

"We are neighbors back in our village, just north of here. Both of our husbands were taken to fight with the rebels. We didn't feel safe at home so we decided, along with many other people from our village, to head south towards the city of Goma. We have been here in Kanyaruchinya for about two weeks."

Several nights after they arrived, the women were nearly out of food for their children. They each have four young children.

"We were worried as the day went on that we'd have to send the children to bed without food. Finally, someone gave us a few potatoes.  We were so grateful and wanted to cook them immediately."

To cook the potatoes, the women needed fuel, which means they'd also need firewood. It was dusk and they set out to collect some wood. But where they were staying, wood was scarce.

"We walked a little bit further away and saw a group of men who asked if we were alone. We tried to say that we were with a group of other people to deter the men. We were worried. Several of the men left but two stayed."

The two men raped them and left them in the dark. The women were scared and traumatized, unaware of what they should do to follow-up. The next day, a community health worker told them to visit the local health clinic to receive CARE-sponsored medicines in the form of a "PEP kit". PEP kits are given within 72 hours after someone has been raped. The medicine helps prevent the transmission of HIV, and a number of other sexually transmitted infections and diseases. The women also received psychological counseling to assist them in overcoming the mental trauma they'd faced.

The women will also participate in a program that could help them start a small business so they can get back on their feet after such a traumatic experience.

With programs like CARE's, survivors of sexual violence can receive the health and treatment they need to protect them from some of the psychological and physical effects of sexual violence.

"We just want to go home in security," one of the women said.

CARE, one of the largest aid organizations worldwide, calls for total protection of women and girls in eastern Democratic Republic of the Congo as the conflict in North Kivu enters its sixth month. The recent escalation of violence affects over 350,000 people, including between 270,000 and 275,000 who are displaced in the Democratic Republic of the Congo and some 54,000 who have fled to neighboring Rwanda or Uganda. Women and girls are particularly vulnerable to sexual and gender-based violence in this context. Working at the community and camp levels, CARE has been able to provide support to survivors of sexual and gender-based violence as well as to prevent such atrocities in the Democratic Republic of the Congo. In collaboration with humanitarian partners, CARE is running four projects that treat survivors and work to stop sexual violence in conflict areas in North Kivu.

Feza Mbairwe, CARE’s sexual and gender-based violence community organizer.

Feza Mbairwe is a mother of ten children and grandmother of two who loves to cook, spend time with her large family and sing in church. Feza herself is a survivor of gender-based violence and today one of CARE’s sexual and gender-based violence community organizers back in her home village of Kibumba. There she helps pass on messages to people in her village on how to prevent and treat violence against women or men.

Feza, along with many of her family members and neighbors, has recently had to flee her home due to the escalation of conflict in the Democratic Republic of the Congo’s eastern province of North Kivu. About 3,000 people from around Kibumba left their houses in mid-July and have been staying with host communities outside of the city of Goma for several weeks. Despite the difficulties she faced in being displaced, Feza remained true to her training as a sexual and gender-based violence community organizer. Here’s her story:

"One night I left where I was staying to get one last ingredient for supper. I walked down the road and soon heard what sounded like a struggle. I had a flashlight on my phone so I turned it on and saw a young woman on the ground. She was being held down by a man. She tried to get free.

I ran up to them. I pulled the man off the girl. I asked her if she knew the man who was aggressing her – she nodded that she did not know him. Once she said that, the man ran away.

I was disgusted. The girl looked to be the same age as my daughter, about 18. This girl could have been my daughter or my niece. I couldn’t just let that man harm her. He got away. Luckily the girl wasn’t hurt. I walked her home to safety.

I tell this story to people in my community, both the people from Kibumba and those in the host community where we’re staying right now, because I want people to know that they can stop this violence from happening. I learned in my training that it’s important not to ignore sexual and gender-based violence. We have to face it in order to stop it."

I also tell this story to my children. I tell them not to stay out late and to avoid situations where they could get hurt in this way. Many people have already survived attacks of sexual violence, but they can stop it from happening too." 

CARE, one of the largest aid organizations worldwide, calls for total protection of women and girls in eastern Democratic Republic of the Congo as the conflict in North Kivu enters its sixth month. The recent escalation of violence affects over 350,000 people, including between 270,000 and 275,000 who are displaced in the Democratic Republic of the Congo and some 54,000 who have fled to neighboring Rwanda or Uganda. Women and girls are particularly vulnerable to sexual and gender-based violence in this context. Working at the community and camp levels, CARE has been able to provide support to survivors of sexual and gender-based violence as well as to prevent such atrocities in the Democratic Republic of the Congo. In collaboration with humanitarian partners, CARE is running four projects that treat survivors and work to stop sexual violence in conflict areas in North Kivu.

UPDATE:

Today, 18.7 million people are affected by the crisis, more than 1.1 million people are suffering from severe malnutrition and an additional 3 million have moderate malnutrition.

CARE is on the ground in Chad, Mali and Niger, where millions of people are and in dire need of assistance, relief and long-term planning. Women and children are particularly vulnerable, especially those under the age of 2. CARE's emergency response and recovery program is providing access to food via cash transfer and direct distribution, and improving access to water, sanitation and hygiene. At the same time CARE's long-term development programs such as women-led savings groups and cereal banks help people build and protect assets. In CARE's experience, empowering women strengthens community resilience during crises.

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By Marie-Eve Bertrand

Swala, in Djenne region. A group of women waiting for the food distribution. Photo credit: © 2012 CARE/Marie-Eve Bertrand

They plundered her village. They killed people, beginning with men in uniform. Soldiers, federal officials, prison guards. To sow terror, they freed prisoners. "My husband heard the gunshots. He understood. So, he told me to flee with our children, and then he joined us a few days later. I was so afraid. We fled from our village, which was located in the red zone, where armed groups have wreaked havoc. We fled to my mother's house, here in Djenne, Mali. She still has children at home and sells pancakes to earn a little money. There are ten of us now, in her home. My husband had to leave as well - he couldn't stay there. Without CARE's help, we would have never made it. We lost everything - everything - when we left home. I know I will never get back my belongings. But I still have my family here, alive. It's very hard. My name is Sarata."

Next to her was a very thin man with a blank stare. He left everything behind as well. Even his wife and children, who are in a city miles away. When he fled the violence, he may have taken his family and left physically, but his spirit stayed behind. He has been confused since that day. When I asked him why his family was not with him, he didn't even know. "I want to go back home - back to the way my life used to be." That's all he could tell me. His name? He isn't sure anymore.

Nearby, another woman. "My name is Mariama." When the armed groups invaded their neighborhood, she and her sister fled with the children. Her husband stayed, because he was afraid of losing his business and all their belongings. She's twenty years old, has a nursing 7-month-old and a 5-year-old, all staying with their grandmother. She took them in. The grandmother - who still has her own children at home - made room for them. She received a kit of essential items (cups, casserole, blanket, mat, soap) distributed by CARE and its local partner A.A.D.I., but no food, because there were no rations left. Her little girl is crying. She's hungry, but her mother's milk is lacking. "There isn't much," the beautiful Mariama tells me. "We don't have enough food." But she smiles, and tells me about her dreams for her daughters. One day, they will be educated. They'll go into medicine, or maybe they'll be teachers. "One day, we'll go back home."

They are just here temporarily, until things calm down and the violence dissipates. They are internally displaced persons, the forgotten victims of human conflicts, the forgotten ones of humanitarian disasters.

* The names in this story have been changed in order to protect the identity of the interview subjects.

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Today at 1pm at the XIX International AIDS Conference in D.C, CARE CEO & President Helene Gayle is co-chairing a session titled "Leadership in the AIDS Response for Women". 

This high-level special session is on leadership in the HIV response, with a focus on the critical role of leadership in improving the HIV response for women, their families, and their communities. The panel will consider an 'AIDS-Free Generation' and how that key shared goal cannot be reached without the empowerment of women at local, community, national,and international levels. Speakers will address topics such as the centrality of democracy and human rights in the HIV response, and the powerful synergies of linking HIV efforts to other important health efforts for women, including breast and cervical cancer.

Leading the panel with Dr. Gayle is Gracia Violeta Ross Quiroga, an expert on sexual and reproductive health rights and the founder of Bolivia's first advocacy organization for people with HIV.

Joining them on the panel are former First Lady Laura Bush (who was in the news yesterday defending U.S. foreign assistance) and Nobel Laureate Aung San Suu Kyi (who's in the news pretty much every day).

"But I'm not in D.C.," you say.

I had a feeling you'd say that.

The discussion will be streamed online. Look for the "Media Widget" on the conference home page.

Rain rules the lives and well-being of rural Ethiopians. Rain determines whether families will have enough to eat, be able to provide basic necessities, and be able to earn a living.

This cannot be truer than for people living in Mesela district, located in Eastern Ethiopia. Most of them practice small-scale, rain-fed agriculture. They produce their own food, but also use their farm production to generate income to purchase food. So when three consecutive rainy seasons (one in 2010 and two in 2011) were poor, the Mesela community was greatly affected. Harvests were poor, pasture and water became scarce. Livestock started to die. People coped with the situation by reducing their number of daily meals (two instead of three), selling their remaining livetsock (often their most important assets) and by engaging in petty trading. For example, a woman typically traveled to a large market located 3-4 hours walking distance from her home, purchased vegetables and small ruminants (goats or sheep), walked back another five hours to reach a smaller market to sell her purchases. Typical profit: 30 to 50 Ethiopian Birr ($1.70 - $2.80) per day, twice a week.

In order to support small-scale farmers to cope and recover from the drought, in December 2011 CARE initiated a livelihoods recovery project with funding from the Austrian Development Agency. The project includes the distribution of cereal and vegetable seeds, poultry, and small ruminants, along with agriculture training. The project reaches 5,600 small-scale farmers, and specifically women, who are the ones receiving the poultry and the small ruminants.

In order to decide who would receive the goats and sheep distributed by CARE, the Mesela community did a wealth ranking exercise where families were divided into three groups: the "poorest of the poor", the "poor" and the "better off". The community decided that the "poorest of the poor" should receive the goats distributed by CARE and that these families in turn would give the first four offspring of their goats to the families of the second group, the "poor". This practice, widely accepted and appreciated, shows the sense of solidarity existing in the Mesela community.

In addition to the provision of seeds, poultry, small ruminants and agricultural training, CARE also invited women to participate in Village Savings and Loan Associations (VSLAs), a micro-credit approach developed by the organization in 1991. Their response was instantaneous.

VSLAs are self-managed and self-funded savings groups. In Ethiopia, a VSLA is typically composed of 20 members who meet regularly and contribute a certain amount of money to a pooled fund. Members can borrow money from the pool, and repay their loans with interest which is then shared among the group members. Participating in a VSLA is often the first time a woman will access credit in her life.

Wednesh, a 28 year old farmer living in Mesela, was introduced to the VSLA concept during a visit organized by CARE in February 2012 to a neighboring village. In that village, she discussed with women who have been participating in "women asset groups" for more than two years with the support of CARE. The members these groups each received three goats and were trained on the VSLA methodology. Inspired by what she saw, she came back to her village and convinced 80 women to create four VSLAs. With the support of CARE, the four groups meet every week and each member contributes 5 Birr ($0.28) to the pooled fund. One member can borrow 100 Birr ($5.64) for one month, with 10% interest. Most women contract loans to engage in petty trading to generate income. So far, Wednesh's VSLA, of which she is the chairwoman, has saved 1,400 Birr ($79).

Wednesh is a strong advocate of VSLAs. She constantly provides support for other VSLAs and walks long distances to discuss with other women to introduce them to VSLAs. She is one of the main reasons why VSLAs are so popular and efficient in her community.

Wednesh is also waiting to receive four goats from one of her neighbors. She has been classified in the second group in her community, the "poor", and has been linked with a woman who has received five goats directly from CARE. Once she receives her goats, she also wants to give their first four offspring to another member of her community.

Belaynesh, a 50 year old farmer, started to participate in a VSLA, and is now the chairwoman of her saving group. She has been identified as one of the "poorest of the poor" and will receive her five goats during the first weeks of July. While participating in her VSLA, she and her peers discussed a new trading tactic whereby they start with trading chickens (who bring a profit of 10 Birr each – $0.56) and work towards trading goats and sheep (who bring a profit of 30-50 Birr each - $1.70 - $2.80) and finally cows (who bring a profit of 200 Birr each – $11.28). Her ambition and confidence have inspired many other women to work towards achieving the same objective.

Fantanesh, a 25 year old farmer of the Mesela community, witnessed VSLA members of the CARE project meeting and saving every week. Even though she was not participating in the project, she convinced 19 women to create a VSLA and proactively reached out to CARE to ask for training on the VSLA methodology. Today, her VSLA, of which she is the secretary, has saved 1,200 Birr ($67.70). "Before the VSLA", she explains, "I always faced a shortage of money. Now, I have access to credit for my petty trading and I can do what I want. The market is now my farmland."

And what about the men in the Mesela community? How do they see VSLAs? Do they support their wives in participating in the saving groups? "Oh yes!" responds Fantanesh. "They support us at home when we meet every week. They keep the animals, they fetch water and they collect wood so we can participate in VSLAs. They are very happy because additional money is brought to the family." Thus, VSLAs elevate the status of women in their communities by demonstrating how the economic empowerment of women helps not just women, but everyone around them, including men and boys.

Wednesh, Belaynesh and Fantanesh all demonstrate leadership and solidarity in a very difficult situation. They are slowly becoming more confident and feel they can better resist shocks such as a drought. "VSLA will continue even if there is a drought" states Wednesh. "Petty trading will always be there". To this, Belaynesh adds "we have a good idea how to overcome poverty in the future". And the best part is that they are doing it together.

Photos: Audrée Montpetit/CARE

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By Rodrigo Ordóñez

'If we have nothing to eat, after a while we will die." The words of Hasta Abdelkarim, 46, are remarkably strong. A visitor asks her if she is afraid of dying. 'Yes. After that, it's over – there is nothing," she sentences.

The food crisis in the Sahel region of West and Central Africa is affecting more than 18 million people. Hasta is one of the 3.6 million people in Chad who are finding it increasingly difficult to eat this year due to chronic poverty, erratic rains, high food prices, and regional conflict.

For someone who has never experienced chronic hunger, it would be hard to understand what it actually means for a person, and for a family, beyond the physical distress. Hunger is about much more than just food.

Three women from the village of Djiogi, in eastern Chad, shed some light on what it feels like to be hungry, and how they cope with it.

'We don't have anything to eat. We are in the process of dying," indicates Makabahar Abdoulai, 30.

'Children ask often, ‘Why is this happening'?" accounts Zenaba Abderrahaman-Bahan, 33. 'They are hungry but I have nothing to give them. I play with them for a while until they forget."

'Before, I could at least give my children some breast milk, but not anymore – now I just try to find a way to get by," remarks Makabahar. 'When my children are hungry, I just make some diluted millet porridge."

Under these circumstances, the bland taste of the staple foods is not important. Nutrients might not be a priority either. 'We are hungry, so a good meal is something that fills the stomach – the taste doesn't matter," explains Zenaba.

Only today counts
When filling the stomach is the main concern, having plans for the future is unconceivable. It is difficult to make decisions that extend beyond the next 24 hours. 'We can only focus on our present problems," notes Zenaba. 'It is only the problems we have today that we can think about."

For a mother, it is hard to occupy the mind with something other than her children's wellbeing, especially when hunger is part of daily life. 'Children have nothing to eat – that's our main problem," complains Makabahar. 'I think about it a lot," she admits, 'and I worry."

They don't know what they will do if this year's harvest is also bad. 'We don't know. We can't do anything. We'll wait for god to decide," remarks Hasta. Makabahar and Zenaba nod in agreement.

For these women it is even difficult to express their fears for what the future might bring. Resignation might be an instinctive way to avoid frustration and to make their daily routine more bearable.

Back at home, each mother must take care of five or more children, walk several hours to fetch water, and find a way to feed their families.

'My children are not strong," says Zenaba, showing the thin arm of a boy on her lap. 'Specially the two smallest ones, 1 and 2 years old."

The effects of hunger go beyond discomfort. Not eating bears a negative toll on a child's physical and mental fitness. 'If the child is not full and tries to run and do activities, he feels tired and just wants to sleep," describes Makabahar. 'Children don't grow up," she says. 'If children don't eat enough, even their intelligence doesn't develop."

Dodging hunger
There are different ways to try and cope with the feeling of hunger.

'If it's a big meal, I serve it on a big tray and everyone picks from there," explains Zenaba. 'However, if I don't have much food, I split it and give little amounts to each child, placed separately at the edge of the tray."

Reducing portions and skipping meals are also commonplace. 'Before, we would do three meals; in the morning, at noon and in the evening. Now, only two," declares Hasta. 'We skip meals, but the amount is normal," says Makabahar.

Another indicator that people are going through difficult times is that they are eating unusual foodstuff they would normally refuse in times of relative plenty. In this region, people are now eating a bitter tree fruit known as ‘desert date.' Hasta explains the process. 'Donkeys eat the fruits, including the seeds, which they can't digest. We pick the excrements and separate the seeds. We cook them with boiling water, four times. They soften up and release the flavor."

In these communities, livestock is a valued commodity, but people are now selling their cattle as a last resort. 'I still have some cows, but there aren't many left," laments Makabahar. 'I'll sell them to have enough money to buy some food."

Hasta, the oldest woman in the group, hadn't experienced these hardships in a long time. 'When I was little, it wasn't like this. My father only had to leave to find work and pasture once, in 1984, but we hadn't seen anything like that since then."

'We used to have camels and animals at home. They grazed around here," she recalls. 'If the weather was better, we could have a vegetable garden, and grow tomatoes, lettuce… but nowadays we can't even find vegetables in the market."

A point of support until the next harvest
Hasta, Makabahar and Zenaba received food rations from CARE, including 50 kilograms of sorghum, 15 kilograms of corn and soy fortified with vitamins, and 8 liters of cooking oil.

This food gives families help at a crucial time so they don't have to sell all their livestock, their most valued possession, ahead of the next harvest.

'We have children and we are hungry. We're very happy of getting this food and your support," expresses Zenaba. 'My children are waiting. I'll go home and cook porridge for them. They will eat well and they will be happy."

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Blog by Deborah Underdown
July 5, 2012

South Sudan 2012. Returnees in Bentiu. Story available 'Returning to South Sudan'. Photo credit: © 2012 Deborah Underdown/CARE

As I arrived in Bentiu in South Sudan and got out of the vehicle I was greeted by my CARE colleagues and a pair of Wellington boots. My trainers were going to be of no use here.

The rainy season has just started but already the roads are a huge challenge. The thick sticky mud makes getting anywhere a long process.

My driver for the day, Hassan (who also happens to manage CARE's water and sanitation programme so is multi-tasking) explains that in the coming weeks, as the rains get worse, it will be almost impossible to travel around. At the same time last year the best mode of transport was a quad motorbike- CARE used one to transport essential medical supplies.

We travel to Bentiu Port that is home to over 300 'returnees'. Since South Sudan's independence in July last year, over 400,000 people have returned to their home country from Sudan. They arrive with little and the journey can take months.

The living conditions of the returnees by the port are the worst I have ever seen.

I met a mother of five, Mayen, who told me that, on her journey to her home country, her seven month old baby girl died of malaria. She is now living with ten people, including her own children, in a shelter with one single bed. The floor is a bed of mud that the children sit and play in. I can't imagine what it will be like when it is also flooded. The fact that they won't even be able to escape the mud and water when they are inside is utterly overwhelming.

Seeing the children sitting on the floor with mud covered hands, the same hands that find their way into children's mouths is worrying. I want to reach out and tell them to keep their hands out of their mouths, as I would with my own niece when she has been crawling around on the  floor back at home in the UK, but what would be the point? It's impossible to get away from the mud and the diseases that it carries, they can't even begin to keep their hands clean. It's so frustrating to know that the likelihood of them getting sick is very high.

CARE has set up a medical facility (it actually backs on to Mayen's shelter). Paul, a clinician working in the facility, told me that waterborne diseases were already increasing with many cases of watery diarrhea and respiratory tract infections. CARE is proving treatment as well as immunizing children against polio, tuberculosis and measles.

The poor roads and already dire living conditions are only set to get worse. CARE is pre-positioning relief items as well as helping returnees in Unity State. We are also helping refugees fleeing conflict and displaced people who are searching for food.

It must be noted that a year of independence isn't a long time in terms of building up capacities and infrastructure. The country's 'to do' list is long, but the Government and aid agencies like CARE are working hard to help the 800,000 people. People just like Mayen and her children, who are in desperate need.

Five years lost: Case studies looking back at life under the blockade

For the past five years, more than 1.6 million people in Gaza have been sealed in to 140 square miles, and big dreams have nowhere to go.

As dreams for a better life remain frozen, the quality of life has also declined. The blockade has had a disproportionate effect on civilians in Gaza. Severe restrictions on imports and exports have crippled Gaza's economy and people only too willing and able cannot find work. Aid dependency has grown as the private sector has all but shut down. The quality and availability of essential services has also declined under the blockade, and severe obstacles on movement and access prevent many people from traveling abroad to seek health care or education and employment opportunities.

On June 14, 50 aid groups including CARE and the United Nations called for the lifting of the Gaza blockade:

For over five years in Gaza, more than 1.6 million people have been under blockade in violation of international law. More than half of these people are children. We the undersigned say with one voice: "end the blockade now."

Living under the blockade: Meet the people

Khaleel Zaanin
Just one kilometer outside the access restricted area known as the buffer zone, Khaleel Zaanin, 45, is irrigating eggplants, peppers, and potatoes on what is left of his land, about 7.5 acres. He owns an additional 37 acres inside the access restricted area that he is not permitted to cultivate. Citing security concerns, the government of Israel unilaterally imposed a buffer zone – or access restricted area – that extends up to 500 meters into Gaza. In practice, Israel restricts access to agricultural land up to 1,000-1,500 meters from the fence, with devastating effects on farmers who can no longer work in their fields. Khaleel's land inside the access restricted area once held 1,500 citrus trees, which the Israeli army cut down in 2007, citing security risks. "I had a great business in citrus, my life was very good. I used to employ 30 workers and export to Israel, Jordan, and the West Bank. Now, I work by myself just planting vegetables for local sale."

Khaleel says that he would like to return to citrus farming, but does not have the money to invest in replanting trees, which take 5 years to mature. He says that unless the situation changes he would be living with the uncertainty of new trees again being cut down. Still, he says he holds out hope that there are better days ahead. "All of us dream of this day where we live with freedom and I think it is still something we can achieve. Everything would be better if the occupation ended. In the past few years our life in Gaza was difficult. In the future I hope my family will be fine."

Siham Abu Qainas
Siham Abu Qainas, 43, is a mother of six living with her family in the Al Berka area in central Gaza. Her neighborhood is not connected to the sewage network, and raw sewage flows openly through the streets. Her house has three improvised cesspits crawling with insects. Every two or three days, she uses buckets to empty the pits, dumping the waste into the street. Her two-month old daughter has a skin infection, which the doctor attributed to her unsanitary surroundings.

An international aid project initiated in 2010 planned to connect Siham's neighborhood to a sewage system, but the construction is stalled. The building contractors are still awaiting permission to bring in equipment for the wastewater pumping station through the Israeli-controlled crossings. The Israeli authorities have not explained the reason for the delays. Meanwhile Siham and her family dream of better days. "All I need is a dignified life for me and my family, but the blockade has destroyed my hope," she said.

Read more about the call to lift the blockade >

It takes a lot of strength to carry 55 pounds of water for more than four hours across eastern Ethiopia’s arid highlands. It also takes particular strength to change the circumstances that force women to shoulder that burden.

Fatuma Muhammed is strong in both these ways, and more.

The 50-year-old mother of four lives in Muru Geda, a small village in Ethiopia’s chronically-dry East Haraghe zone. Water is so scarce here at women must walk huge distances to reach a small pond or stream. For much of her life, Fatuma spent at least 16 hours a week searching for water; after discussion with her neighbors, she would walk as much as four hours in the direction that held the best promise of a reliable water source, fill her large plastic container and then trudge four hours back home.

In those days, Fatuma’s best-case scenario was that she’d return with 25 liters of water that would last her family of six for three days – that’s less than a liter and a half of water per person per day. The worst-case scenario is difficult for her to discuss.

“If I ever came home without water – or with a container that wasn’t full – it was a big problem. My husband sometimes beat me,” Fatuma recalled. “It isn’t tradition for men to carry water; it falls on women. If men want it, we have to get it. That’s one of our greatest challenges here.”

Another grave challenge is health; even when women like Fatuma find water in this part of Ethiopia, it’s often dirty – open to the elements and shared with animals. When families aren’t aware of simple sanitation practices such as boiling or filtering, they run the risk of debilitating waterborne illnesses such as diarrhea and dysentery. These illnesses are dangerous and even deadly for those with weakened immune systems; three years ago, Fatuma spent 15 days at a local hospital after drinking contaminated water.

Excruciating distances, unreliable sources, the specter of illness and the threat of physical violence – an Ethiopian woman’s responsibility to bring home water both diminishes her dignity and wreaks havoc on her quality of life. That’s why CARE, with funding from the United States Agency for International Development (USAID), created an extensive water system for the area around Fatuma’s home in Muru Geda.

Over the course of five months, we harnessed the flow of a local spring and laid more than 30 kilometers of pipe. This pipe leads to distribution points in five separate villages where women can get clean water from a tap with just a turn of the spigot.  Hundreds of local families participated in the construction of this water system, contributing sand, rocks and hours of hard work.

Today, CARE still provides technical advice for the water system, but we’ve turned daily operations over to the communities the system serves – everything from maintenance to financial management. Households pay a fee of ten cents for 20 liters of fresh water; this money is placed in a bank account for future repairs and system improvements. This account is managed by a water committee consisting of four local men and three women – including Fatuma.

“People in my village nominated me to serve on this committee because I am strong, providing for my family even after my husband died,” she said. “I am resourceful, I have my own business and I can create success for myself and others.”

The committee meets every two weeks to discuss matters such as when water points will be open for use, rationing if the water supply is low, potential conflicts and community feedback. Fatuma is an active and vocal participant in these meetings, especially regarding the challenge she’s been familiar with all her life.

“I have initiated public discussions on how women suffer because of lack of water,” she explained. “We’ve organized as a group, and have gone to local government offices so that people can hear our voices as women.”

For many years, Fatuma Muhammed was strong enough to carry an unbearably heavy load of water for many hours across eastern Ethiopia’s blazing and parched terrain. Today, she’s using that strength to ease the burden for her region’s mothers, sisters and daughters.

By Rodrigo Ordóñez

(Photo: © 2012 Rodrigo Ordonez/CARE)

In the last few weeks, I have talked to families in several regions of Niger, while traveling on my own or when taking journalists to the field. Despite the variety of personal circumstances, certain elements appear often in people's stories.

Life has never been easy for these people. They've increasingly got used to enduring what others would consider unbearable. Their ability to eat has been highly dependent on weather and rains since they can remember. Most families have lost children because they couldn't feed them and they fell ill easily.

This cycle of poverty has become the ‘new normal' for them.

This is also the case for the people I talked to in Saran Maradi, a village in the region of Maradi, southern Niger.

This year has been harsher than usual, and crops were insufficient to feed their families. They couldn't afford to buy food in the markets either, because of the high prices. Only a few people in the village have grain left, but it's only for planting. Many sold their goats or sheep to buy food, but the prices are low, up to half of the standard price.

CARE is providing income to 61 families in Saran Maradi so they can buy food during what is commonly known as the ‘lean season,' the gap between the time people run out of food stocks and the next harvest. "It's a support that came at the right moment," says Achirou Inoussa, a 42-year-old man from Saran Maradi. People receive cash in exchange for part-time work in projects identified by their community, or as a handout in the cases where nobody in the family is able to perform manual labor.

The cost of this type of emergency project is relatively low, but it has a very tangible impact.

"Normally, around this time of the year, all the young people are gone," says Moussa Garba, an elderly man who claims to be over 80, although he doesn't know exactly. Sitting under a tree, he and other men explain to a visitor that during the nine months of the dry season most men in the village go to Nigeria to work in low-qualification jobs; as porters, water sellers, or emptying septic tanks. This year, however, some came back when they found out about CARE's project and the opportunity to earn a living in their doorstep.

Apart from preventing seasonal migration, cash-for-work projects bring extra benefits to the communities. In Saran Maradi, people are turning an unused piece of land into pasture. After removing weeds, they sow grains which will germinate during the rainy season and create a new area for cattle to graze.

I was interested in knowing more about the impact of this project in the homes, so I talked to women; they are generally the ones who face directly the difficulties to feed their families in times of hardship. I wanted to know what they were eating before and after this project started.

Delou, Halima, Maka, Mariama, Sahara and Sakina benefitted from this project. They are mothers and grandmothers between the ages of 25 and 80.

All combined, they have 41 children, although their families could have been larger. Through the years, these six women have suffered the loss of 24 sons and daughters in total. Sahara Mahama, 40, lost four children; one of them was only 14 days old. "I lost the youngest one during the rains, in the lean season. I didn't have enough to eat," she laments.

All of them emphasize that this year there wasn't enough rain, and little to eat. "Two years ago at least there were people who harvested spikes of millet, but this year the crops have been worse because of the drought and the leaf miners," says Delou Ibrahim, 70.

CARE's support has allowed them to feed their families at a critical time.

"Before this support, I couldn't; I was eating leaves," explains Maka Ali, an 80-year-old widow. "Not only can we buy millet and sorghum now, but also corn and condiments," explains Mariama Oumarou, 55.

"With this support, we get to eat abundantly," explains Halima Abdou, 25. She and the other women I talked to are now able to give their children two daily meals; porridge in the morning and sorghum paste in the evening.

Clockwise from left: Delou Ibrahim, 70. Her granddaughter Latifa, 8. Delou's hands hold sorrel leaves, used as a condiment, and grains of sorghum at her home in Saran Maradi, Niger. (Photo: Rodrigo Ordonez/CARE)

Delou Ibrahim has four children and suffered the loss of nine. She has about 40 grandchildren, 16 of which live with her.

"I've seen several crises. The famine in 1984 was the hardest. Rains were very weak. The stems of millet came out but the spikes gave no grain - nothing," she recalls. "Two years ago at least there were people who harvested millet, but this year the crops have been worse because of the drought and the leaf miners."

Delou's last crop was 30kg, which only provided food for about two days. Delou and her family receive cash from CARE. "I get to buy cereal to feed my family, particularly my grandchildren." They have two daily meals, porridge in the morning and sorghum paste in the evening.

Clockwise from left: Sakina Moudi (left), 30, and Halima Abdou, 25. Their children Kassoumou (right), 4, and Massaoudou, 10 months. Sakina takes sorghum out of a sack at her home in Saran Maradi, Niger. (Photo: Rodrigo Ordonez/CARE)

Halima Abdou has five children. Sakina Moudi has six children and suffered the loss of one.

Last year they harvested 40kg of cereal. "It only lasted for five days," says Sakina. This year they didn't get any crops.

In the periods without food, their husband collects and sells wood to buy yam flour. Now their husband participates in CARE's cash-for-work project and continues to sell firewood to get additional income. "With this support, we get to eat abundantly," explains Halima. "We buy millet, sorghum, and corn." They serve their children two meals per day, one in the morning and one in the evening.

Clockwise from left: Maka Ali, 80. Her granddaughter Maria, 10. Maka's hands hold sorghum at her home in Saran Maradi, Niger. (Photo: Rodrigo Ordonez/CARE)

Maka Ali has been a widow for twenty years. She has eight children and about twenty grandchildren. She has experienced the loss of six children, four of them at an early age. "I was alone taking care of them, so I cannot say their deaths weren't related to lack of food," Maka recalls.

Nobody in her family can work, so she receives a cash transfer from CARE. "When I receive the payment, I buy sorghum and maize," Maka explains. "Before this support, I couldn't; I was eating leaves."

Clockwise from left: Sahara Mahama, 40. Her daughter Mariama, 4. A bucket of millet at Sahara's home in Saran Maradi, Niger. (Photo: Rodrigo Ordonez/CARE)

Sahara Mahama has seven sons and a daughter. She lost four other children; one of them was only 14 days old. "I lost the youngest one during the rains, in the lean season. I didn't have enough to eat."

Eating has become increasingly harder through the years, recalls Sahara. "When I was a kid, we used to have three meals: in the morning, at noon, and in the evening.” However, one meal a day has now become the norm. "It's never guaranteed, but we try."

Sahara participates in CARE's cash-for-work project. With the money she receives, she buys cereal and gives her children two meals per day.

Clockwise from left: Mariama Oumarou, 55. Her granddaughter Rakia, 4. A hand holds grains of corn in Mariama's home in Saran Maradi, Niger. (Photo: Rodrigo Ordonez/CARE)

Mariama Oumarou has ten children and three grandchildren. Through the years she has lost four children and two grandchildren. She participates in CARE's cash-for-work project. "Not only can we buy millet and sorghum now, but also corn and condiments."

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Sadaf Rahman, Safety and Security Officer, CARE Pakistan

"You cannot do it."

"Security is not for girls; go and find yourself some office job."

"Can you even spell security?"

"Oh; you wish to be a security manager; really?"

"Why don't you meet me over dinner and we will see what we can do."

"Thank you for your interest but we would rather hire a man."

All of the above statements actually happened when I tried to apply for a job in the men-dominated field of security. And I accepted to get discouraged but only for a little time or a maximum of a few days. Like the phoenix, I rose from these encounters with an even stronger will and firmer resolve to work in the security field. There was no reason not to believe that I couldn't do it and hence, I finally got the break with the International Organization for Migration when I was hired as Security Officer. Since then, I actually haven't looked back. Though, there does pop up a little desire occasionally to go to these six different people who said what they said and tell them: "Look, I made it".

I knew a job in security is tough, very tough. I also knew it would be demanding and meant to serve in inhospitable environments. But I persisted believing in the strength of human resolve, honestly. I am aware of the many odds that human beings have surmounted in the past and as the saying goes: "A dream of yesterday is a reality today." I couldn't put it any better than that.

My resolve to be among the best in the security industry is unflinching and I would always be looking forward to add value both in my professional dispensation and personal development. CARE is a non-political non-sectarian humanitarian organization and all that matters to us is improving lives of poor people, assisting them to overcome poverty. Today, humanitarian agencies such as CARE have to deal with emerging threats while doing their work. We can be targeted simply because of who we are and what we are perceived to represent

And a security officer has to be on her toes to always be a step ahead than those who wish us damage. Not many may know it but it is a perpetual struggle to keep our staff, our projects and premise protected. It also looks adventurous from the outset; but I as a security officer have learnt NOT to be adventurous. This, to me, is the basic definition and requirement to be in security business. Being brave does mean respecting security and safety rules.

I am grateful that CARE practices what their belief is: Gender Equality. I will, and am all geared up to, prove that CARE's decision to hire me was the right one. A woman can be as good as a man in security.

Today, as a CAS, a Certified Anti Terrorism Specialist, I stand with courage and strength and face whatever comes my way. I am a woman. But I am no less than anyone else. Period!

A Testament to Human Kindness

IDP Rachele in her home in DRC. Picture by Julie Edwards/CARE International/2012

The humanitarian situation in the DRC is one of the world's most complex and long-standing. This is due to continuing armed conflict and general insecurity. According to UNOCHA 1.7 million people remained displaced, mostly in eastern DRC, in 2011.

In one village, Kanii, according to locals there are around 200 displaced people living amongst the 450 households. Rachele, displaced by conflict on several occasions has, this time, been here for three years. She first came to the village as a teenager when she was pregnant and fleeing mass atrocities. You might wonder why she returns home but when you have nothing and your home was once somewhere you were able to earn a living perhaps it is more understandable. "I want to return home. I have a farm, livestock and a field of bananas and beans but I know, at the moment, I can't go back."

Rachele lives in a shelter, provided by CARE, next to the family that took her in when she first arrived. The two room shelter is home to her and the 11 children she shares it with – six biological children and the five she adopted when her sister died.

Sangatia, a 50 year old widow, currently supports 24 people, including Rachele, and when you ask her why she simply replies ‘love'. There is no financial benefit for Sangatia and it is hard to understand why this woman would help so many others but she never questions the assistance she gives. "When new people arrive we see them as brothers and sisters, our feeling is to welcome them. When they arrive we welcome them and think about how we can live together. When we have food we share it."

The story of a displaced woman and the widow that has taken her and her family in is a testament to how the Congolese people help each other in times of crisis. CARE is supporting host communities and villages like Kanii with the provision of shelter kits, seeds and tools so that people can grow crops and feed their families. Community crisis management committees are set up so that people can work together and avoid conflict.

Rebuilding Lives After War

An ex-combatant, Miroro and his wife Furaha. Picture by Julie Edwards/CARE International/2012

Miroro and Furaha married in 2002 and have five children. Miroro spent 13 years in the army, leaving in 2006. When he left the army he found himself living amongst a distrustful community. "The community's reaction towards me when I returned was that they couldn't believe I was a civilian and always asked to see my discharge papers. They weren't necessarily afraid but weren't sure how to act around me as they thought I might still be a soldier."

The reaction of the community was just one part of the family's problems as Miroro explains: "When I left the army there was nothing for me to do. I couldn't send my children to school because the fees were too expensive. We lived here on the charity of the community". But since joining a CARE project and receiving business training the family has seen their fortunes change with the opening of a small shop in front of their home that is well used and supported by the local community.

Miroro's wife, Furaha, has seen changes since their involvement in the project. "Everything he gets he shares. We now have food and clothes. Each time he gets money he brings it to me and we talk about how to use it."

Miroro is also happy that he is his own boss. "I don't have to take orders from anyone else. I can support myself for the first time and send my children to school. I have learned how to generate an income, keep track of the money and reinvest it."

The project is working with ex-combatants to find viable ways to earn a living, through hairdressing, mechanics, livestock rearing and small commerce. The participants are also given kits to start their business and we have worked with local authorities to get taxes waived for the first year so that the businesses are provided with the best start possible.

When a Husband and Soldier Returns

Ex-combatant Munyaneza and his wife Matipaka in their home in Goma. Picture by Julie Edwards/CARE International/2012

During these years Matipaka would survive by finding work where she could and eventually she had to sell the one asset the family owned. "We had 7 goats before he left but I sold them one by one just to survive."

The return of Matipka's husband didn't spell the end of their hardship. Not only did they have to adjust to life back together but they still didn't have a secure income. "When he was unemployed life was very difficult, we just sold a little flour here and there. There were times when he was difficult to manage, difficult to live with."

CARE's ‘Hope Tomorrow' project is working with ex-combatants and provided Munyaneza, Matipaka's husband, with training and equipment to start his own business. Munyaneza explains how the project has helped the whole family "The project gave me four months training which included mechanics. I now have a driving licence and can repair tyres. I have also been able to buy four goats and some chickens and ducks. I can now send my children to school and feed them"

Life is now improving for the family but it is also good to see that Matipka is no longer facing the daily struggles on her own: "now when problems arise we can work together to overcome them."

The project is working with ex-combatants to find viable ways to earn a living, through hairdressing, mechanics and livestock rearing. The participants are given kits to start their businesses and we have also worked with local authorities to get taxes waived for the first year so that the businesses are provided with the best start possible.

Life in an IDP Camp

IDP Cecile outside her shelter. Picture by Julie Edwards/CARE International/2012

Cecile, 37, arrived in the camp almost a year ago. "We fled because armed groups were raising villages on the other side of the hills and they were killing people and burning everything. I was so distressed when we fled. We didn't have anything to eat."

Arriving in the camp, Cecile and her five children were taken in by another family until they could build their own shelter. Cecile struggles on a daily basis. "I face many challenges each day – to get food, maintain our shelter, to keep clothed and to even find cooking utensils. On top of that my children can't go to school."

CARE provided Cecile, and families like hers, with vouchers that could be used to buy the things she most needed, these vouchers assist families with the goods they need, while helping local markets. "We received vouchers from CARE. No NGO had given us food until then. I was miserable with hunger and when CARE gave us the vouchers I was overjoyed. I thank CARE for that. I liked getting vouchers instead of simply receiving food directly. It meant I could choose what to get and how much."

This camp is now home to Cecile and she explained why returning home isn't an option. "I can't imagine going back – people from our village have gone back and have been killed or have returned here."

CARE's funding to support families like Cecile ran out in May 2011. It is often difficult to secure longer term funding but CARE hopes to resume activities in the coming months to support new arrivals like Judith, a 47 year old widow, who arrived in the camp at the end of January. "An armed group came two weeks ago and they chased us away and killed some of us. Women were raped and their limbs were cut off with machetes. I saw this with my own eyes. While we were fleeing my sister was killed and cut to pieces."

"I live in misery. I work here and there for the villagers and get paid with plants and salt. I have nine children, four are my own and the others are my sister's children. My hope is that I receive help. Before, I had a stable life and could educate my children – now I can't do that. My children aren't well – we can't eat or keep clean."

*To protect the identity of people in this story names have been changed

In the United States, a woman’s lifetime risk of dying due to pregnancy or childbirth is about 1 in 2,100. In sub-Saharan Africa, a woman’s risk is close to an astonishing 1 in 30. This Mother's Day, nearly 1,000 mothers and 8,000 infants will die from almost entirely preventable causes, and most of these deaths will occur in the developing world. Sign to help us reach 9,000 signatures for 9,000 needless deaths.

I work with members of the US Congress and their constituents to improve our foreign assistance program. While much of CARE's advocacy work involves the US government, our country office colleagues also engage in advocacy with foreign governments. I got a taste of CARE's global advocacy work last week when I was asked to join meetings between CARE, Emory University (a research partner), and the Kenyan Ministries of Education and Public Health and Sanitation in Kisumu, Kenya. The goal of the meeting was to increase the government's investment in successful hygiene and sanitation programs in rural schools.

For the last six years, CARE and Emory University have worked on a program called SWASH +, which builds latrines and hand washing stations in schools. At the moment, the program is only in the Nyganza province, in southwestern Kenya, but CARE hopes that the government will provide the resources to replicate it across the country.

Studies have found that having clean latrines has positive impacts on health and reduces absenteeism, particularly for girls. CARE hopes that future research will prove that adequate sanitation also improves school performance.

In US advocacy, we generally work toward one of three goals: passing legislation, securing funding, or working with the administration to support policies. Once the law is on the books or the budget is completed, we take implementation for granted. We assume that the legislation will be carried out; the funding will arrive.

In Kenya, the end goal of advocacy work is another matter entirely. Here, the formal policies are comprehensive and support many development programs. Education is legally free; all citizens have the right to water and sanitation. But in reality, schools are not always functional; sanitation facilities are inadequate or absent.

The Kenyan ministry officials who joined us in Kisumu were supportive of SWASH +, but Kenya is changing rapidly, and the future of social programs is uncertain. The country has a new constitution. National elections will take place in the next year. After the post-election violence in 2007-2008, Kenyans are unclear as to what will come next.

Yet after debriefing on our advocacy strategy, my CARE Kenya colleagues realized that the tools we need to advocate for effective programs are similar across cultural contexts. Before starting a program like SWASH +, we need to determine key stakeholders in the community and the government. We need to conduct research that determines the effectiveness of programs, and we need to package that research in a way that is clear, succinct, and useful to policy makers. Finally, we need to engage stakeholders throughout the process and to consider them as critical partners.

To find out more about SWASH +, go to www.swashplus.org.

To support programs like SWASH +, call the Capitol Switchboard at 202-224-3121, ask to speak to your member of Congress, and tell him/her to support the Senator Paul Simon Water for the World Act (H.R. 3658).

Siaya is a town twenty miles from Lake Victoria, in Western Kenya. I am in town to visit community groups that my CARE Kenya colleagues (Alex, Lucy, and Margaret) have been working with in the last six months. The first group we visit named themselves Twelve Sisters, but they are quick to tell me they have fifteen members, as they have been growing. Six months ago, these women started working together as a community savings and loans group. The women meet twice a month, and at every meeting they contribute money to the group. They are required to contribute 20 Kenyan shillings (about 30 cents) to the group's social fund, and then they can choose the amount of money they want to contribute to the group's pooled funds. The pooled funds are lumped into shares, which cost 100 Kenyan shillings (about $1.50).

At any meeting, group members can take out loans from the group's pooled funds. In April, Dada started an embroidery business. Frances improved her poultry farm. Alice paid the secondary school fees for her children. The women repay their loans a month after they take them out, along with 10% interest.

The social fund, however, is a different matter altogether. The social fund grows every month, and if one of the women has a problem, the group votes on whether or not to use their social fund to help her. Two months ago, Frances' house caught on fire, and she lost many of her possessions. Twelve Sisters voted to nearly deplete their social fund, giving Frances a way to start over. Unlike the loan system, the social fund does not need to be repaid.

Beatrice, the group's president, tells me, "this box is a painkiller…before when we had problems we had nowhere to turn, but now we have a resource." While we only spent a day together, it was clear to see that Beatrice was a force to be reckoned with. In addition to leading Twelve Sisters, Beatrice is a community educator on clean water. Trained by CARE, Beatrice goes into rural villages armed with PUR water packets. Donated by Proctor and Gamble, these packets purify 10 liters of water. The packets cost 15 Kenyan shillings (20 cents), but thanks to Proctor and Gamble, Beatrice and other health workers can distribute samples for free when they conduct community trainings.

Beatrice shows me how she demonstrates the packets. She empties the packet into a bucket of brown water that she collected from the nearby river. As she sings a song about the process, Beatrice stirs the bucket for five minutes. Then we wait. Twenty minutes later, the water is miraculously clear. Beatrice ties a white cloth around a second bucket and uses it as a filter for the sediment that floats on top of the translucent bucket. "Now it is safe," she says. I must admit, I'm impressed.

Alex and Margaret, who run CARE's water and sanitation programs in Siaya, tell me that the funding from Proctor and Gamble will last two more years, and their clients are always asking for more PUR packets. The mortality rate from water-borne diseases has dropped significantly in Siaya since CARE started the Safe Water System Project, and families are eager to use the PUR packets because the water looks and tastes better, and they see immediate improvements in their health.

Beatrice asked me what I was going to do when I got back to the United States. I explained that my job is to tell stories to members of Congress, so they will support programs like Twelve Sisters and the Clean Water Project. I hope to make good on my promise.

There are two bills in Congress right now that could help women like Beatrice and groups like the Twelve Sisters. The Microenterprise Empowerment and Job Creation Act (H.R. 2524), and the Senator Paul Simon Water for the World Act (H.R. 3658). Please call the Capitol Switchboard at 202-224-3121, ask for the office of your member of Congress, orclick here to send him/her an e-mail in support of these life-saving pieces of legislation.

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©CARE International, Photograph of Mama Amka participant by G. Labrecque, November 2011

As I sit around a table with four members of the Tuungane Village Savings and Loans Association , I am struck by the colossal change that has taken place amongst the women in Kishishe village in just over a year. Last year when I visited CARE's Mama Amka project, designed to empower women and communities to respond to and fight sexual and gender based violence, I found a traumatized population; women led me to dark corners of their homes and whispered about the sexual violence plaguing their communities. Survivors spoke about their fear of being identified as a survivor, abandoned by their husbands and shunned by their community. While the woman in Mama Amka I found solace and strength in each other, their eyes clearly showed the isolation and trepidation they felt as they attempted to move beyond their nightmarish experiences.

This year, when I arrived in Kishishe, Kharehe, the 25 year old community counselor who I remember being so timid that she found it practically impossible to speak to me last year, grabs my hand and chats about her VSLA group while leading me to a group of women who want to share their experience in Mama Amka II. In a small but well lit one room hut I find 24 year old mother of one Kahambu; 37 year old mother of six, Chantal Kahundo; and 54 year old mother of twelve Flora. All of the women tell me they are widows and do not provide any additional information about their husbands. Flora laughs when I ask if they find being a single mother hard, saying "What man would want to take on a woman who already had children? Anyway, I am so happy now. I am independent. I make money and then decide how to spend it. My children go to school, we eat every day, and when we are sick, I can pay medical fees". The women around her giggle with glee at this new found economic independence which has opened the door to a future for themselves and their families. As one woman put it "before I was short-sighted, but now I see into the distance".

CARE's Village Savings and Loans Association approach, introduced in the second year of the Norwegian MoFA funded Mama Amka project is at the heart of this change. Survivors of sexual violence and other vulnerable members in communities in ten health areas have formed forty of these groups. Almost 70% of the 1,149 members have taken a credit to launch income generating activities. Flora, for example, took a loan of 20,000 Congolese francs (about $35 USD) and started her own local brewery; her first loan provided her with a profit of 50,000 francs (about $87 USD)in sales of banana wine. Chantal has accessed two credits of 30,000 francs (about $52 USD each), which she used to start her own restaurant. Specializing in beans, she serves between 25-30 plates a day. Kahambu and Kharehe became friends and now live together in a rented home they pay with from profits from their respective VSLA loan activities. Although it is rare for young single woman to live on their own in a village, Kahambu and Kharehe are focused on the possibilities of their future. Kharehe made over three times her loan selling corn while Kahambu used the profits from selling salted fish to buy goats, which have already produced two offspring.

The women are energetic and radiant as they speak of their success. They ooze confidence and happiness- I can't remember the last time I heard so much deep, true laughing coming from women in a village in eastern Congo. While their excitement about their new work is palpable, when asked about the sexual and gender based violence this area of the Congo has become notorious for, the women remain realistic. "There has definitely been a reduction in the frequency of rape here", Kharehe explains. "But", Chantal interjects, ‘we still have a lot to do". Woman after woman I speak with repeats that a group approach to sensitizing the community on gender quality is the most effective means to make a difference. Flora explains, "Before women who were raped were alone and didn't know where to go. Now they know to seek treatment at the health centers and to talk to the community counselor. Now we work together to get the community to change. No more should young girls not be allowed to go to school". The economic empowerment has also had an impact on the household level. As Jean-Baptiste, the projects psychologist explains "Economic empowerment valorizes the woman in the home. Once she starts profiting from her VSLA activities, she begins to independently make household decision. The husband respects and appreciates this. This has a positive impact on their relationship and on the household dynamics".

As I leave, Chantal shows me her small restaurant. As she poses for pictures, she gives her parting message "Please continue to help us fight SGBV. There is so much violence here. There is violence in the home, there is violence in their fields. Petit a petit we have made a change. But we must continue to work as a group to address the problems and find the solutions".

By Barbara Jackson, Humanitarian Director, CARE International

The thick calloused soles of the feet of the women with whom I sat in the tiny village of Maijanjaré in Niger, seven hours by road away from the capital Niamey, tell their own story. It is a story of many hardships, of back-breaking labour to dig a bit of land in extremely rocky, hard and dry soil in order to plant and hopefully harvest a bit of millet. It is a story of having to walk two hours each day to collect water. It is a story of women who have lost their husbands many years ago either to migration, working in another country where they have found new families, or to early death. It is a story of women who are widows and who tell us that without CARE’s cash-for-work project, they would be beggars now and are vastly relieved that for at least these few months, they do not need to beg.

These women are referred to as the elderly, and while they cannot tell us their age given that they don’t know it, they are probably in their late 40ies. The life expectancy for women in Niger is 45 years of age, an indicator of how tough life is in this part of the world. The women eagerly tell us the cash-for-work project, where they are paid a small sum of money to dig half-crescent shaped basins that will form natural reservoirs for the millet to be planted, has helped them to buy a small amount of grain that the government of Niger stores and sells at a subsidized price to community members during this very lean season.

Without food assistance and other support, over five million women, children and men in Niger are at risk of not having enough food in the coming months.

Already we are being told that people are reducing their food intake to one meal a day, and that the seeds that they have saved for the next planting season are being eaten to supplement their diets. The severe droughts of 2005 and 2010 are in very recent memory, with many people having gone into debt to survive those crises - yet people did not have enough time, productivity and stability to regain their livelihoods. The ‘elderly women’ of Maijanjaré will be amongst the first to suffer from this impending crisis if they do not receive help. But they do not want to beg for help. They are eager to work. They want to feel that they are helping themselves during this extremely difficult time.

The situation in the Sahel is a complex one and the small village that we visited is only a small microcosm of what many millions are living today in Niger. In times of hardship such as those, people used to migrate and find work as daily labourers in other countries. However, the conflict situation in Mali, the tenuous situation in Nigeria and the uncertainty and volatility of Libya does exhaust this strategy. Those in Niger are concerned, and wonder what the future holds for them.

Halima, one of the village widows shares with me: “We continue to be strong with CARE’s help and we hope that the rains will come on time.” Hope is a wonderful emotion and can carry one far, but it is not enough for the women of Niger. They must have the continuous support of CARE and others to help them through this very critical time.

It is important for us all to remember that during the food crisis in Niger in 2005, it would have cost us 1 U.S. dollar a day to prevent malnutrition among children if the world had responded immediately. By July 2005, it was costing 80 U.S. dollars to save a malnourished child’s life. Now is the time to help Niger --- not when it is too late to prevent what we know can be prevented.

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John Uniack Davis, Country Director, CARE Madagascar
March 29, 2012

Marie-Jeanne lives with two of her three children in this house that is slowly crumbling around them, closer each day to collapsing completely. Marie-Jeanne ekes out a fragile existence selling charcoal to neighbors who are only slightly better-off than she is. Location: Andovoranto, Brickaville. Photo: Katia Rakotobe

"Six weeks have passed since Cyclone Giovanna hit the east coast of Madagascar, and the humanitarian situation is becoming more and more clear. Needs assessments carried out by the United Nations, NGOs and the Malagasy Government came in and they offer precision regarding the affected population and its needs. But even without quantitative data, the passage of time has allowed us to see who is able to get back on their feet on their own and who needs outside help to return their lives to normal.

This week, I returned to the Giovanna-affected zones for the first time since February 22-23. My objectives were to thank and encourage our team, which has been working non-stop since the days immediately following the cyclone, and to get a sense of the evolution of the humanitarian situation. I traveled to Vatomandry and Brickaville Districts, those that were the most affected by the wrath of the cyclone. Accompanying me were emergency operations manager Mamy Andriamasinoro, communications officer Katia Rakotobe, and emergency officer Emmanuel Lan Chun Yang of CARE France. We made an effort to visit some of the villages that I visited five weeks ago, in order to have a clear basis of comparison and evaluate the evolution of conditions on the ground and our activities. My visit brought many issues surrounding the response into sharp relief.

In Andranofolo, a hard-hit village just south of Vatomandry, we revisited a young woman named Voahanginirina. When we had seen her previously, she was living in the precarious fallen wreckage of her house with her three daughters aged eight, four, and three. When we visited this time, the ruins of her home looked even worse. Consequently, Voahanginirina, who is barely over 20 years old, made the wise decision to move her family into a little structure that once served as their kitchen. It doesn't give the family much space, but it is safer than where they were before. The family of four makes do with Voahanginirina's meager earnings from making and selling baskets.

In the same village, we came upon Rose-Marie, a 73-year-old widow using the roof, which is all that remains of her home after Giovanna, as a simple lean-to-like shelter with the two grandchildren she cares for. Demonstrating that she is doing her best to make a good life for her grandchildren under difficult circumstances, she proudly showed us the neat mosquito net hanging inside her tiny makeshift dwelling. Rose-Marie makes the best living she can collecting and drying reeds from the nearby marsh, which she sells to people like Voahanginirina for basket weaving.

The next day we returned to Andovoranto, in Brickaville District, where Giovanna made landfall on February 14. Things are slowly returning to normal for many in that small seaside town. But those without extra resources or family to help them remain in quite dire straits. For example, we went back to see a widow named Marie-Jeanne, who once had a sturdy little wooden house, but a direct hit from cyclone-force winds left it a twisted, misshapen remnant of what it once was. Marie-Jeanne lives with two of her three children in this house that is slowly crumbling around them, closer each day to collapsing completely. Marie-Jeanne ekes out a fragile existence selling charcoal to neighbors who are only slightly better-off than she is.

As CARE moves forward with our response to Cyclone Giovanna, we cannot help everyone, nor should we. Many families suffered a lot in the wake of the cyclone, but have nonetheless been able to rebuild their homes and reestablish their livelihoods, thanks to their own resources or the support of family and friends. But some people, such as Voahanginirina, Rose-Marie, and Marie-Jeanne, need a little bit of outside help to regain safe and decent housing and get their lives and their livelihoods back on firm ground. These are the types of people that CARE will continue to work with in coming weeks and months as we continue helping people rebuild their lives.

Our cyclone response activities evolve over time but the principal themes remain the same, focusing on food security, restoring safe shelter, and reestablishing transport infrastructure for economic activities as well as access to vital services such as health care. We are grateful to USAID and private sector donors for giving us the wherewithal to hit the ground running and begin bringing our activities to scale. We are currently finalizing plans with other generous partners, including the Government of France, who will help us to meet the most pressing needs of those worst affected by Cyclone Giovanna."

By Melinda Gates

Everywhere I go, people ask me how they can help. They want to know what they can do to help alleviate hunger and poverty, to stop women from dying during childbirth, and to make sure children grow up healthy. It's incredibly inspiring to know that there are millions of us, around the world, who want to work together to make the world a better place.

Fighting big issues like hunger and poverty, and working to save women's lives can be overwhelming. Where do you start?
What if we started by thinking about helping one woman give birth in a clean, safe health facility or ensuring access to contraception?  What if one, meaningful action could get us closer to accomplishing these lifesaving goals?

It can.

Today is International Women's Day, a day to acknowledge and celebrate the women of the world; but, also, to recognize that we have a lot of work ahead of us to improve the health and lives of women, especially in the poorest countries. In partnership with Threadless and CARE, we're launching a T-shirt design contest to inspire and engage us all to act on behalf of women in the developing world; and to spread awareness of how important maternal health care is to the lives of women in the poorest communities of the world. It's one way you can help.

You don't have to be a professional designer or artist. If you have an idea for an inspiring image or just a simple message, I want to see it.
Once the winning design is chosen, we'll sell the T-shirts online. 100 percent of the proceeds will go to CARE, one of our incredible partners working on the ground to save women's lives. The money will help to fund their maternal health work, helping to make pregnancy and childbirth safer for women living in some of the poorest countries in the world.

Take a moment out of your busy day to think about the millions of women who struggle to deliver healthy babies safely.  Think about how you can help.
I'm talking about helping women like Eliza. I'll never forget meeting Eliza at the Nassa Health Center in Tanzania. She was about to give birth to her fourth child and had walked six hours, after being in labor for two days, because there was no health care facility close to her home. Eliza was desperate to make sure her fourth baby would be born healthy.

I also remember sitting on the floor with about 40 pregnant women in Malawi, at the Dowa hospital. Why were they on the floor? These women arrive at Dowa hospital up to four weeks before they are due to give birth. They sit and wait so that they'll avoid complications – or even death – from birthing at home. 

No woman should have to endure what Eliza or the women I met in Malawi endure. No woman should die in childbirth. It is simply unacceptable. It's why we'll continue to work to improve women's health and lives through access to family planning as well. In July, we'll join forces with the UK government to raise awareness of the unprecedented need for access to contraception for the world's poorest women.

Women around the world go to great lengths to make sure they have a healthy baby. They are willing to walk for miles or sit on the floor for weeks in a hospital, waiting. Are you willing to join our t-shirt design challenge to make a difference in women's lives? If you've wondered how you can help, here's one simple way you can.

Johannes Schoors, CARE Niger Country Director
March 2, 2012

Abu mahamane has credit in her village savings and loan, purchased raw material in the bank of cereals and (here) sells food prepared on the spot in the village market.

This couldn't have come at a worse time – not that there is ever a good time for brutal fighting that burns people's homes to the ground and sends them running in fear to another country. More than 130,000 people have been displaced by the fighting in Mali, and many of them have arrived here in Niger, a country that is already in the grips of a worsening food crisis.

Most families in Niger, especially in the areas along the border with Mali, are running out of food. Families have reduced the numbers of meals in a day. Children are going hungry. The refugees are adding to the strain already being suffered here. But the people of Niger are amazing – they have almost nothing, but they are helping the refugees. They are sharing what little food they have. This is the culture in Niger. They help out how they can: a Nigerien will share a cooking pot with a refugee family, and the refugee family will use it, and then pass it on to another family.

Tens of thousands of Malian refugees have fled into Niger. There was heavy fighting last night, so more refugees are crossing the border. This will get worse. And as always, the ones caught in the middle are the civilians.

Their villages were burned to the ground. They have nothing to go back to except sad memories. Already the numbers are growing. CARE plans to help the people who fled to Banibangou, and we were initially told there were 600 families – there were in fact 1,260 families (9,000 people), and more people are crossing the border as the fighting continues.

The refugees are in a bad state. Many of them are sleeping in the open. I saw a photo of a pot with brown sauce in it, and I said to my staff, 'oh, so they are eating millet?' But my staff said no – that's muddy water. The refugees are drinking muddy water, because they have no access to clean water. We need to help them filter the water, or the refugees will start to get sick. Water is a real problem.

CARE is gearing up to provide clean water, food and emergency items to the refugees. But we need to help the Nigeriens in this community, too, because they are sharing what they have with the refugees. By helping the refugees, they're running out of food more quickly.
This situation is going to get a lot worse before it gets better.

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Sparrow McGowan, CARE Canada
January 2012

When asked about her life five years ago, 50-year-old Dulali Begum quickly becomes shy. She and her family live in Velabari Village in the Bogra District of Bangladesh and were among the extremely poor of an already very poor community. Her husband Jamal had lost the use of his legs and Dulali had to beg to feed her family.  But ask her about her life today and she immediately lights up.  From the simple provision of 200 Taka (approx 2 to 3 USD) worth of seeds and training from CARE's SHOUHARDO program, with a small patch of land from her village, Dulali and her family now have a steady and healthy supply of food, a small business and her 14-year-old son is in school.

Dulali’s owes much of this success to her persistence and dedication to building a better life. Dulali took the seeds given to her and planted and cultivated them to produce vegetables that could be sold for an income, and also used to feed her family. From the money she earned from her vegetables, she bought hens and started a small poultry farm. She then sold hens for a profit allowing her to purchase supplies for her husband, a skilled craftsman, to start making handicrafts. Today, she sells the handicrafts locally, using market knowledge she learned through CARE's SHOUHARDO program – all this from the cultivation of seeds and support from CARE.

"When I used to go to the market to sell products, I wasn’t able to bargain. Now I have the ability to determine my proper price and say ‘this is the price – you can buy it if you want to pay that price'. I’ve become quite clever."

Dulali and her family now enjoy three meals of good food daily, compared to the one or two meals they previously managed. They eat a mixture of vegetables as well as small fish and eggs, and meat a couple of times a week. She has also purchased trees that are planted around her house that serve two purposes: Dulali lives next to a flood plain and the trees help stop erosion and keep her land elevated, but they are also an investment. In about five years, the trees will mature and their wood will command a significant amount of money at market, approx. 6000 Taka (72 USD).

The relationship with her husband has also changed substantially. "This family depends on Dulali because she is doing every job," says her husband Jamal. "Although I make the handicrafts, she is selling them and cultivating the vegetables, going to market and managing the family. I respect her for this." When asked if she is now involved in household decision making, Dulali responds, "Definitely! Why not?" They also look forward to a brighter future for their son -- that he will be well educated and go on to have a good job, a better life.

The Chairman of the Village's Development Committee points out that the village was one of the poorest in Bangladesh, but that women like Dulali are helping to improve the condition of the whole community. "Dulali is one of the influential women in the community", he says. "She is a role model."

What's more, the EKATA group has expanded the world for its members. Since joining the EKATA group, Rina has travelled across the country, carrying her goal to make life better for herself, the others in her group and her community. Referring to her group's meeting space, Rina says, "This room was not the only destination in my life. I had to explore beyond it."

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Sparrow McGowan, CARE Canada
January 2012

Rowshan Ara (right) and her husband Toiab. Photo: © 2012 Akram Ali/CARE

Five years ago, 40-year-old Rowshan Ara was making thread for a living, earning an average of 200 to 250 Taka (2 to 3 USD) a week. Coupled with her husband Toiab’s small income as a handloom labourer, they struggled to buy food and were unable to afford school costs for their children. Today, Rowshan Ara reflects on that time, saying that she knew that owning their own handloom would give them the opportunity to make change in their lives, but the 6,000 Taka (approx. 72 USD) price tag for a handloom was out of reach.

Identified by CARE’s SHOUHARDO program as being amongst the very or extreme poor, Rowshan Ara became eligible for support. She was given a grant of 1,500 Taka (approx. 18 USD). Still short of the cost of a handloom, Rowshan Ara and her husband took a loan from a local organization and were able to purchase a loom. They returned that loan and through saving and borrowing have grown their business to include six handlooms, producing 150 saris a week in their small factory. They sell the saris at the local market and earn between 24,000 and 25,000 Taka weekly. What's more, they employ six workers.

Rowshan Ara points out that the relationship between her and her husband is excellent. With him managing the purchasing and selling and her managing the factory, they are a team. The business not only ensures that they, their sons (22, 16 and 3 years old) and daughter (13 years old) are now able to eat regular, healthy meals, but her 16-year old son and 13-year-old daughter are also in school, and her eldest son is part of the family business. In the community, Rowshan Ara is now seen as a role model and business competitor.

In looking to the future, Rowsha Ara points out that currently the factory is all hand-based machinery, but they are planning to eventually bring in modern machines so they can increase the number of workers and the factory size.

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Rina Begum's soft smile belies the strength and inspiring leadership that has made her both a community and national leader in her home country of Bangladesh. Five years ago, Rina wouldn't have been able to leave her home in Lalmonirhat, Bangladesh, unless she was accompanied by a male family member. Today, she welcomes both female and male visitors as the leader of her local women's group, known as an EKATA (Empowerment, Knowledge and Transformative Action) group.

Rina's group, originally started as part of CARE's SHOUHARDO program five years ago, is made up of 20 women. Although CARE's involvement in the program ended over a year ago, the women have continued the group, making great strides for bettering not only their lives but the community as a whole. Today, they talk about everything from children's education and local dispute resolutions, to ensuring community access to government services such as immunization and birth delivery, and ensuring people receive their national identity card so they can vote.

Rina also serves on other community groups, including three school management committees, and is an executive member of the People's Organization Convention (POC), an annual meeting that brings together more than 400 community groups. Rina, through the POC, is trying to bridge the gap between the needs of local communities and the national government service providers. She is a rare leader, who has not only managed her own development, but has created a space for the other women in her group to flourish. Because of this, they are all seen as leaders in their community, and regularly turned to for support, such as resolving family disputes or going to the hospital.

The group points out that husbands are showing increased respect for their wives throughout the community. And the group now knows what their rights are – and are fully confident in asserting and accessing them. “We were worried that our intermediaries were misrepresenting us,” says one woman in reference to men who would go to the local government with their requests. So now they communicate directly with the service providers, travelling some 60km to the local government offices. “It was only because of joining this EKATA group that this is possible,” she says.

Together, the EKATA group has stopped a number of child marriages in the community, started an early child care for development program and created a savings group. They are also all employed, earning income through activities such as raising livestock, making and selling food products, running a small shop or offering tailoring services.

The results for their families and the community have been inspiring. Five years ago, young girls would often be pulled out of school at a young age. Today, the education of young girls is valued and they push for continuous education. The families of Rina and the other women in her group would previously have lived on only one to two meals a day. Today, they all get three meals a day, and their children are fed a range of healthy foods, including eggs, meat, fish and vegetables.

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Melanie Brooks
Jan. 22, 2012

Dije Ousmana, 45 years old, breastfeeding her two-month-old baby Abdulahadi. Yan Sara village, Dakoro, Niger.

When Dije Ousmana looks down at her two-month-old baby boy, Abdulahadi, she tries not to think of her three other children, all babies like Abdulahadi, who died in earlier food crises. She has seen the signs before, and she is afraid: diarrhoea, difficulty swallowing, crying for more milk when there is none to be had.

In her arms, baby Abdulahadi stirs, opens his eyes, and begins to cry. Dije quietly puts him to her breast, but it isn't long before the cry turns into a wail.

"There is no milk," she said. "I haven't eaten yet today."

Outside, her daughter continues to pound millet for the family's only meal of the day. Dije's six-year-old son runs in and asks when the food will be ready.

Today, Dije and her extended family of 14 will eat just one bowl of millet, mixed with a bit of goat's milk and plenty of water to make it stretch farther. It's been three months that it's been like this, she said.

"The younger children ask all the time why we aren't eating," she said, telling her son to wait. "They don't understand. They think I am just not cooking."

Niger is spiralling down into a severe food crisis. A catastrophic combination of a failed harvest, returning migrant workers from troubled neighbouring countries, and soaring food prices has left more than 5.4 million people in Niger at risk of hunger; at least 1.3 million people, like Dije and her family, are in critical need of help now.

Across Niger, there are communities that have no harvest at all, and have already exhausted their food supplies and are starting to sell their animals and household belongings just to buy food to keep their families alive. In each affected community, the prognosis is the same: this crisis is already worse than the crises of 2005 and 2010.

"It's been years since we've seen a situation this bad," said Dije. "I already sold five of my goats, and we have just one goat left. We've sold everything to buy food."

Here in Yan Sara village, a poor community of 170 people in the barren semi-desert of rural Niger, children are already showing signs of malnutrition: protruding bellies and orange hair revealing the tell-tale signs of nutrient deficiency. Children with chronic malnutrition risk permanent stunting: they will never grow as tall as other children their age, and they may have developmental challenges as well. Severe malnutrition, if not treated, can lead to death.

Nearly 300,000 children will become malnourished across Niger this year, and that figure is expected to rise as the country's food crisis worsens.

But if help is provided now, we can prevent children from becoming severely malnourished, said Amadou Sayo, CARE's Regional Emergency Coordinator for West Africa. CARE has already started a cash-for-work program in partnership with the World Food Programme, which will help families buy food. But more is needed. CARE is raising funds to start an emergency food program for families like Dije's, who are already in dire need. High-energy, nutritious food for children, such as Plumpy'nut, a peanut-butter-like emergency food used to treat mild malnutrition, can help prevent children from becoming severely malnourished.

"Prevention is more effective, and less costly, than allowing children to become malnourished in the first place," said Sayo. "In a food crisis, helping the children is critical, as well as pregnant women and breastfeeding women. The adults can survive a hungry season, but young children are very vulnerable. If they don't have proper food, they start to get sick, they lose weight, and they are at risk of death."

For Dije, the situation is frighteningly clear.

"We need help," she said simply. "I don't want to lose another child."

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On March 8, International Women’s Day, women around the world will gather on bridges as part of Women for Women International’s Join me on the Bridge campaign. The campaign began in 2010 when women from Rwanda and Democratic Republic of Congo, in the middle of a violent civil war, joined together on a bridge connecting their countries to call for peace.  In acts of solidarity, women and men all across the globe joined them, and continue to do so each year, demanding an end to the violence, and symbolizing that we can build bridges of peace.  

I remember reading about the campaign for the first time two years ago.  My eyes stung with tears as I read that the women in Congo and Rwanda would meet on a bridge connecting their countries to call for peace amidst the war.  It was only as these tiny tears turned into huge dollops rolling down my cheeks that I realized something big was happening.  What was it?  And how could I respond especially since I felt so powerless- what could I really do?  

It was weird because I remember feeling no doubt that I would respond, but also feeling full of doubt as to what I could do. In that moment I felt small and helpless yet alive and emboldened.  

All my thoughts going, “you’ve never organized an event like this, you don’t know what it’s like to live with war raging around you, you can’t change anything,” -they got trumped.  On that day, I choose to listen to the knowing in my body, and despite the event being only a week out, I began to plan a small gathering on our beach walkover bridge.  On March 8, 2010, nearly 50 women showed up and I got a taste for what happens when you choose to experience yourself in a new way.  The world changes.  It can be experienced in a new way too.  Maybe that was what touched me so deeply when I read about the Congolese and Rwandan women.  Their act was extraordinary in that despite their outer circumstances, they could choose to see things radically different.  They could imagine peace.  They could imagine what might happen when we connect with one another.  

I like to think it was my future self- the one who stood atop the Acosta Bridge in downtown Jacksonville on March 8, 2011, arm raised in celebration- who pulled me toward her that day I sat in tears at my computer.  The one who saw that the world can be the place that I’ve always sensed it could be.

When we show up, when we listen to the whispers of life, we begin to consciously co-create the future, and like the women in Congo, Rwanda, Afghanistan, Bosnia and everywhere the women are standing on bridges, I can create a unified, peaceful and compassionate future for humanity.  

Haiti – 2 year anniversary of earthquake

Like so many places in Haiti, idyllic natural beauty and the harsh reality of deep poverty collide in Tiawa.

Perched atop a mountain in Léogâne, Tiawa affords an extraordinary view of the surrounding area. Unfortunately, much of that vista is scarred by destruction. Haiti's devastating January 12, 2010 earthquake destroyed 80 to 90 percent of the buildings in Léogâne, according to official estimates. It was the area hardest hit by the quake.

In Tiawa, the quake gave rise to an impromptu camp of 1,500 people; people who had lost many members of their families, and nearly all of their possessions. CARE began supporting the families with emergency relief supplies immediately after the earthquake. Now CARE is helping them make the transition from recovery to rebuilding.

Today the camp's population is steadily dwindling. Many residents have rebuilt their homes. Others have moved to improved shelters built with assistance from CARE or other aid groups.

Jean Elie Maitre, VSLA Technical Advisor, is holding a training session for a group of women in a camp in Leogane where CARE has just started implementi­ng the Village Loans and Savings Associations.

Integral to CARE's five-year, $100 million program to help Haitians rebuild their country are initiatives to help them develop their own economic opportunities after they've moved out the camps. In the fall, CARE launched the first Village Savings and Loan Association in Tiawa. VSLAs are self-managed savings groups. CARE teaches participants, the majority of whom are women, who save and loan money in small groups.

Members borrow money from the savings fund to pay household expenses and to start small businesses. The loans are repaid with interest which is then shared among the group members. Participants earn a greater rate of return on their savings than they would in a bank, while building bonds with their neighbors. VSLA loan repayment rates are near 100 percent.

Crucially, VSLAs elevate the status of women in their communities by demonstrating how the economic empowerment of women helps not just women, but everyone around them, including men and boys.

At one of the first VSLA meetings in Tiawa, the group sang a song composed by VSLA field manager Yves François Constant. "Where VSLA people stand, there's no space for misery," they sang. "Where VSLA people stand, women have autonomy."

CARE VSLA staff holding an information meeting for a group of civil society and women's organizations and two representatives of the city hall  in Carrefour where CARE has just started implementing the Village Loans and Savings Associations.

The Tiawa VSLA groups grew out of a gender-based violence counseling and support group CARE launched after the earthquake. After helping women survivors cope with the aftermath of gender-based violence, CARE is helping them take the next step by offering a VSLA program as a way to help the women weave their own economic safety nets. CARE's objective is to help women, and therefore their families, gain autonomy.

Although all of the money in a VSLA comes from the participants, CARE is facilitating VSLA growth in Tiawa and elsewhere in Haiti by fostering connections with responsible local businesses. Through CARE, VSLAs will soon team with Haiti-based Earthspark International to market green and clean energy products in Haitian communities. Conservation and better environmental stewardship are essential to Haiti's long-term recovery.

And to make sure their growing savings are stored safely, CARE will partner with a local mobile phone provider to develop a mobile wallet designed specifically for VSLAs. It will allow VSLA members to securely store and transfer money electronically, eliminating the need for group members to guard large stores of cash.

Though the VSLA model is new to the earthquake zone, it is not new to Haiti. Prior to the earthquake, CARE helped groups of women start VSLAs in Grand Anse, in the southwestern corner of the country. When survivors from other parts of Haiti poured into Grand Anse after the earthquake, the families with women who participated in VSLAs were better able to cope.

"Parents had to accommodate and feed their [returning] children and grandchildren," said Léonne Rochas, a regional VSLA chairwoman in Grand Anse. "The financial autonomy they gained from VSLAs helped them a lot."

CARE and the original Haitian VSLA groups in Grand Anse are now rapidly expanding.

"We don't advertise this product. It does its own marketing," Rochas says. "The women around us have seen how savings have gained us more respect in our families and communities. We are role models now."

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"I see her growing up and developing physically and I worry," she says. "When you become a mother at a young age, without any other asset available, you live the rest of your life in misery. No mother would like to see her child living in a similar situation."

Maude is attending a meeting at CARE's reproductive health center in the community of Santo, Léogâne. Officials estimate Haiti's devastating January 12, 2010 destroyed 80 to 90 percent of the buildings in Léogâne. This included not only homes but also the infrastructure of the normal life people rely on: markets, schools, government offices, and health clinics.

The earthquake turned Santo into a tent city of almost 10,000 people. CARE quickly moved in to help, distributing delivery kits and supplies for pregnant mothers and newborn babies, and offering counseling sessions to lower the risk of gender-based violence in this traumatized community.

More recently, CARE built the Santo health center, one of two it has constructed so far and one of 10 planned in all. CARE staff and nurses from a nearby hospital offer education on overall sexual health, contraceptive pills and injections, condoms and group informational sessions for men and women on the prevention of gender-based violence.

Maude often brings her daughter to the center because she's determined her daughter will avoid the hard life she has had. At 36, Maude is the mother of eight children.

"I have four children with a man I didn't love," Maude says. "He didn't want to use contraception and I didn't know how to protect myself." Maude eventually got married and had four more children with her husband. She and her husband attend CARE-sponsored sessions at the center because they've agreed they do not want to have more children.

Nurse Marie Kencia Dulorme is preparing a vaccine at one of the women's centre setting up by CARE in Leogane to provide reproductive health and referral services.

"My husband participated in numerous session organized by CARE's staff," Maude says. "He is now aware of the risk I run by multiplying pregnancies and has decided to protect me by using condoms."

Maude's daughter attends sessions on teaching her about birth control, prevention of HIV and other sexually transmitted diseases, as well as classes on preventing gender-based violence. Maude says the classes have relaxed tensions between her and her daughter. Her daughter now understands her worries, she says. And she now has the right words for explaining to her daughter how and why to be cautious.

Maude expresses gratitude for the center, and she is not alone.

"Even when CARE staff is not here, women from Santo who were trained by CARE are inside sharing their knowledge with their peers," says Willio Sainvilus Latagnac, president of the Santo community association. "The community made this space their own and women have their own area where they can discuss their problems, find solutions together, and regain strength."

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In the highlands of Ethiopia, a group of 19 people sit in a circle in their communal field. In the middle of the circle are four coloured plates and a tin box with two locks.

This is the Water, Sanitation and Hygiene Committee of Sahvina Kebel*. They formed through CARE's Water, Sanitation and Hygiene project in late 2010.

Despite their name, this group does much more than improve access to clean water and sanitation in their community. With these simple tools, this committee and the woman leading them are also bringing new opportunities to their remote village.

It all began last year when the group built a new water pump with CARE's assistance. Less than one year later, this pump has given women more free hours in their day and reduced the amount of illness in the community, particularly the children.  

Tuesday 27 September WASH project in South Gondar, Farta and Estie Woredas. Beletech, 34 year old mother of four from Farta Woreda, Sahivna Kebel. She has four children and is the chairman of the WASHCO. Sitting on a tree stump with her child. Image: Josh Estey/CARE

Beletech, a 34-year-old mother of four, is the chairperson of the group. She explains 'Before the construction of the water pump, I would walk for one hour to collect water from the river. I lost time collecting water – walking and queuing because water is scarce. My children drank this unsafe water and had diseases. Now, the water is safe and my children can go to school and be healthy.'

The water pump was developed through a close partnership between CARE and the community – CARE provided skilled labour and the majority of the materials for the pump, and the community provided their own labour and sourced some local resources like sand and rocks.

The committee developed by-laws to protect the pump – if anyone breaks a law, they have to pay a fee. This money is then managed by the group to cover maintenance and other related costs.

That is just one of the funds the committee manages today. The committee also operates as a community savings group, with each member contributing 5 birr (30 cents) every month. As the total sum grows, members are able to take a loan out for income-earning activities, which is then repaid with interest.

The money is kept safely in a tin box under the security of two separate locks. Beletech holds one key, and the committee's treasurer holds the other.

'I am saving money, and starting to change my life,' says Beletech. The group has taken a loan already, to purchase salt and then on-sell it at the local market, making a profit of 55 birr ($3.20).

When the group meets, the money is divided amongst the coloured plates – with each one indicating a different "account" within the savings group. The green plate displays the groups' savings, yellow is the interest paid back from loans, red is the punishment fees that are paid if someone breaks a by-law; and blue is the social fund that all members contribute to and is available for anyone in the community to borrow from if they find themselves in urgent need of money.  

Beletech's role as leader of the group is another first for this community. Before, women were not usually allowed to speak in public or be involved in decision making. Now, she is leading this group of women and men towards creating a better future for their entire community.

'I am happy to be the chairperson of the group. I manage the meetings and have the power to speak in front of others and make decisions. I received training from CARE about speaking publicly, before I only ever spoke in church. Now, I speak in meetings and community discussions.'

The gender division of labour and opportunities is breaking down in Beletech's home as well as her community. She explains, 'In my home, my husband would only spend his time on farming and I would work in the house. Now, my husband shares the household chores like cooking and making coffee and there is improvement in my home.'

Now, with the opportunity to learn leadership skills and the ability to save money, the opportunities for women in Sahvina Kebel are flowing as freely as the clean water from the village's water pump.

*A kebel is an Ethiopian village

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Women have long been victims of gender based violence, especially in countries like Nepal. Women, particularly from poor vulnerable and excluded communities, live a life where they are made to believe that it is they are destined to suffer and nothing can be done about it.

However, there are some cases where awareness is being brought about in communities to help women feel that they were not born to suffer. CARE believes that a woman alone could feel helpless. By organizing her into a group she will find friend who will help her fight for her rights. Through group meetings, she will find a platform to share her woes and feelings and apparently will be strong enough to seek for justice for herself.

The story below is also about a woman, who with the help of her Peace Promotion Group could find justice for herself and her son. This is the story of 25 year old Amina Khatun who was a resident of Gonaha VDC of Rupandehi district in Nepal and belonged to the Muslim community. She dared to defy to her husband's atrocities and seek a peaceful life for herself and her son. Not just that, with the support from CARE Nepal's Woman and Youth Pillars of Sustainable Peace (WYPSP) program.

It was sometime around the first week of May when Amina's husband eloped with another woman from the same VDC. This broke down Amina. . "After knowing that my husband got married to someone else, I was shattered", Khatun shares .One could easily make out from her voice about the fury, pain and despair she was going through. She was disturbed. Yet she tried to"adjust" and "compromise" for the sake of her family. However, after her efforts were not appreciated by the family or the husband, she started questioning herself. She felt it was a humiliation for her and her dignity. "Love alone is not enough if it not reciprocated. I tried to compromise without thinking about myself but I could not continue any longer. She never got love or affection from her husband and his family or his family. Instead, she was looked as upon as a burden.

The firm decision Having felt that her husband and his family would not support her, Amina decided that she had to seek a divorce and start a new life.  It was not as easy to take such a decision for a woman in Nepal, that too for someone belonging to the Muslim community.  The divorce left Khatun penniless. She could not even send her son to school even after the age of 5. However, she accepted the challenge.

The support from Peace Ambassadors and Peace Builders : Member of Peace Pressure Group (PPG) and Peace Group (PG) formed under the WYPSP project were aware about the tension in Khatun's family. The issue was discussed in PPG meeting in the third week of May, 2011 and Peace ambassadors Ajaya Kumar Yadav communicated with Diwani Ghimire, Peace Builder at Peace Centre Rupandehi, asking if WYPSP team could do something for her. "After Diwani agreed, we first took her to mediation", Yadav said.  After few days of the mediation, WYPSP team reached to Khatun's family and tried to reconcile. "However, our effort turned vain when both Sansudhin Dhuniya and Khatun, expressed their desire for separation", says Diwani.

Both of them were avoiding the reconciliation.  Then the WYPSP team, along with other community people discussed on the compensation package on 7 June, 2011. "At first Khatun proposed that her husband should pay her 2 lakhs and 40 thousands rupees as compensation", Yadav shares.  Also, she demanded some money for the upbringing of her 5 year old son. As Diwani Ghimire,  Ajaya Yadav  and community people were in Khatun's favor, her husband Samshudhin  Dhuniya had no option, but to agree to compensate some money.  Eventually, Samshudhin Dhuniya proposed to offer her Rs. 80,000 as compensation and Khatun agreed to it. Other agreements made that day were : a) Samsudhin Dhuniya offers Rs 2,000/ month to Khatun for their son's expense, b) Samsudhin Dhuniya initiate the process for birth registration of  their son and c) Legal process for the divorce will be initiated in mutual consent . Yadav and Dhuniya followed up the case regularly.

Samsudhin Dhuniya offered her Rs 40,000 on  June 8, 2011 and remaining 40,000 on August 18, 2011. Also, he is committed to offer Rs. 2,000 per months for his upbringing and education of their child.  "By now, Khatun's son's name is registered in VDC office and the divorce application has been filed in District Court", Peace Ambassador Yadav Shares.

Khatun at present : At present, Khatun and her son are living a happy life in Khatun's maternal home in Badihati village of Maharajgunj district of India.  "Now, I have learnt to live a happy life amid the sufferings, admits Katun.  She wants her to send her to school and give him good education.  Khatun is grateful to WYPSP team for taking initiation for the compensation package, which she believes, wasn't possible, if there was no effort from WYPSP.

WYPSP is a project funded by the European Union and implanted by CARE Nepal with the support from local NGOs.The overall objective of the Program is to develop capacity of civil society networks to engage poor, vulnerable and socially excluded (PVSE) groups of women and youth in the process of influencing a democratic constitution in Nepal, leading towards sustainable peace and the achievement of their aspirations.

With the intervention of WYPSP, issues of women especially from Poor, Vulnerable and Socially Excluded (PVSE) population have been advocated in positive light in the working. Numerous efforts are underway to reinstate the right of PVSE women who are in domestic violence, social stigma and are facing social discrimination. The project was started in January 2008. It intends to benefit 65000 PVSE people by 2012.

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GOMA, Democratic Republic of the Congo
Allen Clinton and Jackie Kiernan 

Florance Kwinja picked up her basket filled with corn meal and beans and headed to the market outside of Goma. It's a bus commute the widow and mother of eight never used to think twice about. It was just another chore she did to earn money for her family. But it was anything but routine as the memories of the last time she made the trip two years ago come flooding back.

"We were ambushed by a group of combatants," Florance says. "They held me down and began to rape me, one by one. I was convinced I would die that day. I stopped living." 

In the Democratic Republic of the Congo, rape is routinely used as a weapon of war. Help and justice are hard to find in a country with one of the world's worst poverty rates and mass corruption. To cope with the terror, families regularly flee their home villages. Separated from their families and livelihoods, women and children turn to rummaging for scraps of food and a simple roof to sleep under. Extreme poverty and a loss of dignity have damaging effects in their lives.

Florance, 48, became a widow in 2003 when her house was ransacked and husband, a successful merchant, was killed. Having no savings, she and her children fled their remote village to the town of Goma. Florance worked tirelessly for the next few years to make money to feed and clothe her children. Then the rape happened and she fell into deep depression, an event all too common for women in the Congo. People who Florance considered her friends no longer greeted her. Shamed and scared to return to work, the once proud woman says she could no longer look people in the eyes. When things couldn't seem to get worse, two of her eight children went missing. After three years, Florance didn't think she would ever find them alive.

To understand what is happening here, you have turn back the clock to 1994, when the genocide that claimed nearly one million lives in neighboring Rwanda spilled over into Congo. Since then, the Congolese army, rebels and home-grown militias have been fighting over power and land, which is rich in gold, diamonds and coltan, a sought-after mineral vital to the manufacture of mobile phones and other popular consumer electronics. The result has been the deadliest conflict since World War II. Nowadays the most frequent casualties of war are women. Because women farm the fields and care for children, it's not uncommon to hear that when a woman is raped, her entire family and community are destroyed. Over 82 percent of displaced people turn to host communities and organizations like CARE for support. Only a fraction of families make it to under-funded cramped camps, where they depend on basic aid from the United Nations and other humanitarian groups.

"Women here are in deep pain," says Yawo Douvon, country director for CARE in the Congo. "But it's not just the type of physical pain that can be repaired in a hospital. It's psychological pain that you can't see that takes more time to heal."

Despite there being a constitutional law condemning rape and sexual violence, and newly formed mobile courts that help convict perpetrators, more work is needed to foster representative government and rule of law to bring more perpetrators of human rights violations to justice and ensure the protection of all women. The United Nations Population Fund estimates that 44 percent of perpetrators of sexual violence in the Congo are now civilians.

As women seek support for their plight to overcome gender biases, there are organizations trying to help vulnerable people get back on their feet, including rape survivors and demobilized male combatants. CARE's Espoir de Demain (Hope for Tomorrow) project organizes support groups and teaches people how to make shoes, how to cut hair – skills they can use to earn money and a chance for a whole new life.

Florance jumped at that chance. She signed up to learn to be a hairdresser, a trade almost exclusively reserved for men. Whatever difficulties she would face to break gender barriers, she knew things would change for the better. "It was as if someone had thrown me a rope to help me climb out of a deep, dark hole," she says, explaining that her children would be able to have a "normal life" once she launched her own business. "It's a good business to be in because people always need haircuts."

More importantly, Florance says she chose this trade to stay in one place and not be as vulnerable to potential attackers.
After finishing the training, Florance opened her own business in June, 2011 CARE provided her with a generator, hair cutting supplies, mirrors, lamps and other necessities to get her started. Nervous, with clippers in hand, she says she remembered to cut up instead of down like her instructor showed her when cutting the hair of her first clients. She charges 30 cents for most haircuts but favors braiding hair.

Photo by Allen Clinton

The boy sitting in her chair today was extra special. He is one of Florance's two eldest sons. Both boys had been reunited with her by the Red Cross after years of separation. They have also received skills training through CARE to become a carpenter and plumber.

Hope is not something you'd expect Congo's rape survivors like Florance to still cling to. But they do.

Looking at Florance today you could not recognize her past suffering through the proud smile on her face. She says, "I've had a lot of deception in my life. Clients, visitors and CARE are my new family," People in her neighborhood have begun greeting her again. And Florance, looking them in the eyes, greets them back.

After a severe food crisis in 2010, women founded an association of grain banks to prepare for times of hardship

Niandou Ibrahim, CARE Niger, October 21, 2011

Moumouni Alkassoum, manager of the union of cereal banks for women of Moujia.Photo Niandou Ibrahim, CARE.

Last year, 20 percent of households in Niger were affected by a devastating food crisis. The village of Moujia, located between the cities of Konni and Tahoua in the center-west of the country, gave a picture of the situation at that times. (see story from 2010)

Drought and parasites had completely destroyed the crops, and in order to survive, people were forced either to migrate or to do menial tasks for little pay. Like in Alhou Abdou's household, made up of six children and his wife, the villagers fought day after day to feed themselves. Even though they decreased the number of meals and portion sizes, they often went hungry.

CARE provided 100 kilograms of grain to Alhou's family through a large-scale programme of free grain distribution, in cooperation with the Niger government and the World Food Programme (WFP).  The other households in the village that were suffering from the food crisis all received the same support. This external aid was combined with the stock from a grain bank that the women of the village had implemented to meet the food needs of the families.

The women's small grain bank had a huge impact on the entire community. Inspired by this victory, and knowing that food crises appear every three years, the women were motivated to expand their idea of an "association of cereal banks" in the region.

The system Matu Masu Dubara ('clever women' in the local Hausa language) is made up of savings and loans groups that are managed by the villagers. These groups enable the creation of multiple village projects in several areas, such as health (providing training and equipment for nurses), education (literacy and awareness about girls' education), environmental protection (growing trees and orchards), food security (creation of village grain banks), and even recently, entering political arenas to elect women to influence local and national decision making processes.

Alhou's wife Hadja belongs to the network of "Tammaha" (hope) groups in Moujia, which started a cereal bank in 2002. The bank served its purpose every year because even in years with good crop yields, more than 60 percent of households cannot meet their food needs with their harvests alone. However, in a year of crisis, like in 2010, the Moujia bank couldn't withstand the high demand for grain.

Hundreds of Mata Masu Dubara women from Niger also started cereal banks in their communities. Under the leadership of these women, 19 other community grain banks in the surrounding areas came together to form an association of banks: a storehouse with enough stock to come to the aid of smaller banks in case of stock shortage caused by a high demand in times of food crisis. "To do this, each of the 20 groups contributed a total of 1,000,000 cfa francs, or 2,100 USD, that was used to buy the start-up stock. CARE, with financing from the Norwegian Agency of Development Cooperation, then helped with the construction of a store and management training for the designated women, who would oversee the operation of maintaining the stock. WFP contributed 27,000 kilograms of cereals. It was a real pooling of resources," explainsMérido Moussa, director of the Matu Masu Dubara women association in Moujia.

Today, the association of Moujia banks provides a permanent stock of supplies in the area. While the market price of a 100 kilogram sack of millet is 19,000 fcfa (40 USD), the village banks can sell it for 18,000 fcfa because the union provides it at a lower cost of 16,000 fcfa.

"The women are so clever," whispers Alhou Abdou, while looking lovingly at his wife. "Normally the grain stock set aside by the women would have been enough to fill the gap left by the poor yields that we're seeing this year. But we're still facing hard times because our brothers had to come home from Libya," he adds solemnly. They had lost their jobs due to the political unrest in North Africa.

As of August 31, 2011, evaluations have shown that the crops will not come full circle in 2,496 farming villages throughout Niger, affecting an estimated population of 2,885,673 men and women. The rate of severe malnutrition among six month to five year old girls and boys is at risk of increasing in 2012.

In addition, the socio-political movements that unfolded in Cote d'Ivoire and Libya affected 200,000 migrants working abroad. The thousands of migrants who returned to Niger between February and September came home to extreme destitution, adding another challenge for vulnerable communities like Moujia. "150 village youth had to flee Cote d'Ivoire and 50 others came home from Libya empty-handed, whereas previously they were the principal source of income for Moujia," confirms Mahamadou Abdou, the Imam of the local mosque.

CARE Niger is committed to respond to the urgent challenges of this situation, while continuing to contribute to the resilience of the households in Moujia and in hundreds of other communities.

CARE International UK's Programme Director, John Plastow

Day 1
I've just arrived in Takaba, the principal town in the far north of Kenya, where CARE manages the Regional Resilience Enhancement Against Drought (RREAD) programme, promoting resilience to drought in communities that straddle the Kenya-Ethiopia border. Through the establishment of effective cross-border committees involving both traditional and customary authorities, CARE has played an important facilitative role enabling communities to move livestock over the border to areas where animals have a better chance of seeing out the drought. Scenes of mass animal death are not evident here - unlike in 2006. This is a testament to more forward-thinking agencies in the region. Lessons seem to be being learnt.

The flip side of the realities of the situation was vividly demonstrated this afternoon, with the Takaba Water Users' Association. This citizens' committee reported that water supplies from the seven large water pans that have served some 300,000 people scattered across this semi-arid region have dried up. They are now left to fall back on three boreholes. Two, though, have run dry and the third, which produces potable but unpleasantly salty water, is all that people have to rely on. The borehole is pumping 24 hours a day and there is no functioning back-up generator. Should something go wrong, the town and tens of thousands of families would literally be left high and dry.

Communities here have managed the situation with support of organisations like CARE. But the severity of this drought seems to be finally catching up with them.

Day 2
Out in the dry and dusty drought-ridden plains of Northern Kenya the acacia trees have started turning green. It is as if they, like everything else, are hoping for rain. All around there is a certain desperation spreading. The District Education Officer in Banesa told me he had panicked calls from teachers saying they had completely run out of water. The animals have long since gone in search of water and pasture, and even the bees from what was a highly lucrative CARE-supported initiative have left because it is too dry.

In Banesa, as in Takaba yesterday, there was evidence that people had coped better this time around thanks to drought mitigation measures being put in place. The water reservoir that had been dug deeper had lasted longer, and better management of water distribution at cost meant the committee was able to pay for tankers itself rather than rely on hand-outs. Detailed plans between communities and local government officials meant that pasture was better managed. Indeed, I saw a planning meeting between local leaders and government officials, facilitated by CARE, planning what to do next time rains fell.

But time really is running out. Camels are dying in large numbers - always a bad sign. The short rains are due around mid-October. If they come, this now more resilient community will be able to see out the drought without their livelihoods becoming decimated. If not, then the prospects in this border area are indeed dire. The acacia though are changing - I was told by Adan Bishar, a local elder whose bees had flown and whose camels were dying - because they sense growing humidity in the air. There is then hope from nature, but the prospect of nature failing these people again is one nobody wishes to contemplate too fully.

Day 3
Moyale is a large town at the end of a series of long bumpy roads across the drylands of northern Kenya. Its size comes as something of a surprise after journeying though large semi-arid expanses broken up by only the very occasional small settlement. In the backstreets of Moyale though, I was in for an altogether different surprise in the shape of a project that, while modest in scale and low in visibility, is one which may well be responsible for effecting some profound changes in the lives of some of the most vulnerable and overlooked people across two countries.

Moyale is at the end of the road, not only in Kenya, but also in Ethiopia. Indeed, it is the only formal crossing point across the hundreds of kilometres between the two countries. This gives it great strategic significance and makes it a magnet for all sorts of trade.

I was taken to meet an unlikely mix of traditional leaders and women's representatives from border communities alongside local government officials from both Kenya and Ethiopia. They have come together in a process being facilitated by CARE International which aims to bring people together to work through deep seated and complex challenges such as endemic conflict, hunger and destruction of the environment that besets pastoral livelihoods. Listening to the impassioned feedback from the very different interest groups it was clear that this venture has started to tackle a range of major challenges.

‘We have started to build distrust between us,' Galma Busula, an elder from across the Ethiopian border told me. ‘We were losing our animals, others would smuggle valuable trees, we would see them disappear over the border and had no way of recovering them. Now though that situation is reversing itself'.

This view point was backed up by local government officials. Tadi Wako, a livestock officer said he had seen a remarkable turnaround with people taking responsibility to apprehend poachers. In the last month he spoke of one incident where 36 cattle and 7 donkeys had been returned to owners cross border.

Such behaviour is building up trust and has enabled other forms of reciprocation. In times of drought, communities do move between Ethiopia and Kenya in search of pasture. However, the extent and volume of movement had been curtailed of late, something that has impacted on livestock deaths.

‘Confidence between us has built up as well as our ability to keep track of numbers of herds many of which are moving into the country to places like Yabello and Tertale,' Mesele Eticha, Provincial Land Administrator, told us.

This project and its cross-border committee is built on interactions between just five rural cross-border communities. It would be wrong to attribute too much to this experiment but there is no doubt that it is bringing about some very different outcomes and contributing to rebuilding relations between communities in ways that are proving highly valuable for people who all too often are living at the very edge of crisis.

Day 4
I was woken up early yesterday morning by a strange sound. It appeared to be raining. I had to get out of bed to convince myself that's what it really was. Sure enough, in a place which had barely experienced more than a day's rainfall in an entire year, it was indeed raining! Unfortunately though it was very overcast, the light rains did not last more than about fifteen minutes, no real use though hopefully an encouraging sign, for the "short rains" – an annual event that is vital to the region's subsistence farmers – are due at some point in October. Last year's so-called long rains failed completely in April and May and there hasn't been a drop since – till yesterday that is – a main reason why there is so much suffering going on in northern Kenya at present. All that is required is about three days of reasonably heavy rainfall and a lot of problems will be solved round here.

Much of the day was actually spent looking at the work that CARE has been doing supporting people in their efforts to improve their water supply. Wells are drying up and practically everywhere water pans - essentially small reservoirs - are also now exhausted. People rely on the few remaining wells that are still providing water or in a number of areas they have fallen back on expensive water trucking, something that mainly requires external humanitarian assistance.

CARE has been working with communities to help them manage their water more efficiently. Through RREAD, we help communities form water users' committees to regulate water supplies and charge user fees. These are critical to promote the upkeep of water pumps, pipes and drinking troughs for animals and to protect wells so that they are not contaminated. Dika Ibrahim, the Chair of the Godoma Cross Border Committee, took me to see work that was going on to protect one of the few remaining water sources in the area. This shallow well was supplying the water needs of both people and livestock on both the Kenyan and Ethiopian sides of the border. As we approached we came across several women driving donkeys laden with jerry cans full of water as well as large numbers of camels clearly heading in the same direction as we were. 

CARE had provided funds to supplement those of the community to help protect one of the two functioning wells. This involved several men lining the side of a very precarious looking pit with cement, essentially to stop debris falling inside and contaminating it. They were also planning to build steps down to the perimeter of this large and – to my eye – deep and treacherous facility. One shallow well had already been spoilt because baboons had fouled the water supply, leaving the communities with just one operational well. Accessing water from here was no straightforward matter. Six young men pulled up heavy buckets full of water in a human chain, perched on a rope ladder ascending from the depths. The top carrier transferred the water into troughs where thirsty camels waited patiently to satisfy their thirst. On the other side of the well two other young men were pulling up buckets on ropes to provide water to people who carried it away by donkey cart. The CARE project is designed to improve access, quality and reliability of supply and is one of a number of such initiatives we have been involved in.

Later on I was taken to a small recently excavated reservoir, which was dry awaiting the prospect of rainfall to fill it for next year's supply. Communities have been active in desilting and deepening water sources, one factor that has seen people ride out this year's drought slightly longer than in previous years.

By this time the clouds had evaporated and the short shower of this morning had done no more than damped the dusty earth for a short while. If the rains materialise this year then people are well placed to make the most of them. Meantime the waiting goes on.

CARE mourns the loss of Wangari Maathai, Kenyan Nobel Laureate and founder of the Green Belt Movement, which CARE actively supported beginning in 1994.

Maathai died early Monday morning after a long battle with cancer. She was 71.

Wangari Maathai contributed to the Women Empowered book that CARE produced in partnership with photographer Phil Borges. The book highlights the plight and promise of poor women around the world.

Protecting the Environment
By Wangari Maathai

Women have always played the role of primary caregivers: of their children, their elderly parents, the family garden, and of whatever corner of the planet they live in. From the rice paddies in Thailand, to the manioc fields of the highlands of Papua New Guinea, to the rainforest gardens of the Amazonian Kayapo, it is women who tend their growth. Quietly and with determination, they plant the seeds, remove the weeds, and patiently wait for the fruit of their labor to ripen.

When the forests are cut and the lakes and rivers poisoned, when the land dries up and the rains don’t come, it is also women who bear the greater burden of providing nourishment for their families. And they must watch as their brothers, husbands, and sons fight over the dwindling resources.

In this critical moment in the history of our planet, I call on all women, young and old, of all social spheres, of all races, to take their place as soldiers and leaders in a battle far more important than any other humanity has ever fought. It is important to understand what is happening to our environment and to take action. Otherwise, the next generation of our children may grow up in a planet devoid of beauty and diversity, in a minefield of human greed. By empowering women and girls, the primary caregivers, we can fulfill our role as leaders in a global environmental crusade. Let us all step up to protect the earth, for in its survival depends our own.

Rick Perera, Horn of Africa Communications Coordinator

Overflow classes at the crowded Illeys Primary School, run by CARE, meet in tents in the courtyard. Most new students are recent refugees from Somalia.

It's a typical day at the CARE-managed Illeys Primary School at Dagahaley refugee camp in Dadaab, Kenya. Fifty parents are lined up outside the gates, desperate to enroll their children. They're drawn not just by the prospect of an education, but by the daily meal CARE provides, in partnership with the World Food Program. The student body is swelling astronomically with the children of new refugees, mostly fleeing drought and hunger in Somalia.

This modest compound of cement-block classrooms, designed for 1,500 students, packs in more than 4,000 children in two daily shifts. Spillover classes are housed in tents, bright voices echoing in song and recitation through the sandy courtyard.

"Every child who wants to come to school here is welcome, though of course it's a strain," says principal Ahmed Hassan in his cluttered office, where a whiteboard overflows with statistics about his ever-growing student population.

Illeys school is close to the influx area for refugees, and most of the new youngsters filling the school have recently arrived from Somalia with their families. In one of the tents, Farah Ali Abdi gives a basic English lesson to a remedial class. The group encompasses children ranging from 4 to 15 years old, all of them struggling to catch up enough to enroll in regular primary grades. "The cup is on the table!" they shout gleefully – more or less in unison.

Principal Ahmed Hassan struggles to accommodate 4,000 students, in two shifts, in a facility designed for 1,500.

Most teachers here, like Farah, are refugees themselves, hired and trained by CARE. They work with patience and skill, but with as many as 130 children in one classroom it is next to impossible to give all of them the attention they deserve. The five primary schools managed by CARE in Dagahaley camp are massively overburdened, with over 15,000 students. To cope with the influx, and help those who lag behind catch up to their peers, CARE operates special accelerated learning centers during school vacation. Yet, far too many refugee children receive no education: more than 60 percent of kids in the Dadaab camps do not attend school at all.Girls face special roadblocks in the quest to learn. Only 39 percent of students at the camp schools are girls. By tradition, girls are expected to take on the bulk of chores at home. "If a family has two girls and two boys, they will send the boys and one girl to school and keep the other girl home to work," says Principal Hassan. "Even the girls who attend will have little time to do homework – unlike their brothers." Puberty brings an additional challenge. Girls may miss class for a week every month during their period, out of fear of embarrassment – and many drop out entirely. A girl is traditionally considered marriage-ready at 14, and dropout rates soar at that age.

CARE's work to improve educational opportunity starts at the grassroots. Staffers hold community orientations and go door to door in the camp's residential blocks, advising families about the benefits of learning. Teachers live among the refugees, constantly reinforcing those messages. CARE helps adolescent girls stay in school, distributing sanitary napkins and training communities in how to dispose of them safely.

Sahara Hussein Abanoor, age 17, is an eighth-grader at Illeys, and aspires to be a lawyer.

Over time, teachers say, families see the benefits their neighbors reap when daughters become educated, get jobs and help support their parents. Bit by bit, the old attitudes are changing.

Sahara Hussein Abanoor, age 17, has an exceptionally eager face, but her ambition is not unusual among the students here. She loves learning and wants to become a lawyer and help refugees like her family. "My parents see what I'm achieving and they believe that my future life will be better," she says in confident English, beaming beneath a pumpkin-colored hijab that billows in the stiff breeze. "My mother did not go to school because there was no possibility of that in Somalia. Nowadays the world has changed very much. Even my brothers say it's good that girls go to school."

Shukri Ali Khalif, a member CARE’s Gender and Development team, is a passionate advocate for girls.

Indeed, some of the most effective advocates for girls' education in Dadaab are men. One of them is Shukri Ali Khalif, a tall, skinny 29-year-old who joined CARE's Gender and Development team in 2007. Previously, he says, he had no idea of the difficulties girls face or why they are more likely to drop out. Today he is an enthusiastic spokesman for their equal access to school. "I facilitate mentoring groups for girls, and encourage them to speak out in class and ask questions, instead of sitting on the back bench and letting boys take the lead."

And how do the boys feel about all this? Shukri – who was himself a refugee boy not so long ago – grins. "They feel great!"

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Niki Clark, Dadaab Emergency Media Officer
August, 2011

CARE's goal is to provide sufficient quantities of water to the existing and new refugee populations. This includes the maintenance of 20 existing boreholes and over 170 km of pipes.

Fardosa Muse is a much fiercer woman than her small stature implies. As a CARE sexual and gender-based violence officer in the world's largest refugee camp, she has to be. She spends her day listening to other people's nightmares.

Born in Dadaab, Fardosa, 26, grew up in a polygamous family; her father married multiple wives, and had 40 children. A fluent English speaker, Fardosa studied social science in college. Upon returning to her hometown, she came to work for CARE, where she has spent the past two and a half years in the Dadaab refugee camps.

She is passionate about her work and the people she serves. "Can you imagine being gang-raped in the middle of nowhere?" she says, a steady gaze in her eyes. "This is what women and children are experiencing on their journey from Somalia. Violence against women is a profound health problem for women across the globe."

Today she visits Sultana,* a 53-year-old grandmother, who Fardoza met when she first arrived at the camps. She wants to see how Sultana is settling in.
Sultana greets Fardosa upon her arrival and, after a few minutes, she asks the six children in her care (five grandchildren and one other child relative) to go and play. She wants to speak to Fardoza alone. She doesn't want them to have to relive her story.

Sultana gestures to her tent for Fardosa to come in. With Fardosa's help, Sultana was fast-tracked through registration so as to get a more permanent shelter than the initial reception process provides. There is a thin mattress on the floor, also given to her by CARE as part of her intake process. Other than a piece of tattered fabric covering her bed, and a thin cover of red dust, the rest of the tent is bare.

Sultana was living in Dadaab when she heard that the husband of her mentally-challenged daughter had been violently killed in Mogadishu. Knowing the struggle her daughter would have raising the children alone, she traveled to Somalia. Once there, she turned back, determined to take the six children to a safer, more stable environment. Midway through her journey, Sultana was raped by seven armed men.  When sharing her story with Fardosa, Sultana's eyes squint in pain as her hands gesture how she was gagged and bound. She says that she continued her journey back to Dadaab once the men were done. She had to keep going. 

Rape affects survivors in many ways. Because of the severe social stigma here associated with rape, many cases go unreported. Women who are violated are often shunned by their neighbors and families, divorced by their husbands. For unwed women and girls, rape can mean a solitary life with no chance for marriage. There is the risk of HIV infection, too. In Somali communities, Fardosa says, there is no sense of confidentiality. With thin tent walls separating neighbors, it seems the case is the same in Dadaab. So Sultana tells her story in soft whispers. Having others know what happened to her "would be a whole set of other problems."

"It's a challenge just operating in this environment," Fardosa says. "A lot of the shame survivors feel comes from the community. Here, women are ‘the lesser sex.' Only women that are circumcised are considered marriage worthy. Marital rape is a big concern. The work that CARE is doing in Dadaab focuses on providing psychological and social support and rights education, as well as outreach to men and boys so we can start changing what is considered the social norm."

CARE is supporting newly-arrived survivors through counseling and referrals to emergency medical facilities at the reception centers and by providing psychological counseling services in the camps. Weekly sessions are conducted at settlement sites, including education on services available within the camps. To date, CARE reached approximately 8,200 new arrivals with information on violence prevention and where and how to get help. CARE also provides information through "road shows" put on by Community Participatory Education Theatre groups. Unfortunately, reported cases of gender-based violence in the camps have significantly increased since the onset of the crisis, although most violations still remain unreported.

Fardosa's visit with Sultana comes to an end. "I still have horrific nightmares," Sultana tells Fardosa. "But because of counseling provided by CARE, I am healing."
Fardosa stands and brushes off the red dirt from her clothes. She steps outside and once the children see their grandmother's meeting is over, they run back from a neighbor's tent, laughing and chasing each other. 

"Rape is not only a violation of the law," Fardosa says as she walks back towards the car. "It's also a violation of humanity."

She is on to her next client. There are many more waiting.

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*Identifying characteristics have been changed to ensure confidentiality.

Mohamed Maalim Gedi sits cross-legged on a floor of dusty red dirt, aimlessly fiddling with his bare, well-traveled toes. His gaze is towards the ground, but his thoughts are obviously elsewhere. He occasionally reaches out to swipe an insistent fly from the face of one of his young children, five boys. The wooden benches, set in a half circle around him, are filled with other weary travelers. They just arrived in Dadaab, a place of both hope and uncertainty. A large bus, smoke still sputtering from its tail pipe, is parked a few yards away. It is the one that transported him from the border, another group of Somali refugees escaping drought and insecurity. There have been more than 132,000 refugees who have come just since January.

Like so many of his fellow refugees, Mohamed is a pastoralist. His entire livelihood depended on his cattle. When the last one died, he decided it was finally time to escape. "I have lived like this for 20 years," Mohamed says, referring to the frequent drought and worsening security in his home country. "Enough is enough."

So, with his wife and mother, he traveled 500 kilometers via foot and donkey cart from his village of Bu'aale, Somalia to the border town of Dif, Kenya. From there, he arranged for a bus to transport his family for the rest of the journey to Dadaab. Because of limited space, he had to leave behind two of his children, his youngest, 2, and his eldest, 14, with cousins. "I hope the bus that just brought us is going back to get them," Mohamed says. "But I can't be sure."

The reception center is the first safe haven after a long and arduous journey for refugees. In the background, one can hear the shrill, high cry of children. But their cries come not from the hunger but vaccinations against polio, measles, diphtheria and pneumonia. Such vaccinations are unheard of luxuries back in Somalia, and are part of the reason Mohamed made the trip here. He hopes his sick children will get the medical attention they need.

Waiting outside the UNHCR registration tent. Once a refugee is registered, they are entitled to the regular food distribution cycle that CARE manages with food procured by the World Food Programme.

Here at the reception center, Mohamed also has access to clean water and a supply of high-energy biscuits. Because of increased efficiencies in registration, Mohamed and his family will now be registered within a three-day time period, down significantly from previous waiting times when the crisis first hit. After he registers, CARE will provide him with a plastic tarpaulin, kitchen set, soap, blankets, plastic mats and jerry cans and an initial food ration to last until the next regular food distribution cycle. As registered refugees, Mohamed's family will be entitled to a tent from UNHCR an a food ration card so they can join the bi-monthly food distribution cycle run by CARE.

On the fence surrounding the area where CARE distributes initial food rations —servings of wheat flour, Corn Soy Blend (CSB), vegetable oil, corn meal, beans, salt and sugar — hangs a sign in English and Somali. It states: "Services from Agencies are Free; Help Stop Sexual Exploitation and Abuse." CARE and other agencies that work here are continuously working to ensure refugees are aware of services and where to access them. A CARE counselor stands next to the area where new arrivals gather their high energy biscuits. "How was your journey?" she asks a fatigued family of five. She's looking to identify vulnerable populations, such as survivors of gender-based violence, widows, lactating mothers and the ill. She's help "fast-track" them so they can get to immediate help, including medical services and counseling.

As he waits to be called, Mohamed sits with uncertainty weighing on his mind. He has no relatives or friends in the camps, and is unsure of what to expect. "There is a fear of the unknown," he says. "Will I have a place to sleep tonight? Will my children get food and medicine?"

In spite of these reservations, Mohamed says he remains optimistic. "I am hopeful. Hopeful that I will get help for the first time. That, finally, we will have some relief."

He pauses for a few minutes, lost in his thoughts. "A larger question lingers, though," he finally admits. His question is one that countless others have asked, continue to wonder, even after the physical part of their journey is complete. "What's next?"

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Adulkadir Adbullahi Muya—known by his colleagues simply as Muya—is in a hurry. He hardly has time for a handshake greeting before he is off, his long stride forcing the occasional sprint in attempts to keep up.

Muya is a paracounselor with CARE in the Dagahaley camp of Dadaab Refugee camp. He identifies people in his community who have experience trauma, loss or violence and handles initial consultations.

Paracounselors like Muya are specially trained, identifying the violated and vulnerable within the community and handling initial consultations. He walks this route several times a day, going back and forth between the CARE Counseling office and the drop-in center.

Right now he is headed to meet a new client, someone a CARE community mobilizer told him about. A bus was hijacked on the journey from Somalia to Dadaab. Women were raped; people were burned. The details are fuzzy but he knows it's serious. His pace quickens, his fingers furiously texting, always working, even as he walks. He briefly turns, "Dagahaley is growing and growing," outstretched arms for emphasis. Indeed, it is. The population of Dadaab has more than doubled in just three years.  

We rush past Unity, a primary school CARE runs in Dagahaley, the sing-song chorus of children echoing from the classrooms. Past a lone donkey, munching his way through a burned refuse pile, searching for anything edible. Through shouts of "How are you?," a charming acknowledgement by refugee children of Muya's obviously English-speaking companion. By mud bricks in a yard, past a naked toddler beating an empty jerry liter, applauding himself for the rat-a-tat noise his impromptu drum makes.

A resident of Dadaab since 1991, Muya went back to Somalia in 1997 and after nearly a decade, returned once again, this time bringing his mother. He works with an unceasing determination, often working through lunch breaks in order to squeeze in just one more visit. The pride he holds in serving his neighbors in this way is evident; it comes through in his stance, the way he speaks of his "clients." The sweat beads that form on his brow in this ungodly heat remind me of a musician, just finished with a high-energy performance. It's an accurate impression. In many ways, Muya is a rock star.  

On the way to the drop-in center, Muya walks past the home of one of his current clients. A quick change of plans and Muya walks in the yard, greetings all around. An elderly refugee woman sits on a mat outside her mud hut. I smile softly in her direction but notice her blank eyes, she is blind. A lump grows in her neck glands; multiple hospital visits have answered none of her questions. Muya asks how she's doing, is she in pain, does she need him to make any calls?

"Sometimes I just stop by to say hello," Muya says about his visits. One man he stops to see has a cancerous tumor that is enveloping the back of his head, creating constant pain. His only option is chemotherapy, which he can't afford. But Muya stops by every day, every two days. "I don't want him to lose hope. Maybe one of these days, if I keep referring him to different doctors, reaching out to different people, then maybe someone can intervene and help him. Until then, I'll keep listening, searching for help. I want him to know he hasn't been forgotten." 

As he speaks, another woman walks up, complaining of constant headaches and vision problems. Can he help her? She heard he could. "New clients," Muya says with a smile. "Every day, you get a new client." He jots down her information and refers her to the medical center before he is off again. Muya has his fill of new clients today. He is stopped no less than six times on his way to the drop-in center.

One is a woman who has lived with her condition for six years, four of them in Dadaab. She, too, spends her days sitting outside on a woven mat, not walking except to the latrine, which is fortunately just a couple of feet away. Her arms and legs are thin like twigs, breakable, yet her abdomen is swollen like the belly of a mother on the brink of birth. But this woman isn't pregnant, her eldest is eight. And no one can seem to tell her what's wrong. She asks Muya to photograph her; that maybe he can show the picture to another doctor, one she hasn't seen before, and this one could help. Muya promises to follow up and then heads out.

There are more people to see.

Because the sun is fading, and the drop-in center is still far, Muya calls the daughter of the woman he originally set out to see and asks if he can meet her at the block instead. It is in fact, right next to Muya's block in Dagahaley, so he knows exactly where to go.

Muya with the some of the refugees (including a client, bottom left) with whom he interacts with regularly, not only as a paracounselor for CARE, but as their neighbor and fellow refugee.

The woman's family surrounds her as he makes his way to her house. She lifts her dress, revealing a painful and hideous wound, where the men covered her with paraffin and firewood and set her on fire. It was her punishment for resisting rape. After her bus was hijacked, women were brought into a nearby forest and raped. When she fought back, she was burned. The hijackers stole the bus, and so the woman had to be carried by the other refugees to Dadaab. Luckily—if you could call anything in Dadaab that—her daughter was here and had a mud house to offer. She visited the hospital with her husband, who could just watch as she was attacked, but they couldn't afford the recommended procedure so they returned back to her daughter's home with just pain pills and topical cream. That was two weeks ago. Yesterday, CARE had met with the men on the bus, today the women survivors. They needed to talk through the horror they had witness.

"I still feel the pain," she said, "Like my skin is on fire." When Muya asks her about her other pain, the pain that's will remain after her leg heal, she tells him, "I've accepted what has happened to me. What is disturbing me is my wound, my physical pain. If I can get treatment, and I can't see the scar, I will be able to forget about it."

In a world where violence, loss and death are an everyday norm, this may be true. But Muya will not forget. He gets her details; promising CARE counselors will follow up and ensure that the woman receives both the physical and psychological care she desperately needs. She is not alone, she will not be forgotten.

Muya and the woman part ways, nightfall is approaching quickly and he wants to get in one more visit. He shouts his goodbyes from over his shoulder; like always, he is in a hurry.

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by Niki Clark, CARE Emergency Media Officer in Kenya
September 2011

One of my "duties" as an emergency media officer here in the refugee camps in Dadaab, Kenya, is to share my perspective of CARE's work and beneficiaries through social networks such as Facebook and Twitter. And being the dutiful employee I am, I often Twitter-follow recent Dadaab visitors so that I can in turn share their perspectives of the camps.

One such recent visitor was Somalian-born, Canadian-raised singer K'naan. Although K'naan found worldwide fame only recently through his 2010 FIFA World Cup theme-song Wavin' Flag, he has been amassing fans for more than 10 years, when a spoken word performance before the United Nations High Commission on Refugees caught the ear of famed Senegalese singer Youssou N'Dour (another recent Dadaab visitor). After K'naan visited Dadaab with a World Food Programme-CARE joint delegation, which included friends of CARE Cindy McCain and retired NBA superstar Dikembe Mutombo, @Knaan became my latest Twitter-follow.

For the past week or so, I have been struggling with the two very different Dadaabs I have experienced. Then, yesterday, I read a tweet that perfectly captured what I have been trying to express:

"Somalia is overflowing with beauty." @knaan reflects on his Somalia, not necessarily the one you see on the nightly news.

In midst of the strife and turmoil, hidden between the heartache and uncertainty, and tucked away behind the dire poverty and desperation of a homeless people, the people of Somalia – the refugees of Dadaabb – are an overflowing vessel of beauty. Because the unexpected truth is: there is beauty everywhere, even in the world's largest refugee camp, where I see:

The luminous glow of a fading sun, moments before dusk, as we head back to the compound to meet our curfew.

The joy of a widow's eyes and the firm grip of her hand as I tell her about CARE's livelihoods program; that she too could learn how to operate a business of her own, to educate and feed her four young children.

The gentle touch of a small child, no older than 3, when she reaches out to shake my hand in greeting and decides, instead, to kiss my hand.

The pride and confidence of a recent graduate of CARE's Community Tailoring School as she displays the bags she made with her own two hands, which she sells in the Hagadera market, allowing her some independence in a culture of dependency.

The lines of an elderly man's face, and the stories the lines tell of loss beyond description, and of a determination that guides him forward day byday in spite of it.

The toothless grin on a 5-day-old baby girl, born on the journey from Somalia, her 10 perfect fingers, 10 perfect toes.

When I was an art student in college, I did a photography project on raw beauty – the beauty of accomplishment, the beauty of the everyday, of the unintentional. I have seen incredible poverty in Dadaab, things that people should never see, things that should never exist. Back in my Washington, D.C., office, I have CARE's vision tacked to my cubicle walls:

We seek a world of hope, tolerance and social justice, where poverty has been overcome and people live in dignity and security. CARE International will be a global force and a partner of choice within a worldwide movement dedicated to ending poverty. We will be known everywhere for our unshakable commitment to the dignity of people.

It's a constant reminder for me of the essence of CARE's purpose: Defending Dignity. Fighting Poverty. Because dignity is beautiful. People who are able to control their own destinies and raise themselves above the situations into which they are born: this is true beauty. And it's all over Dadaab.

As a native of Somalia, K'naan is able to see something that most people in the world will never see: the beauty of Somalia and its people. Dadaab may never make Travel & Leisure's "Top 10 Most Beautiful Places' but the people of Somalia – who are the refugees of Dadaab – are some of the most beautiful people in the world.

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by Rick Perera, CARE Communications Coordinator, Horn of Africa
September 2011

Janet Ndoti Ndila is a tough lady with a tender heart. She's the lead counselor at CARE's drop-in support center at the Dagahaley refugee camp in Dadaab, Kenya. Here she offers a trained ear, and a map through the maze of camp bureaucracy, to people who have suffered some of the most horrific things imaginable in their flight from hunger and despair.

Janet and her colleagues are the first resort for thousands of weary, dejected Somalis pouring out of their famine-stricken homeland into this complex of camps, the largest of its kind in the world, now sheltering nearly 430,000 people. She doesn't let the experience dampen her upbeat, take-charge personality. But there are days when it can get overwhelming.

"I've worked in worse places – places where there's immediate, ongoing bloodshed. That's not the case here, but the things people have lived through…" Her voice trails off.

Providing Physical and Emotional Rest

Janet leads the way to CARE's distribution center for new arrivals, a large tent where refugees collect initial rations to tide them over until they are registered as camp residents. An efficient operation whisks them through as they collect plastic mats, jerry cans, cornmeal, beans, salt, oil and other essentials. Nearby, a set of taps offers plenty of safe water for washing and drinking.

More than physical hunger and thirst are looked after. Janet and her staff usher in group after group of tired, bewildered families and sit them down on rough-hewn benches in the shade of a canvas tent. Janet – a native of Kangalu in eastern Kenya – speaks to them reassuringly through a Somali interpreter. Here they get their first orientation to Dadaab: how to negotiate the labyrinth of services available, register for food distributions and shelter, and gain access to medical care for the weak, the malnourished, the sick and those injured during the harsh journey.

There are wounds to the spirit, too, and these are Janet's most important responsibility. Most of the refugees have seen and experienced terrible things before arriving here. Not just the suffering of poverty, hunger and warfare back in Somalia, but the trauma of being uprooted from home and family, and the loss of loved ones: the elderly, frail and children who did not survive the trip. Many fell prey to bandits along the way, robbed of everything when they were at their most vulnerable. And in every group of new arrivals there are women bearing terrible secrets, of brutal violence and rape suffered in the lawless wilds they were forced to cross in search of safety.

Refugees Counseling Refugees

CARE's paracounselors are a team of 18, as energetic and outspoken as their boss. They are all refugees themselves, recruited in the camps by CARE and specially trained to handle initial consultations. They are familiar, compassionate faces, fellow Somalis who understand what their compatriots have been through. The paracounselors quickly identify survivors of sexual violence and other particularly vulnerable people, "fast-track" them for special assistance including food and essential household items, and refer them if needed for medical attention. Women who are in immediate danger from domestic violence can take shelter in a community-based "safe haven" until they have somewhere safe to go.

Nearly 4,700 refugees have come to CARE for counseling and support in just over three months – 1,111 during the week of Aug. 28-Sept. 3 alone. The women who seek Janet's help have suffered more in a few weeks than anyone should bear in a lifetime.

Responding to the Different Needs of Men and Women

Today Janet met a client, who arrived two months ago and set up housekeeping on the outskirts of Dahagaley camp, in a crude hut made of cardboard boxes on a frame of bundled sticks. Before leaving Somalia, as her family's meager farm shriveled to nothing, the woman watched two of her three children die of hunger and disease. Crossing the desert on foot, she was robbed of everything – even her precious supply of water – then gang-raped. It is a horrifying story, but the woman speaks with a steady tone. She wants to give voice to the terror, to speak out on behalf of those who must remain silent in fear.

Men, too, suffer their own nightmares. Initially many stayed behind in Somalia to watch over homesteads and herds. But as famine continues to spread, crops have been decimated. When their last cattle starve, men are forced to make the trek to Dadaab in search of help. For those from proud, ancient pastoralist traditions, who measure wealth in terms of how many cattle a person owns, the loss of a sense of identity is devastating.

"Not quite as many men come as women, for cultural reasons, but they do come," said Sharif Ahmed Abdulahi, a CARE paracounselor trained in community development, life skills and counseling. He and his colleagues are careful to respect tradition and work in harmony with community norms. "Sometimes people ask me to tell them what to do. I say: I can counsel you, but I can't advise you. If you want advice, you should go to an elder."

Janet is busy recruiting additional staff to reach more people in need. She wants to hire and train more female counselors – just under half of the current refugee workers are women – but it's hard to find candidates who are literate, and many young girls are married off at age 14 or so.

But Janet is not someone who gives up easily. She thrives on challenge, and finds this work incredibly rewarding. One thing is clear: she's not going anywhere soon. "I plan to stay as long as I still like it. It will be a few years."

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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, e-mails 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!"

To be honest, besides being a bit exaggerated, it makes me a bit uncomfortable. Now, don't get me wrong, I cannot emphasize how much I appreciate the good wishes and thoughts of my loved ones. Their support has allowed me to take this journey. But nothing — absolutely nothing — compares with the dedication and passion of CARE's employees in the field. And to even be put in the same category as these colleagues seems more than a bit ludicrous.

This past weekend, for example, I took part in my first real Dadaab celebration —complete with grilled goat (a rather tasty treat, if you're curious) — a send off for long-time CARE employee, Julius. Julius is leaving Dadaab for a new CARE post in Nairobi after nearly 19 years in Dadaab. Nineteen years! That's the equivalent of 133 years in a normal career, as I'm convinced Dadaab years should be counted like dog years. He joined CARE when the refugee population in the camps was around 35,000. Today, nearly 400,000 additional people have been added to that number.

For 19 years he has lived here away from his family. He most likely has shared a room and used a communal bathroom and shower. Because space is at a premium, when a staff member goes on leave, people exchange rooms, some moving every few weeks. There are no hanging photographs, no personal mementos. In many ways, the staff is unsettled as the new arrivals. They are nomads without a home. They work for hours on end in the unforgiveable combination of heat and dust.

I am here for six weeks, and even in that relatively brief time, I have succumbed to heartache and homesickness. I assumed that unlike me, the devoted staff in Dadaab must have solitary lives, free of the commitment of relationships. Until I met Maureen, a new coworker who casually mentioned her three-year-old son and husband back in Nairobi. Or another colleague who mentioned how he was planning some quality time with his wife during his next break. CARE staff work eight weeks on, two weeks off. Because of limited resources, sometimes even those brief breaks get shortened. But I have yet to hear a complaint. I have yet to see a frown. There is a Jewish proverb that says, "I ask not for a lighter burden, but for broader shoulders." CARE staff in Dadaab are star athletes in that regard.

In addition to the tough environment in which they work, the actual work they carry out is difficult. Imagine feeding 427,000 people. Getting clean water to them. Educating them. Training them. These jobs are difficult no matter the circumstances – but in these conditions, accomplishment is an amazing feat. Many that have made the long trek from Somalia have experienced personal violence or loss, each tale of tragedy and horror more unfathomable than the one before. CARE's sexual and gender-based violence officers have the colossal task of helping the survivors heal, start their lives anew. Day after day after day.

I asked a colleague why staff that work so hard, so tirelessly. And why are the people that CARE serves, people who have been through the most of trying of times, always smiling? Why despite everything that surrounds them, do they always greet me with a handshake, with a sense of joy? He answered, "Because we are Africans. We have been through so much and we survive. We have hope now."

No individual is saving the world. But here among CARE's dedicated staff, I have met a lot of people who are doing their part.

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by Niki Clark, Emergency Media Officer in Kenya
September 2011

I’ve been in Dadaab for nearly two weeks now. I have seen mothers and daughters, fathers and sons. They have been old and weak, young and weak, their faces lined with struggle. I have seen the faces of children who have eaten their first meal in weeks and the resulting transformation back to childhood, full of giggles and smiles and impromptu games of tag. When people think of Dadaab – now with its three camps considered the third largest city in Kenya – they think crisis. They think emergency. Humanitarian efforts and funding tend to focus on the immediate, looking ahead no more than a year. As soon as another emergency hits, the spotlight will move on. But, as they have for the past 20 years, the refugees of Dadaab will remain.

This thought particularly struck me during a visit to the reception center, the first place where refugees find help after a long and arduous journey. Here they receive medical assistance, and aid workers identify the most vulnerable for immediate attention. A chorus of wails echoes from the vaccination room: the occasional child slipping from the grips of the nurse, running to the dirt yard in tears. Each family collects a 21-day ration of food and supplies (cooking pots, mats, a tarp, soap, jerry cans) to tide them over until they can register.

Today, I see a young mother waiting for her high energy B-5 biscuits, a box of which is given out to new arrivals. Tucked under her garbasaar – a traditional shawl – a set of tiny toes poked out into the sunlight. I approached her gently, and she pulled back her wrap so I could see his miniature features. He is 10 days old, she tells me with a smile. She gave birth to him halfway through her journey to Dadaab. Most likely, I thought to myself, he will become part of the second generation that has spent their entire lives within this camp.

CARE has worked in Dadaab since 1991. Refugees who were educated as children here are now teaching refugee children themselves. That’s why the long-term investment that CARE is making here is so critical. It’s not just an investment in immediate needs, although we’re doing that, too. On an average day of food distribution, CARE passes out 389 metric tons of food to 45,000 people. And every single day, CARE pumps and distributes approximately 7.5 million liters of water, enough to provide more than 446,000 people with 15 liters of water every day.

But we’re also working toward long-term solutions. We’re investing in people. In Dadaab there is a thriving economy – butchers and bakers and, yes, probably candlestick makers. They own restaurants and bookstores and barber shops. People are being trained by CARE in trades from dressmaking and tailoring to computer technology. CARE directly employs 1,600 refugees, who serve as counselors, food distributors, chefs, teachers and drivers. They grow up in Dadaab, are educated in Dadaab and work in Dadaab.

After the “emergency” has passed, hundreds of thousands of people will remain here in the refugee camps. As my colleague told me today, they need more than food, water and shelter. They need a future. CARE is committed to helping them prepare for tomorrow, whether they continue to build their lives here, or one day, return home to start anew.

As a humanitarian worker for the past sixteen years I have seen some pretty shocking scenes. Before this trip to East Africa, I was particularly not looking forward to witnessing suffering children. However, when I saw the dedication and commitment of the CARE staff working on our response in very difficult surroundings, it made me feel proud to work for CARE.

Villagers in Gemechis District, Ethiopia, register for food distribution by CARE. Photo: CARE/Sandra Bulling

Helping pastoralists in Borena
In Borena, Ethiopia, CARE is working with people to reduce cattle herd sizes during droughts to prevent over grazing of the pasture, and to provide the community with an income from their weakened cattle before disease robs them completely of their value.

People in Borena are well known for their strong social bonds. They are also well known for feeding their children first, a practice which is key to ensuring survival of the next generation in this toughest of times. This, along with the monitoring from CARE and the local government, ensures the program reaches those who need it most. But our program is only reaching five per cent of people living in the targeted districts ­­– further funding is desperately needed to extend this highly impactful and timely program.

A health centre in Miyo district
Distances in Miyo district are huge and mothers can travel for a long time to bring their children to the health centre for assistance. The most seriously malnourished children receive help here, accompanied by their mothers.

First they are checked for diseases like diarrhoea and given treatment. Then they start a careful course of therapeutic food, starting with low-strength milk powder. It normally takes four to five days for their weight to stabilise. Then they progress to a more nutritious formula that helps them regain weight fast. Finally, they can be discharged with two month’s ration of oil and corn soya blend to take home.

In Gemechis District, Ethiopia, CARE distributes monthly rations to villagers, who share the food between them. Food distribution benefits more than 66,000 people in East/West Haraghe and Afar. Photo: CARE/Sandra Bulling

Making sustainable change in people’s lives
Along with responding to the current situation, we also have to look at what causes the current situation and how we can prevent it from happening again. We need to understand the underlying causes of poverty and why drought keeps coming, and why children and mothers are severely affected. For example, we have linked many large households in East and West Hararghe to the long-term family-planning project in the area, as large family sizes can contribute to malnutrition.

With CARE Ethiopia already meeting the needs of over 406,000 (as of Aug. 22) people and plans to reach up to a million in the next three months, I am confident CARE is playing its part in reaching the most vulnerable during this drought, the worst in a generation. It’s our job to make things better in a tough situation and that is something I feel positive about. We need help from the Australian public so that we can extend our programs and benefit more people who are suffering from this devastating drought with long-term solutions.

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The green trees, cool mountain climate and well-stocked shopping malls of Nairobi are in sharp contrast to the camps in dusty Dadaab. The warm smiles and healthy faces of the Kenyans I meet are very different from the haggard faces of the new arrivals from Somalia I saw lining up for food just a couple of days ago.

Many Kenyans are also suffering in the terrible drought sweeping across the north and east of the country. Today I met with CARE Kenya senior staff who explained how CARE is working to improve the situation in Kenya by investing in communal management of water and pasture. They told me that most of the people affected by the drought are pastoralists who live and move with their herds. In the drought, lack of water and pasture has seen herds decimated and no rain is in sight until September.

In the north-east of the country CARE is supporting people to renew communal management of grazing lands and water pans. Where there was some local rain in April, the water pans still have water and there is still some pasture, but even they are badly off. That’s why CARE is supporting off-take of weak livestock at a reasonable price and the vaccination of stronger animals so they can withstand the drought. This should help herds to recover and people to bounce back if the rains come.

Stephen Gwynne-Vaughan, CARE’s Country Director in Kenya, visited Gafo in late July and saw the difference these investments have made. Water pans that were rehabilitated last year with community labour through CARE’s support still have water. What’s even more encouraging is that the community have managed them well, collecting small fees from users, which have allowed them to clear out the silt this year. If they continue maintenance, these should last for twenty years.

We have also supported district-level planning so that communities and the local government know when to take emergency measures such as de-stocking of livestock. Pastoralists move across the border with Ethiopia, so CARE has worked on both sides to bring communities together so they can make agreements that allow access to pasture for the animals when times are hard.

Gary McGurk, Assistant Country Director of CARE Kenya, explained why CARE will only consider water trucking and food aid in the most dire situations. “Water trucking is expensive and encourages people to stay in places that cannot sustain them rather than moving on with their herds.” By investing in community management of water and pasture, we can reduce pastoralists facing a crisis and needing expensive food hand-outs or water trucking.

But support for such interventions is hard to get. Even though studies show that a dollar invested in preparedness will save on average seven spent on crisis response like food aid, we find it hard to gain funding. With the situation so bad, we now also need to help the many who are in crisis. Tomorrow I will travel to Ethiopia to see how we are doing that there.

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Today, I spoke to a young woman who had walked for twenty days with her two children. They left their home due to the drought which has dried up all drinking water sources.

She was sitting in a makeshift tent made from rough branches and covered in bits of cardboard and scraps of cloth. She and the other new arrivals have taken refuge outside the established camps.
The influx of new arrivals has put great pressure on services in the camps, not least on the water supply. CARE has been providing water to the camps for over twenty years, but with the recent influx we have been really stretched.

Jason Snuggs, CARE Australia’s Water and Sanitation Adviser, has been working with the local team to ramp up water supply. He says, ‘We have been setting up new water tanks and tapstands so that people can easily access the water that we truck in.’

We are also supplying 19 litres of water per day to people as they arrive in Daghaley camp. We are redrilling seven boreholes so they produce more water, increasing storage capacity, and extending the piped water system out from the main camps to the influx areas next to them. This reduces the need for expensive trucking and ensuring we can meet the needs of the 30,000 new arrivals in this camp.

The ongoing drought and conflict in Somalia – where famine has been declared in several districts in the south – means the influx of refugees will probably continue for several months. CARE estimates that over 500,000 people will be in the camps by Christmas. Clearly this is a big challenge. Jason says, “We are increasing water provision in the influx areas and water in the camps to above UNHCR global standards of 20 litres per person a day, and we will keep going until we are sure we can meet the needs of further new arrivals.”

I ask him what the biggest challenge is and there’s no pause in his reply: “Funding is the biggest challenge.” It’s also a challenge to get skilled water and sanitation professionals to work in Dadaab as conditions are hard, even for the staff working there.

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It’s 6.30am on a crisp Nairobi morning. The dawn chorus has just finished and I am standing in the CARE Kenya compound. Abdi, our driver, has just arrived with a broad smile and wearing a bright cap typical for Somalis. I am joined by Alain Lapierre, Director of Emergencies for CARE Canada who has been overseeing the expansion of our activities in the region this past month.

He says the situation in Dadaab is of great concern. People are still arriving in a terrible state. Although the numbers arriving have reduced slightly in the past few days, he believes this is only temporary. CARE is scaling up to meet the needs of an increasing number of refugees. This includes recruiting more national staff and for long-term planning with existing staff, such as Jason Snuggs, CARE Australia’s global WASH Adviser, working at the strategic level to develop plans to cope with the projected influx of people.

As we reach a rendezvous point, three CARE Kenya staff who work in Dadaab join us. They are highly skilled Kenyans working in the construction team. One of them, Oumari, tells me that he has been working for nine months in the searing heat of Dadaab, providing administrative support to the construction team who build and maintain boreholes, latrines and five schools. I ask him how he feels about working in Dadaab. He replies, ”I feel really motivated. We are giving hope to people who had lost hope in life.”

We are now joined by another CARE vehicle packed with field staff and provisions for the camp. There are also vehicles with staff from UNHCR and other NGOs. It’s 6.45am and time to hit the road!

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Adam Poulter, Emergency Response Manager for CARE Australia
August 2011

As the plane took off from Canberra yesterday I looked down on the dry hills below. My thoughts turned to the dusty plains of Eastern Kenya where CARE is working in the world’s biggest refugee camp, Dadaab. We’ve been working there for twenty years leading the provision of water, food and education. While we and other agencies working in the camps are able to provide assistance to the more than 414,000 [as of Aug. 22] refugees now there, the problem is that the numbers just keep growing. I’ll arrive there on Sunday to work with the team on increasing our capacity to deal with the projected increase to over 500,000 refugees by Christmas.

Newly arrived refugees from Somalia collect water provided by CARE at Dadaab refugee camp in Kenya. Photo: Kate Holt/CARE

Yesterday I spoke with Jason Snuggs, CARE Australia’s global water, sanitation and hygiene (WASH) Adviser who has been working with the team in Dadaab to increase water supply and storage for the new people arriving since early July. He told me how they’ve managed to increase water supply for people on the edges of the three main camps. We are now providing people with up to 12 litres of water each per day. The target is to exceed 15 litres, which we have been able to provide to long-term refugees. Jason is confident we can reach this target in the coming weeks by redrilling bore holes, improving distribution lines and storage capacity for water.

Just as important is public hygiene and we are working with animators from the local community to spread simple hygiene messages like the need to use soap and to wash hands before eating. By doing this we can limit outbreaks of diarrhoea and other infectious diseases which can kill the malnourished, especially young children.

We leave at 6am sharp. I will be accompanied by CARE’s Regional Coordinator, and two global education experts. The road takes a bumpy six hours, but this is a trifle compared to the journeys of several weeks the new refugees arriving have made.

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.
The frenzied activity of taking photos, writing stories and organizing your way around Dadaab helps you tune out some of the misery and extent of human suffering. But it also makes you focus on only one part of the story. For the past two weeks in Dadaab, I spent most of my days in the camps, documenting the work of CARE, accompanying journalists or interviewing colleagues. My head is still buzzing with all the information and impressions. Like any humanitarian crisis, Dadaab is fast-paced and loud.

But now, sitting down in the sand near a water tap stand, I am quietly watching the hustle and bustle going on around me. I close my eyes as the wind blows fine-grained sand my way. I gaze around in all directions. The photographer stands on top of a water tank to get a better angle. None of the women or children fetching water pay much attention to us -- water is much more important than the strange sight of a visiting foreigner. I curiously watch two young women leaving with their jerry cans full of water. But they don’t carry them on their heads; instead, they roll them across the sand. This really calls for a picture: Two women in long veils and torn sandals kicking their jerry cans full of water through the desert. But with my camera batteries empty, my eye batteries seem to be more charged than ever.

After a while I move to the side of a latrine. It’s just four walls of corrugated iron, but at least it guarantees some privacy. Standing in the shade I watch a man with his donkey cart. Bit by bit women lift their jerry cans onto the cart, tightening them with ropes and rags. Getting places here in Dadaab takes time. The three camps cover some 56 square kilometers. Owning a donkey cart is a pretty good business. It is so hot that everything here seems to happen in slow motion. Finally the cart starts to move. I wonder how much the women have to pay for their transportation and whether they will still have enough money left to buy food for their children. While I sit in the sand, their skinny legs are at eye level. I can count the children wearing shoes on the fingers of one hand.

Humanitarian aid means reaching as many people as possible with at least minimum needs, given limited resources. In Dadaab, CARE and other agencies provide about 500 grams of food and about 12 litres of water per person and day, some basic medical assistance, some counselling. Every one of these 414,000 refugees is a unique person with a particular history, hopes and sorrows – but the scale of this emergency is so vast, we can’t possibly meet all those individual, specific needs. What we can do is slow things down for a while and pay attention. Observe. Understand. And adapt our programs to what we see. For example, CARE might soon pay the owners of the donkey carts so that weak and poor women don’t have to spend the rest of their money for transportation of water and food.

It is quick and easy to take a picture, upload it to your computer and then store it somewhere in your archives. But the pictures I saved in my head today will linger on for some time before I will be able to store them anywhere.

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CARE's Emergency Communications Officer Sabine Wilke in Dadaab, Aug. 11

How does the situation compare now to the beginning of the year?

The big difference is simply the high number of new arrivals. They have stretched our capacity to deliver the essential services for humanitarian aid, especially because many families are settling in informal, undesignated areas where there is poor access to services. They are scattered around the camps, but it is hard to reach them quickly enough to prevent further suffering. After 20 years of providing humanitarian aid in the camps, CARE and other agencies are now confronted with a new complication: in order to meet the increasing needs,  we have to stretch the resources that we have as much as possible to help all new people arriving in very weak and vulnerable conditions. Another complication is that the refugees are taking up more and more space outside the formal settlements which is having a detrimental effect on the local environment; they need firewood to cook which results in the deforestation of the sparse land which in turn creates conflict with the host communities whose grazing land is being destroyed. In the first five months of 2011, we had weekly registrations of about 2,000 people on average. In July, this number went up to more than 5,000. And this only counts the individuals being registered; we currently have a backlog of about 35,000 people still waiting for registration.

What is the difference between those refugees who have been here for some time and those who are new arrivals?

Most refugees here are quite resourceful, that is natural in any setting. People are not going to sit around for 20 years; they want to get on with their life. There are thriving markets in each of the three camps where you can charge your phone for 25 Kenyan shillings at a shop that has a small generator, you can find tailors and hairdressers and so on. Those who have a little bit of money buy products from the local markets in the area and sell them in the camps. But the newly arrived families, those who have fled drought, poverty and instability in Somalia within the last few weeks, they come here with next to nothing, barely carrying clothes on their backs. So, the provision of basic emergency services such as food, water, health and shelter are very important to sustaining life. As a measure of how serious this crisis is, the refugee community that has been long settled here in Dadaab have come together to compliment the international response. A Muslim charity created from within the camp population is now providing clothes and shoes at the reception areas to help the aid agencies. This is really encouraging for us to see because it demonstrates this crisis affects everyone. And help comes from many directions.

The areas around the camps are also suffering from drought and chronic poverty. How can you balance assistance for refugees and Kenyans?

This is a very important concern. People outside the camps are also in dire need of assistance, and of course they see the services provided in the camps and want to receive similar support. CARE has been working in the region for years, and we are now scaling up our emergency regional response to meet the ever increasing need beyond the Dadaab refugee camps. But we cannot feed and water everyone in and around the camps… we simply don’t have the capacity. The mere existence of the camps, offering relative safety and security and access to basic essential services, that is like a beacon of hope in an otherwise bleak and desolate environment for all those Kenyans who also suffer from the impacts of severe drought. Ready markets and access to trade and business offer alternative livelihoods or income generation opportunities for families no longer able to continue their pastoralist lifestyle. The refugee operations bring jobs, businesses and contracts. The area of Dadaab has grown from 30,000 people to more than 200,000 people over a twenty year period. This said, the camps are stretching the existing resources and the environment to a point where it will be very difficult and slow to recover. CARE has always engaged with the host community, they have always been a part of our response in this region. Our support to the cost community has included activities such as borehole maintenance through repairs of the generators and pumps, chlorination of the boreholes to reduce contamination; we created water pans for livestock watering, built classrooms and trained teachers. And we are currently looking into ways to provide even more support. But we also have to think in terms of how this can be sustainable in some way, because there will always be droughts in this area. We need to find ways to build resilience; boreholes can only be a part of the solution.  The key is to support the communities to help themselves. Let’s say through cash transfers so that they can hire their own water trucking, by training to maintain boreholes, by conflict-resolution forums. But all of this costs money and unless there is a severe humanitarian crisis and people here about it in the news, aid agencies really struggle to obtain funding for these activities.

What role does the Kenyan government play?

Kenya has had its doors open for 20 years, and continues to keep it open. They are not turning people away. The international community has provided some support, but nowhere near enough, and before pointing a finger at the Kenyan authorities we have to remember the impact this refugee population has on both the communities and the environment. And with Somalia still lacking security and governance, there is no solution for the refugees to go home again. Kenya has a right to continue ringing the warning bell, and the country cannot carry the burden by itself for another 20 years.

What are the biggest challenges right now?

As for food distribution, WFP and CARE have done an exceptional job to provide food when and where necessary. Every refugee receives an average of more than 500g of food per day. But it remains a challenge to disseminate information about how much and where food is available for the new arrivals. When so many people are coming in, we don’t know where they are coming from and where they end up. Before, when the number of new arrivals was still manageable, the information focused on reception centers. But now we need to do outreach into the so-called influx areas around the camps, where people settle while waiting for registration.

As I’ve mentioned before, there is also a backlog of people received but not yet officially registered as refugees.  Since there is no screening center at the border, people arrive here and have to go through the registration process, which takes time. People who have been received, but not yet registered, get food for 21 days and some supplies such as water cans, blankets, cooking items, soap etc. But if they have to wait longer than those 21 days to get registered, we have to organize a second round of distributions. Another problem is transport, because many families settle quite far from the reception areas. So many single mothers or people suffering from weakness and malnourishment have to pay someone to carry their food home. This is a big concern for us, so we are working very hard to fill that gap.

And then there is water: CARE has done quite well in providing water to the influx areas to new refugees, where we can we’ve been able to extend piping from the existing water lines out, so that pressured water is provided from boreholes to temporary taps. CARE is also trucking water to temporary tanks and taps. But we still face challenges in that some of the current borehole systems bordering the influx have insufficient pressure to fill up the water tanks more quickly, so in some cases this leads to long queues. We are replacing these low pressure boreholes so we can provide enough water to the refugees. Technically, it is always a challenge to bring in the equipment and set up a structure in the middle of nowhere. But water is such a crucial part of the response that we cannot slow down now.

Protection is also a big issue. The families arriving here, especially single mothers and young children, are often very tired, malnourished and sometimes sick. They are the most vulnerable having traveled many weeks in the sun with little food and or water with barely enough clothing to cover their back. They need to get support as soon as they arrive. The health agencies are trying to keep up but the malnutrition rates are still high. We need to help them settle in a more secure community environment where they are not exposed to sexual violence or banditry and close to essential services. However, we simply don’t have the people-power to reach all of them with the information they need to know to help them. In an effort to address this issue, CARE has set up temporary kiosks at strategic locations in the outskirts of camps where people can come and seek help and information. It also acts as a base from which our community development mobilisers move out on foot into the influx areas to talk with as many new arrivals as possible giving them basic information: where to get food and water and that both are provided for free, where to seek counseling services for those who are survivors of conflict and or violence etc.

What are you most worried about for the months to come?

At current rates of arrival we will still have significant challenges to meet the needs. We have new extension areas where people will relocate to, but if the influx continues, those will be full by the end of the year, so we will not have been able to decongest the current camps as hoped. We also don’t know where all of the refugees are going when they arrive here, some go into the camps so that the density increases, there’s encroachment around schools, youth play areas, community centers and so on. This puts an extra burden on the existing refugee communities. Another thing we are very worried about is the levels of malnutrition seen in the new arrivals. Food needs to have sufficient caloric value to reduce malnutrition rates, but this is also more expensive.

 How do you ensure that women are protected in the camps?

Just as in any city of this size around the world, we cannot fully ensure that women are protected in the camps. There are too little police officers per person and camp, protection remains a major challenge. Women generally don’t go out after dusk, but there is some community patrolling during day time. There are police stations in the camps. Imagine a city of 400,000 people without enough police. But previously settled refugees have been able to form community support networks and work well with the religious and community leaders. The most serious challenge we face now are the new arrivals. They are exhausted, uninformed about where to get help and an easy target for abuse and violence. CARE works directly with the communities and religious centers themselves to prevent violence through information sharing, educational sessions on conflict management, and to support existing community structures, neighbors watching out for each other. For example there are referral systems: if a woman feels threatened, she can come to a CARE office and seek refuge and may be brought to a safe house. We also have helpdesks in the police stations. But we want to extend our services, currently there is about 1 counselor for 30,000 refugees.

It is impressive to see our counselors in action. We have this one very confident young woman, Fardoza, and I recently accompanied her to one of the communities. She goes to one of the camp neighborhoods and sort of holds court, meeting with young men and women who have very set ideas about women’s place in society. And she challenges it in a very positive way and generates discussion. People can connect to her because she is their age, and since she is a Somali Kenyan, she speaks their language.

Do you lobby for the refugees to be granted citizenship or work permits in Kenya?

This is an issue for the Government of Kenya. Our focus is on providing services and working to reduce refugee vulnerability and to maintain their dignity as much as possible. The best case scenario, what we are all hoping for, is of course a return to peace in Somalia. But would all refugees go home then? There is now a second generation born in the camps who have been educated with Kenyan curriculum, and who have never been to their home country. But I still think that many of them would like to go home. And then they will have the unique chance to build their nation with the skills they have acquired here in the camp schools. We are now seeing the same in South Sudan: Refugees who were educated in Dadaab and Kakuma refugee camps as well have now returned home and are a vital part of nation building.

What other issues are important for you to communicate to everyone who is now interested in Dadaab?

I have been saddened by the voices from home who say things like charity begins at home, and that we shouldn’t be helping because there is so much corruption, or that we have already given too much. Every person in the camps of Dadaab is a refugee. But let’s not forget that people don’t want to be here, they want their freedom to move like anyone else, to be free to access higher education, better business opportunities. Even though there is no fence around the camps, they are legally not allowed to work in Kenya and are restricted to the regions of the camps. And what is most heartbreaking is the daily struggle for dignity. Put yourself in their shoes and imagine having to line up for food twice a month, for 20 years now. These are highly proud people, and a man in this culture who cannot provide for his family – well, that is just very hard for everyone. A couple of weeks ago I was introduced to a refugee who was previously a full time employee for CARE in Somalia and now cannot work legally here in Kenya. Though we cannot give them legal jobs, every agency employs workers from among the refugee committee to help with distributions, translations, housekeeping of the compounds etc. They receive a salary and can thus support their families. But like I said, it is not a regular job. He would be very well qualified to be a part of our operation, with all his skills and knowledge of CARE. But all we can do is employ him as an incentive worker. That is one of the many limits they are constantly facing in Dadaab.

I have just visited Balich Village in Garissa district, North Eastern Province of Kenya. Inhabitants of Balich belong to the Somali-Bantu community, an ethnic minority which is highly marginalized. The region is experiencing a severe drought, as many other areas in the Horn of Africa currently. According to some estimates, 2.4 million people are affected in the North Eastern Province, where Garissa district is located – this is more than 50 percent of the province’s population. But amidst the drought, there is a glimmer of hope, because in Balich villagers were prepared for the drought. They are able to plant and harvest food and animal feed as they have a functioning irrigation system. But let’s start from the beginning:

Some areas of the North East Province are difficult to reach because very bad roads and long distances of up to 1,000 kilometres, and in those far away places, children, pregnant women and lactating mothers and elderly people are mostly affected. I heard of some men who had to migrate in search of pasture for their livestock or for work in the towns. Women and children staying behind depend on assistance from relatives, the Kenyan government and humanitarian organizations.

As the drought goes on water pumps cannot keep up with the demand. People use it during the day, animals at night. People rely on mechanised pumped water more than ever, and because of the over-usage the pumps often break down. Ground water levels are dropping, and some areas that were once sustained by pumped water now have to be served by expensive water trucking, which can only be a short-term solution. In some villages, pastoralists had to wait for three days to get water for their animals. Some had to walk for 30-40 kilometres to reach water points. Many of their livestock died while looking for water – and that means their source of income has perished. Garissa is mostly a pastoralist area; animals mean everything. One colleague said to me: "Animals are meat, milk, and cash. If they are gone, everything is gone”. Prices of livestock have decreased and often pastoralists have to sell their animals for very unfavourable prices. Once they make it to the market they have to sell their animals at any price offered because they do not have the means to transport them back home. Livestock might even die on the way back, because they are too emaciated. Approximately half a million people and 90 percent of all cattle already migrated out of some areas in search of water, pasture and food. And naturally, these movements cause conflicts.

Resilience is key

However, Balich village showed me a picture of strength and perspective. CARE’s long-term support in Balich has helped people to resist the impacts of the drought and to prepare for times of hardship. CARE assisted the community to plant animal feed and crops by erecting water pumps and canals for better irrigation. Before, fetching water was a dangerous job: “My children are safe now when they get water. Before, they were threatened by crocodiles living in the nearby Tana river”, on woman told me. The key is resilience: empowering vulnerable people to overcome drought without losing all assets. With access to credit facilities, market linkages and a sustainable livestock marketing model, people are able to generate an income and save assets.The CARE projects in Balich show how important Disaster Risk Reduction initiatives are. But it has a side effect: Pastoralists from nearby villages are now increasingly bringing their livestock to Balich, putting pressure on the valuable water sources.

My visit to Balich reiterated what we know in theory and what we need more in practice: emergency support and long-term development initiatives that focus on creating resilience need to go hand in hand. This is the only way to break the hunger-cycle in chronic emergencies. However, funding for emergency is often easier accessible than funding for disaster risk reduction. I hope that the example of Balich shows how much we have achieved and how much money we can actually save when we invest in preparedness.

“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.”

Touching down in Dadaab the next morning, I remember that friendly voice. The refugee camp in the North of Kenya is now home to more than 400,000 mostly Somali refugees. Their numbers have risen immensely in the last weeks, due to the ongoing drought and insecurity in their own country. The landscape is dry and plain up here, and one wonders how any group of people, let alone such a high number of refugees, can survive in these difficult circumstances.

This is my first time to Dadaab, but weirdly enough, everything seemed very familiar. Maybe that’s a CARE thing: The refugee assistance program for Dadaab is one of our longest humanitarian missions, many colleagues have worked here at one time or another. And for years, we have continuously talked about it to the public, launched appeals and tried to get journalists interested. But now, with an average of more than 1,000 new arrivals every day and extremely high numbers of malnutrition, Dadaab has become something like the epicenter of the current humanitarian crisis in the horn of Africa.

But a walk through Dagahaley, one of the three camps, also shows the impressive efforts by all the agencies on the ground to provide basic services to all these people. We pass by the reception area where CARE distributes food and other relief items to new arrivals, we see trucks delivering water, and visit the service tents – all of this I have heard about before, but it is still a whole different story to see the work with your own eyes and listen to the admirably energetic colleagues explaining their work.

And we meet Amina Akdi Hassa, who serves as chairlady for the camp Dagahaley. She has been living here for 20 years and is a leader and an advocate for her community. “I want the world to know that they should please share our problems with us”, she explains. “We have had five schools here since the 1990’s, but now there are so many more children.”

The people of Dadaab are talking. But is the world listening?

By Sandra Bulling

Green plots of land cover the lush mountains of East Haraghe in Ethiopia. Small brown huts dot the landscape, their owners busy working in the fields. Thick grey clouds hang above the peaks as high as 3,000 meters, seemingly bursting with rain any moment. On a first look, East Haraghe looks like postcard idyll, perfectly suited for agriculture that yields enough crops to sustain the farming families. On a second, the area is the scene of a severe drought. Malnutrition cases East and West Haraghe zones increased steeply in the past months. The reasons: insufficient rainy seasons, high food prices, chronic poverty and a weather phenomenon called La Nina.

The large majority of Ethiopian households, 87 percent, relies on agriculture as source of income and nutrition. A good rainy season brings relief, a failed one desperation. The past twelve months were determined by worry; the Meher rains that usually arrive from June to September in East Haraghe ceased prematurely last year. As a consequence, the complete harvest was lost. The following Belg rains which are scheduled by nature from March to May were delayed for about two months, insufficient in amount and erratic in distribution. For many farmers it was impossible to plant; and those who did are still waiting for their maize to ripen. One month ago, in June, farmer would have normally started to harvest. But instead, people have no food left in their homes. Scientists credit the insufficient rains to La Nina, a weather phenomenon that changes weather patterns and causes drier conditions in East Africa.

Maize porridge, twice a day

Kado Kaso came with her son Sabona to a government run health center in Kurf Chele district. “My son was vomiting, he had diarrhea and could not hold any of the food I fed him”, she says. Sabona was diagnosed as severely malnourished. The three year old has lost his appetite. His feet, legs and eye lids are swollen – characteristic signs of edema, a medical complication of severe malnutrition. He stares into the room, there is no energy left in the little body to play or move around. Sabona arrived one day ago and the therapeutic food provided by CARE has not regained his energy yet.

When the Belg rains began this spring, Kado started to plant barley and beans on her small land. But the rains stopped earlier and all her crops withered. “We have barely anything to eat. During normal years, we eat three meals a day. Now we are lucky if we eat twice a day,” the 30 years old mother says. She takes Sabona into her arms. “We only eat maize porridge, I cannot afford anything else.”

On the bed next to Kado sits Abdi Mahommed with his five year old daughter Milkiya. She has been here for one week, has recovered her strength and appetite. Both father and daughter will leave the center the next day. They will continue receiving weekly rations of therapeutic food, to ensure Milkiya’s condition stays stable. But Abdi has sold his ox to buy food for his family of eight. “I don’t know how to plant for the next season, I have no ox and no seeds,” he says. He is glad his daughter has regained her appetite and started playing again. “All that matters is saving my daughter’s life.”

Searching for labor

Kado’s husband has moved to the nearest town in search of work. But he is not alone. Fathers stream into the towns offering their labor – and salaries have dropped by 50 percent. “My husband now earns 10 Birr a day, in normal years he can earn 20 Birr”, says Kado. Ten Birr are USD 0.60; and that is how much a kilo of maize costs. A price, that has risen significantly over the past months. “My husband comes back every four days, giving me money to buy food. My four children and I are dependent on him, we have no other income.” She now stays with Sabona in the health center, until the little boy can eat again and reaches a stable condition.

Kado’s other children are at home, alone. Neighbors look after them, but they have no meals to share either. And the health center has run out of resources to hand out food to mothers like Kado coming to stay with their children. “CARE is now starting to provide food for the mothers in the health centers. Because if they don’t get anything to eat, they might be forced to leave or refrain from coming here with their malnourished children,” says Jundi Ahmed, CARE Ethiopia’s Emergency Nutrition Advisor.

A malnourished generation

Today, almost every tenth pregnant woman or lactating mother in East Haraghe is malnourished due to the insufficient rainy seasons. However, malnutrition is a chronic condition for many Ethiopians. Even during years with normal rainfall, the small plots owned by households in East Haraghe do not yield enough to cater for balanced and sufficient meals. Malnourishment during pregnancy determines the entire life of a child. Sons and daughters, who do not receive sufficient nutrition in the first five years of their life will not fully develop their mental and physical capabilities. “It is a chronic hunger cycle that can last for generations. Malnourished mothers give birth to malnourished children and have no means to feed them with most needed vitamins, iodine and iron. Children are smaller in height than well-fed children their age, they are stunted. And it is very likely that they will also have malnourished children,” says Jundi Ahmed.

CARE started food distributions to reach 66,000 people in the zones of East and West Haraghe and Afar. Kado’s family and others in her district receive monthly rations of sorghum, vegetable oil, supplementary food such as corn-soy-blend and beans whereas pregnant mothers and lactating women get special supplementary food. But CARE also has long term development programs in the area, supporting families to overcome poverty and hunger. Through Village Savings and Loan Associations, for example, women can contract small loans to open shops and small businesses. With an additional income families can save assets that protect them in times of drought.

Drought comes in different shapes in Ethiopia. But whether in the dry areas of Borena in southern Ethiopia or the lush green mountains of East Haraghe – the pain and consequences of drought and hunger are the same throughout.

Muna* is the envy of her friends in Dagahaley camp. She is also a newly arrived refugee, in fact just nine days in the camp, but unlike her friends who have to live in the outskirts, she has what seems like the comfort of a room within the camp. As soon as she arrived, she managed to trace some of her clan members, who let her use the room in their homestead. Muna is 40 years old, and arrived in Dadaab with her seven children.

Her story, however, is nothing to envy.

She left her husband behind because bus fare for all of them was too expensive. They had to pay Ksh 15, 000 each for the journey on a bus, so he let them go ahead, remaining behind to raise more money for his own trip. “I will join you soon,” he said as he waved them goodbye.

Muna’s journey from Somalia took her 18 long days, having to feed her children wild fruits and look out for wild animals and hyenas. Her children are all safe, and they did not come across any wild animals on the way. However, what her friends would not envy about her is that she was raped on her way to Dadaab. It was midway through their journey, bandits (shiftas) stopped their bus and ordered all the women to step out. “We were eight women on total, so they separated the older women from the younger ones, and told them to get back into the bus. The five of us stayed behind, with our children, and the bus driver was ordered to drive off and leave us behind. That is when they raped us,” she said.

They were in the middle of nowhere, with their children, and strange armed men. The children were pushed away behind some bushes and instructed to be quiet by one of the men, as the others went back to the women and raped them. Some of the other women were gang raped.

Although it was in broad daylight, no other vehicle passed by, and even though they all screamed for help and their children were crying in fear, nobody came to help them. “Afterwards they told us to take our children and keep walking,” Muna and the other women ended up walking 17 kilometres before coming to Dif, where they told some village elders what had happened to them, and they raised some money so the women could go on their journey.

Muna and the other ladies finally came to Dadaab, and she is happy to stay away from her fellow newly arrived refugees, in some private space with her children, among her larger clam. She has gone through reception, and her registration date is set for November 11th. “I am glad we arrived here, and all my children are ok. We finally got some food and water and I have a tent. There are so many people here, even those who came with us, but it is still like we are alone, because my husband is not here.”

The most dangerous period for refugees is when they are on the move. Women and girls are especially vulnerable to rape, abduction, illness and even death on the journey. Many women set out on the journey alone with their children, leaving husbands behind and they may walk for weeks in search of safety.

According to UNHCR reports, the numbers of sexual and gender-based violence cases have quadrupled in the last six months in Dadaab: 358 incidents reported from January until June 2011, in comparison with 75 during the same period in 2010.

CARE has set-up a screening tent at reception centers in Ifo and Dagahaley camps in Dadaab to help identify survivors of sexual abuse or other violence on their journey. In the first six months of this year, since the refugee influx began, 136 cases have been documented, compared to 66 in the same period in 2010. Upon identification, counseling and referred emergency medical attention is administered.

“The deep psychological affects that drought, conflict and subsequent movement can have on woman refugees is immense. We have witnessed high levels of anxiety, panic and trauma due to loss of family members along the way and women are sharing stories of rape, violence and hunger,” said Wilson Kisiero, CARE’s Gender and Community Development manager in Dadaab. “CARE is providing immediate psychological support to the newly arrived women and girl refugees and we are doing all we can to ensure follow-up visits.”

Muna was referred to the MSF clinic by the CARE staff that interviewed her, but she has not gone to the clinic yet, she is afraid she may be pregnant from the ordeal, or she may have a disease. She said she would wait a few more days and then go, but not just yet.

*Not her real named

In Hagadera camp, Fatumo Osman Abdi, 50 has just settled into her tent. She is weary from the journey of 20 days from Somalia. She came with her three grandchildren (aged 13, 5 and 4), her son and pregnant daughter-in-law. Back in Somalia they were farmers, in a place called Kurdun where they grew food for her family. The lack of food became a bigger and bigger problem with time, until they decided to leave.

“Every night as we traveled here, we slept out in the open land, under the stars. We were very afraid, we did not know what was out there, or if there were people coming. We had heard many stories of man-eating lions so we could not even sleep,” she said.

The journey was a difficult one, but Fatumo is thankful that they did not meet any robbers. On their way to Dadaab, they were given food by Muslims on the way, just well wishers who decided to lend a helping hand.

“We arrived here so hungry, so tired. My grandchildren were so tired, I was afraid they would die on the way. Even my daughter-in-law. We slept out in the open for many days, we were under the stars again, but we were safe. After so many days I finally have my tent,” she said.

Seventy year old Habibi* came to Kenya as one of 72 people who traveled together from Somalia. That was almost her entire village, she says, and was made up of her family and friends. Her son had heard of Dadaab and told them about it years ago, he had said that they could run to it because of the fighting. Habibi’s husband had declined, opting to stay in Somalia longer.

Back home they were farmers and pastoralists, growing sorghum, and keeping cows, goats and sheep. They left Somalia because of drought, came here with her friends and neighbours, children and grandchildren. She describes the journey to Dadaab as the ‘worst thing she has ever experienced’.

“We were attacked by strange men, they looted all our belongings, women were raped and men were beaten, but we thank God nobody died,”. Habibi was also raped, and manages to talk about it openly, her anger and confusion still evident. “Our husbands and sons were all there to see it happen to us, it was very bad!”

She is still in the influx area of Dagahaley camp, with only 16 other friends and relatives. The others settled in another camp, Hagadera. One of her relatives gave up his tent for her so she could have shelter with her four grandchildren. All they had to eat on the way was maize, and more maize as they traveled the long journey to Dadaab.

“I do not want to go back to Somalia, all our problems are still there! I am here with nothing, but I would rather stay here. Life here is hard, the food they give us is little because now we have to wait for registration, but I would rather stay here than go back,” she said.

*Not her real name.

In Borena in southern Ethiopia the last two rainy seasons have brought no water. The drought took one third of all livestock, leaving families without income.

Little Salad is sleeping soundly. Gamu Kamad, his mother, is very relieved. Just a few days ago, the 11-months old could do nothing but vomit. He could not crawl, he did not play; he was just too weak. In the past weeks, Gamud feed him only water – she had no money to buy milk. Most of her cattle died. In the Borena zone, in southern Ethiopia, the last two rainy seasons did not bring any water and a worrying drought has gripped the region. In the Moyale district, the land is brown and dusty. Bushes and trees have lost their last leaves, their trunks and branches reach naked into the air. A little green is left on thorny shrubberies and acacia trees, both either too dangerous or too high for cattle to reach.

Gamud and Salad have found help in a health center in the town of Moyale, run by the local government. Salad was weighed and screened. His diagnose: severe acute malnutrition. He was brought to the stabilization center, where he now receives therapeutic supplementary food, provided by CARE Ethiopia, until his condition improves and he reaches a normal weight for a boy of his age. His mother stays with him and receives food as well. “I was very worried about Salad,” she explains. “We came here four days ago, but now Salad’s condition is already much better.” She looks at the tiny bundle lying next to her, still sleeping calmly. “Before I brought him here, he could not open his eyes any more. He threw up the water I gave him. But now he gets stronger every day.”

The health centers in the Moyale district have experienced a rise in malnutrition cases for children under five years. Almost 500 severely malnourished children were admitted from January to June. In 2010, this was the rate for the entire year. In the Borena culture, children are given the most food. They eat first, followed by the father and then the mother. Parents give their children the little food they have, but now they have no groceries left and no money to buy some.

Livestock is life
The prices for cattle are the lowest in the past decade in Moyale. At the same time, prices for food have risen sharply. In a pastoralist society such as in Borena, people depend on their livestock. They are their income and source of nutrition – their life. When livestock die, people lose their assets. In the Borena zone, one third of all livestock have starved. “Even goats and camels find no pasture any longer. This very unique, as they are usually drought resistant animals”, says Mandefro Mekete, CARE Ethiopia’s Emergency Operations Coordinator. But it has never happened before that both the Hagaya autumn rains and the Genna spring rains have failed in Borena. Scientists credit this drought to La Nina, a weather phenomenon that changes weather patterns and causes drier conditions in East Africa.

Gamud has lost 36 of her 51 cattle to the drought. The residual cattle are too emaciated to give milk or to sell on the market. Her husband is trying to save the lives of the remaining ones by taking them to areas where pasture is still available. Some people migrate as far as 400 kilometers in search of water and pasture, putting pressure on the remaining grazing grounds. CARE, in close collaboration with the local government, opened 21 slaughter destocking sites to recover some value from emaciated and unproductive animals that would otherwise die and to prevent conflict that might arise from competition around scarce pasture grounds.

The smell of slaughtered meat hangs in the air. The bones of cattle are thrown into a square, deep pit. Bloods seeps away into the brown ground, leaving dark red streams on the earth. Hasalo Duba has come with two cows to the slaughter destocking site in Dima village. “Before the drought I had ten cattle. Six died already and I brought two here today. I have only two left now; only one of them gives milk,” the 25-years old mother of six children says. She will receive 800 Birr (47 USD) per cattle which allows her to buy staple foods on the market. She will also get some hay and supplementary animal feed to save the life of her remaining two cattle. “Eight vulnerable families will receive the meat of the slaughtered cattle,” Mandefro Mekete explains. “The slaughtering takes place with technical assistance from official meat inspectors, who ensure that the meat is safe for consumption.” However, there is not much meat left on the bones of the barren cattle waiting in front of the slaughtering pit.

No rains expected to come soon
Malicha Galgalo has already received her money. The 40-year old wears a long black dress with red applications; she sits on top of a heap of white bags full of hay, surrounded by children. “I have to find a donkey to carry the bag home. I have lost 25 cows, only five survived,” she says. Malicha believes that Moyale is in a very critical situation. “Before the drought, I could sell the milk and I had a steady income. But now I don’t earn any money and I have ten children to feed.” She depends on food distributions from the government. With the 800 Birr she received for her cow Malicha bought one kilo of grain. “I will save the remaining money. I don’t expect the situation to improve, there will be no rain coming soon.”

The next rainy season is supposed to arrive in September or October. Until then, many pastoralists predict most if not all of their remaining cattle will starve. Some elderly already fear that the Hagaya rains, as the autumn rainy season is called, will fail as well. Kofobicha is 55 years old and has lived through several times of hardship. But the drought has never been as bad. “We don’t expect the next rainy season to come. Even if the Hagaya rains come, no cattle will be left by September,” he forebodes. “But we don’t care about our livestock any more. All that counts now is to save human live. We have accepted that we need to fast, but who saves our children?”

Salad from Moyale town was lucky, he has been saved. Life has returned to him, thanks to CARE’s and the government’s interventions. But many more children and their parents will need assistance in the coming months. They need urgent humanitarian support, but they need also a long-term strategy to become more resilient to the impacts of drought. So Salad’s mother is able to buy him food when the next drought hits.

Dama Godona lives in a place of great contrast: even though the grass in Dire, Borena in southern Ethiopia looks green it is the harbinger of a severe drought. Consecutive failed rains did not provide enough water to yield sufficient pasture growth, which is important to sustain the cattle of the region’s pastoralists. Dama lost seven out of her 17 cattle and used all of her savings to purchase animal feed and water for her livestock. She plans to sell six of her remaining cattle in order to buy more cereals, animal feed, and water.

Over the past weeks Dire woreda (the Ethiopian equivalent of a district) has received some rain. But it is missing the heavy rain needed of bringing new plant or crop growth to the area. The people of Borena are pastoralists and dependent on their cattle, goats, sheep and camels. Due to the drought, many cattle have died leaving people without assets - and prone to food insecurity.

One can tell by the way she carries herself, that she exudes confidence but that she has also experienced hardship in her life. Her husband died in a car accident and since then she has to take care for her four children alone. During the discussion, Dama took the lead in the group, speaking out on behalf of her community and clearly outlining what they need most now in order to adapt to the drought conditions. When asked what the three most important needs are for people within her community Dama stated that she needs food for her family, animal feed and increased access to water, but also support for Village Savings and Loans Associations (VSLAs).

Through CARE’s Regional Reliance Enhancement Against Drought (RREAD) project she was able to contract two loans of 2,000 Birr (about 118 USD) each through a VSLA over the last four years. Upon receiving the loans, she bought emaciated cattle at a low price, fattened them and sold them with profit. With this profit she was able to open a small road side shop. Since opening the shop, she has paid off the loan with interest and is now the head of the very association which helped her increase her income, protect her assets and care for her family. Dama’s position as a pastoralist and a merchant makes her quite unique in this region.

Dama shows that prevention is key to help individuals in times of drought. She demonstrates how increasing an individual’s ability to diversify their livelihoods can spur entrepreneurship, create employment, generate income and ultimately empower an individual. Additionally, it also shows that when Village Savings and Loan Associations are used correctly they can help people provide for their families and can also reduce vulnerabilities associated with drought. Hopefully, Dama’s example will not be so unique in the near future.

Dama Godana knows all too well how difficult the life of a pastoralist woman is. In addition to the usual daily household chores of cooking, cleaning and taking care of the children, she has to walk long distances to fetch water and pasture for the small and weak animals during the dry season.

“Sometimes we have to move to inaccessible areas to look for pasture facing the risk of snakes, injuries and exposure to the harsh rays of the sun,” explains 40-year-old Godana.

When Godana heard what women in other non pastoralists communities around Ethiopia were doing to help themselves, she visited them and with the knowledge she gained she founded the Darara Women’s Savings and Credit Group in 2007. “Most pastoralist women depend on handouts from their husbands. They are not empowered,” says Godana. “I formed this credit group, so that we can work together make some income and improve our lives.”

Dama Godana	Darara Women	Darara Hay pens	Darara Pressing Hay

The group started with a membership of 15 women each paying 60 Birr (about US$ 6) as a registration fee and a monthly contribution of 10 birr (US$ 1) per month. “With this money we invested in two young bulls and during the dry season we bought concentrated animal feed and sold it to the community members,” explains Godana. The group made a profit of 2000 birr (US$ 200).

During the dry season, the group sold scarce cereals like maize, beans and sugar to the community members and to date their membership has increased to 23 with a total budget of 8459 Birr (US$ 845) plus 4 bulls. Haymaking

CARE International in Ethiopia, under the Resilience Enhancement against Drought (RREAD) project, realized the difficulty these women faced in seeking pasture for their animals and trained them on haymaking. “Training the women’s group in haymaking was not only meant to lessen their burden but also to make pasture available for the small and weak animals during the dry and drought season, thus increasing their chances of survival,” says Temesgen Tesfaye, CARE project officer in Ethiopia. For the Darara women’s group haymaking has become second nature. Immediately after the rains stop they cut hay and collect it as it begins to yellow. This sequence retains the hay’s nutritional value. The hay is then laid out to dry on especially made beds to prevent its decay. Afterwards, it is piled in stacks and stored for use in the dry season.

“We are thankful to CARE for this initiative because during the drought seasons we don’t have to suffer anymore,” says Ashure Jaldessa, a member of the Darara women’s group.

The RREAD project also provides the group with a one-off payment of 25,000 Birr (US$ 2500) to strengthen their trading business and livestock marketing. “This money will increase our household income and improve our resiliency to drought,” beamed a happy Godana. RREAD also trained the women to handle different roles and responsibilities within the group. These include basic auditing, financial management and record keeping skills.

For Godana, the journey has been long. Married as a child at a tender age of 8 years, Godana lost her husband three years later. With no education but full of determination and ambition, she started selling local brew until she got enough capital to sell roofing materials, a business she still runs to date.

“I have no education and that’s something I regret but life experiences have taught me a lot and one lesson I learnt is that one must always strive to make life better and this is what I tell my fellow women,” says Godana. “This does not mean that education is not important. It definitely is and we must ensure that our girls to go to school and stay there.”

Godana’s efforts to improve the lives of women in her community caught the attention of Ethiopia’s Prime Minister Meles Zenawi who in 2001 awarded her with a medal that reads, “Although illiterate, this woman’s struggle to uplift the women in her community has made her a symbol of development and we are proud of her.”

I arrived in Borena Zone, Oromia Region, in the southern part of Ethiopia two days ago. I am here with my CARE colleagues to conduct a deeper assessment on the impact of the current drought on women, men, boys and girls. We have talked to different groups, and even though we just had four basic questions, there was so much to listen to and to learn from. Basically, I could have asked 10,000 questions! Today we visited Moyale woreda (a woreda is the equivalent of a district), that is bordering Kenya. It has not rained there in the past six months, only the last ten days saw some rain. However, these rains were very sparse and did not bring enough water. So some areas look greener now, while others are still very dry.

But a green pasture does not mean there is no drought. The people of Borena are pastoralists and dependent on their cattle, goats, sheep and camels. But so many cattle have died already. Even though pastoralists move them to one place in order to avoid diseases, I could see carcasses lying around, there are just too many of them. Some people told me that this is not the first drought, of course, Ethiopians are used to the cycles of aridity and rain. However, what is really unique now is that it is not only cattle dying, but also sheep and goats. This is really concerning because goats usually resist quite well to drought since they can eat almost anything if needed (shrubs, bushes, branches, etc.).

A whole day to fetch water

There is not enough pasture, there is not enough water. This has a huge impact on women. Women are usually responsible for fetching water and they have to walk much longer distances now than before. One group of women told me that before the drought, it took them 30 minutes to the water point for one way. Now they have to walk three hours – one way. The second group mentioned that they not only need two hours now instead of 15 minutes to fetch water but they also need to queue at the water point for four to six hours. Because there is very little food, they don’t take anything to eat with them. They come back home hungry and exhausted. And they have to go through this ordeal every day.

In addition of spending almost the entire day to get water, women also need to collect pasture for their cattle. They therefore have very little time for their daily household chores. They can’t properly take care of their children and provide them with food. In some cases, I saw elderly people watching small children. But very often parents see no choice but taking their children out of school. School drop outs are already being visible here in Ethiopia, and it is mostly girls who need to stop their education because they have to assist their mothers with household chores and take care of their siblings. One young man of 17 years told me about the drop outs in his school. His 4th grade consisted of 82 students before the drought. Now, just 25 students are attending school – and most of them are boys.

One meal per day

I saw many cattle that are really, really weak. People told me many of them were too weak to stand up without help and how they constantly needed to support them to do it. A minimum of three strong people are needed to do this. I have not had the opportunity to see that myself but one of my colleagues sent the picture he took during one of its field visits. Impressive.

Since there is no pasture, men need to climb trees to cut leaves and use them as fodder for their livestock. People also reduce their food intake. While most families usually had three meals every day, they now can only eat once per day. Children eat first, then the father and the mother is the last one to receive what is left. So it is no surprise that most women told me: “We need food.” Even though there is food to buy at the market, the prices have steeply increased for the last months. In April 2011, the food index increased by 35.5 percent in Oromia Region compared to April 2010. People just cannot afford to buy products any longer.

An important element of a pastoralist diet is milk. Since their cattle are dying and starved, there is a shortage of milk, so people have replaced nutritious milk with tea. Without any nutrients and proteins, people are at high risk of becoming weak and malnourished. In some areas, I heard of conflict that arose due to the scanty resources. When pasture and water is limited and when people see their animals dying, tensions can get high.

These are all very concerning accounts. However, most people expect that the biggest impacts have not even begun. The worse is yet to come. The rains of the past days belong to a short rainy season and after it another dry cycle that will last until September starts. People have huge fears about their future and their ability to cope with the drought. The Ethiopian government is already responding to the drought with different interventions of which food distributions. I saw one of those today, but it is clearly not enough to reach every one who is in need right now.

By Audrée Montpetit, CARE Senior Humanitarian Program Quality Advisor

We traveled ten hours by car from Addis Ababa to reach the CARE Ethiopia Borena Field office based in Yabello. This small town is located some 200 kilometers from the Kenyan border. CARE is scaling up its emergency relief operations rapidly to address the worsening drought situation for this primarily pastoralist population. The Borena pastoralists are known for their hardiness and endurance, as well as for their cultural tradition of ensuring that the children are fed and asleep before the men eat, and finally the women. When malnourishment of children amongst this population becomes a source of concern, it is clear that there is a crisis on hand.

In a presentation at the CARE office, the CARE field staff and government officials jointly painted a very grim picture of the current situation and repeatedly referred to a disaster in the making with the loss of over 200,000 livestock dead in Borana (out of 750,000) as a result of lack of pasture and water. Without cattle, there will be neither income to buy food or milk to feed the children. As the cattle weaken and become emaciated, they no longer produce milk and often reach a stage that by the time they are slaughtered, there is hardly any meat left on the bone to consume.

In one of CARE’s innovative programs in close collaboration with government authorities and community leaders, we aim to recover some value from emaciated and unproductive animals that would otherwise die from the effects of drought. Slaughter destocking decreases the grazing pressure at times of high pasture scarcity. We saw carcass after carcass being thrown into a pit after the animal was killed, and those animals that still yielded some meat were butchered and shared amongst families identified by government authorities as vulnerable. CARE Ethiopia’s program of de-stocking provides an opportunity to pastoralists to sell their cows at a fair price and to receive in addition to nearly USD 50 for each cow, grain to feed two remaining cattle. This project is an excellent effort to help families not only gain some savings from their cattle before they die from weakness, but also to try to save those that they still have.

But their remaining cattle are very few. Of original herd sizes of 15, 30 or 40 in nearly every case, women and men would tell us that they had only two or three cows left. They have lost the majority of their cattle in the past few months with mounds of partially decomposed skeletons scattered throughout the landscape attesting to this fact.

The respected elderly clansmen of Borena have predicted that the next rains will fail as well. Scientists credit the current drought to the La Nina phenomenon which changes weather patterns and causes drier conditions in Eastern Africa. The rains are not even due for another two months yet they are expecting the worse as their situation now is very grim. A dignified elder told us that there was no hope for them: ”We shall pass, but we must help the children.” He told us that they are not able to care for their cattle and that this is not their first priority anymore. The major issue is now the health of their children who are already starting to suffer. His words highlighted the scenes and conversations of the day visiting a local health center where too-thin babies were being treated for malnutrition, to the destocking site, and water provision activities, and later to the amazing clan gathering of around 15,000 Borena who meet every eight years to elect new leaders.

At this gathering, we were told that there were very few cattle and camels. One of the elders gestured to the encampment area and said: ”Look, it is empty. In the past years there were too many cattle and we had no space. This year we have hardly any cattle.” They told us that their fate is not in their own hands, and that they have to pray to God for rain. However, their cultural wisdom of ages past leads them to believe that the rains in September will fail again.

There is a window of opportunity for the Borena: If assistance is able to reach them at this time. They have lost their assets, their source of family insurance has gone, and they now face three months, at the very least, of continued drought. They are sure that without help, they and their families are at extreme risk of losing their lives. The CARE Ethiopia team has worked diligently over the past years to develop an excellent strategy and complementary set of interventions to help mitigate this situation in Borena. But, the complex set of factors created by a catastrophic region wide drought caused by the La Nina phenomenon, the loss of a cattle market in the Middle East, chronic poverty and the dramatic increase in food prices has resulted in a situation where the Borena are on the edge of disaster.

CARE is acting now to scale up and expand our efforts in our current programming areas of CARE Ethiopia -- to save lives that will be at extreme risk in the coming months. But we need more help. We need to prevent people from leaving their homelands in search of refuge, to prevent a further long term catastrophe including complete loss of livelihoods as well as loss of lives.

Story of Shangara Hassan, a Somali woman who traveled to Dadaab refugee camp with her four children.

“I think I am twenty years old. I have four children – two of them are very sick and two of them are OK. The oldest is six years and the youngest is six months.

"I have come to Dadaab from a village in southern Somalia. I came with my children, alone, to save our lives. There was a very bad drought there – it hasn’t rained for four years, and everything was very dry. Nearly all of our animals had died because there was no food for them to eat. We used to keep small animals – goats and sheep. What few we have left my husband has stayed to look after. Once they are dead he will come here too. We used to have nearly sixty but now there are less than ten.

"On our plot in our village we used to grow sorghum and that is what we used to eat. But because there has been no rain, the sorghum hasn’t grown. The ground has become very dry and the seeds don’t even come up anymore.

"Nobody has seen a drought like this for many years. Everyone in our community in Salag is leaving. All of my neighbors left at about the same time as me and they are living around me here in Dadaab. The only people who are remaining are the ones who still have a few animals alive to look after but I think they will all come here soon.

"There was hardly any water left to drink either. We used to get our water from a nearby stream but this had dried up. There was no water point in our village. So when the stream dried up we started to walk to a river that was a long way from our village to collect water to drink, wash and cook. It would take me about two hours to walk there and three to walk back when my container was full. It was very hard work because it was so hot. I can’t remember when it has been that hot in Somalia before.

"My husband decided that we had to leave when we hadn’t eaten for over a week. He said if we didn’t leave we would die.

"We arrived here about two weeks ago now. We walked from our village to the border and then we got a bus along with other people from our village. When we arrived in Dadaab we went to a reception point and were given some maize, sleeping mats and some other things. We had nothing with us. I couldn’t carry anything when we left because I had the four children.

"But now all of that food is gone. We are meant to go and be registered now so that we can get food regularly. But I have been there twice now and each time I have been told that I have to come back another day because there are too many people waiting to be registered.

"My second born child, Habiba, is very sick and my third born is starting to get sick. Because I haven’t registered I don’t think I can go and find them medical help. I don’t know where to go to find them a doctor as this camp is very big.

"Also if I go with one child, I don’t have anyone to leave the other children with. I am also breastfeeding my youngest and if I carry her, I can’t manage to carry Habiba too. Her condition is getting worse every day and I don’t know what to do. I am worried that all of my children may get sick soon because we are only eating once a day as we only have very little maize left.

"But even though it is hard here, it is better than what we left behind.“

Story of Osman Sheikh Hussein, who fled drought and conflict in Somalia to arrive at the Dadaab Refugee Camp in northeastern Kenya.

“My family and I have come from Somalia – from Baidera in the Upper Juba Valley. I took the decision to leave with my family because of drought and violence. The situation had become very bad. There had been no rain and everybody was starving.

"We walked by foot all of the way. It took us 32 days and every night we stayed under the sky. When we reached the border with Kenya some of the women and children were very tired and sick. So I managed to get some money and paid for them to come here in the back of a truck. It was a difficult journey.

"We have been here 29 nights now but still haven’t been able to register to get food aid. When we first arrived, we went to a place with other new arrivals and we got some food and other basic things. Because we had to leave out town quickly we left nearly everything behind. Along with way we lost some things too – the children were so tired that we had to carry them.

"I have been wanting to leave Somalia for a long time – the situation never gets better. There was nothing left in Somalia – it wasn’t like it used to be. There were no schools or health facilities – and I want my children to have an education.

"The security situation was getting worse and the drought has meant that there is now a lot of violence because people are hungry. I don’t know when the conflict is going to end and in our community it hadn’t rained for nearly five years.

"Everybody’s animals have died. We used to have a big herd of goats and sheep and also some camels. All of them have died because of lack of food. It is so dry there now and I don’t think the rains are going to come again.

"Here we only have this shelter that we have made from plastic sheeting and wood. But at least we can get food and water. There is a health center too and for the first time in many years I feel safe and don’t go to sleep worrying my children may die."

We’ve just returned from a visit to Dadaab Refugee camp in northern Kenya, where I was accompanied by the CARE Canada President and CEO Kevin McCort, CARE Australia Head of Fundraising Andrew Buchannan and CARE USA Head of Foundations Liz McLaughlin.

In my more than 20 years of field experience with CARE, I have not seen such widespread levels of the effects of lack of food on so many people.

Every single man, woman and child that we saw and met with of the more than 1,500 people arriving daily do not have a spare ounce of flesh on their bodies. The adults are literally down to the bone; the children are incredibly listless, showing obvious signs of malnutrition and distress.

Single mothers carry one or two children on their backs with others holding tightly onto their ragged wrap. We met groups of over 40 people who had traveled together, leaving behind the elderly whom they knew would not be able to make the walk of 20 or more days to reach Dadaab. They do not know if they will ever see each other again.

Every single person with whom we talked -- from those who had just arrived after a grueling journey to those who have been waiting in small hastily and sparsely constructed shelters, to those working as volunteers with CARE to provide food and some basic essentials -- asked us to help them to tell the world of their plight.

“Please share our message from Dadaab that we need help, that we cannot wait, that we have come this far and we still do not have the food and shelter that we need.”

There are more than 15,000 refugees who have arrived who are still not on the U.N. registration system and are not entitled to receive basic health services or a monthly ration of food. We met many of these people on the outskirts of one camp where CARE is now providing additional water and sanitation services. When I asked to see their vouchers that were provided to them upon arrival to confirm when a date had been set by which they would be officially registered, I was surrounded by many people who dug into their carefully wrapped worn bags and pockets to show me vouchers with dates for as far away as mid September.

One young woman asked, “I am hungry now and I have no shelter, how will I be able to wait this long for food for myself and my children? We thought we would be able to get help here but there is no help.”

Yet, these vouchers are like gold, and each one is carefully wrapped up and tucked back away for safe keeping. Without a voucher, a family does not get into the system, and therefore it is as if they had not walked and risked their lives to reach Dadaab. They do not exist in the system.

Our CARE staff is working many long hours each and every day to help speed up food distribution, to get water and sanitation services out to those who are escaping from the drought plaguing the region, and to increase educational services for the influx of many more young children.

The commitment and dedication of our staff is incredibly impressive, and they are doing this in the face of many challenges and difficult working and living conditions. There is no complaint voiced ever, yet their faces are lined and, at the end of the day, they're almost too tired to talk. We must get them additional help and support and we need to get it to them now.

I am extremely heartened by the great willingness and generosity of the CARE members to offer expertise and personnel as well as hopefully, in the short term future, significant additional funding. Many of the people who we met thanked us -- for the support they are receiving now and for what they truly hope will come.

Engda Asha, Emergency Project Manager for CARE Ethiopia in West Hararghe, gives an update on the devastating effects of the drought on one of the worst-hit parts of Eastern Ethiopia.

The situation in West Hararghe is critical. As verified through nutritional survey conducted by some aid agencies, there is an increased percentage of children under five showing signs of acute malnutrition in most districts of the zone. The number of households needing general food assistance is increasing at an alarming rate every day. As a result, the number of beneficiaries to be addressed by CARE alone has skyrocketed from 28,000 at the beginning of the crisis to 135,240 just as of 12 July 2011. People are mostly in need of food assistance.

Owing to the seriousness of the condition, the regional Disaster prevention and preparedness commission (DPPC) officials are on stand by, closely monitoring the situation on weekly basis. A command post is in place at kebele level (lowest administration unit) and they report to the Federal level. CARE is one of the members of the command post and is involved in situational assessments every week.

Currently, it has started to rain in this part of Ethiopia and hence some water is available both for people and livestock. Following the improvement in the availability of pasture and water, I can say that livestock condition is improving. But the human condition remains critical, because there is not enough food.

Emergency Media Officer Alexandra Lopoukhine describes the situation in Dadaab refugee camp, northern Kenya, where nearly 1,500 people are arriving each day.

When a family arrives:
Outside of the reception centres, crowds of people are waiting. UNHCR has set up a structure that is open on all sides, but has a roof to help shade the burning noon day sun. It is still not big enough for all the people. The people are quiet; they are exhausted and in what seem like shock. They are called into the reception centre in small groups to keep the flow inside moving.

Once they are called up to enter the reception centre (a fenced in compound with various tents, benches, tanks and taps of water CARE provides) , they go to one of the three reception centres being run by UNHCR staff. They first go through an electronic finger printing screening which registers them and their family. They get coloured bracelets based on which camp they are being received in (Blue bracelet in Ifo, Yellow in Dagahaley and Red in Hagadera). They then move to receive non-food items – being distributed by CARE staff (plastic mats to sleep or sit on, blankets, jerry cans). At that point they move to food tent, and receive two weeks’ worth of food. CARE staff gives the food out. There is a medical tent for malnutrition screening and the CARE tent for counselling. The final step is they are given a registration date and time to get to the one UNHCR Registration centre which they then get their WFP ration card, and tents and allocation of land.

Living in the camp:
Because the camps are full, people are setting-up their places to live where they can find land. This has lead to sprawling overflow, haphazardly set up. Deforestation (de-shrubbing) has taken place. This is a real source of tension with the host community- this is the land that typically Kenyan-Somali use as nomadic feeding and living grounds. So, when the wind blows, the wind blows red dusty dirt all around. At time the dust is so thick, you cannot see one foot in front – cars stop, people cover their faces; lack of visibility can last up to a minute. The houses are round stick buildings with any type of covering around. The wind can blow these houses down. The children are generally covered in the dust. Feet are perpetually dirty it seems. The sandy-ground is hot, and many refugees have no shoes. Flip flops from China seem to be the most popular type of footwear.

One woman’s story:
Hawa Aden Hassan, 30 years old with 3 children, her husband stayed in Somalia, she has been here 5 months. She and a friend went out to collect branches to make their houses and they were attacked. They were able to get away and suffered only minor injuries. They are now afraid to go out and collect what is needed; she said they are sleeping in the open air. They generally don’t feel afraid, but they really want schools for the kids.

“The violence (in Somalia) is not good. This place is good as long as there is no fighting and there are schools to go to.” 14-year-old boy

Newly arrived refugees from Somalia wait to be registered at Dagehaley camp, one of three camps that make up the Dadaab refugee camp in Dadaab, Noertheastern Kenya on the 9th July, 2011.

July 10, 2011

This morning, CARE staff were discussing, at length, ideas and plans on how to increase water supply in the areas where the newly arrived refuges have settled. A CARE International Water Expert has been with the team here in Dadaab for a few days now, assessing current needs and formulating a plan forward: more 10,000 gallon tanks; more drilling; more boreholes.

This afternoon, I headed out to the outskirts of Dagahaley and talked with some people who have been here for less than three months. A crowd quickly formed. One woman told me about the lack of water. Above us all, stood a very tall man (I am quite short, but he really was tall) and he explained to me that way too many people have to share one latrine. He told me they need more water – what they have now really isn’t enough. The crowd all agreed.

It was then that I explained that a water expert has come to help CARE determine what we can do about the water supply situation. I told him we know it is not enough. I told him the world is paying attention; money is coming-in to help get them more food, more water and more support. I apologized that things are this way right now, but that with all the new people coming recently, it has genuinely been hard to keep up. I asked them for patience.

What happened then will stay with me for a very long time. As my translator finished explaining that we were working hard to figure this out, he smiled. He smiled and stared me in the eyes and said thank you. The crowd nodded their heads and smiled as well. I say this now, this “thank you”, was the most sincere exchange I have ever been part of.

Newly arrived refugees from Somalia collect water at a water point that is having water delivered to it by a CARE water truck at Dagehaley camp, one of three camps that make up the Dadaab refugee camp in Dadaab, Noertheastern Kenya.

By Alexandra Lopoukhine, Emergency Media Officer
July 7, 2011

On the far outskirts of the Ifo camp (one of three that make up the Dadaab Refugee Camps), round houses – sticks intertwined and covered with tattered cloth and pieces of torn plastic, are home to the newly arrived refugees. Today, I walked around and met a few people who had just arrived – last week in fact.

There was excitement to have me around, the children were pretty interested in me and there was a lot of laughter and smiles. It is a wonderful thing about being human: the smile transcends languages.

But through an interpreter, I was able to understand the language of pain. The stories I heard today did bring me to tears, I will admit. So too did seeing malnourished children. Mothers patiently waiting at the Médecins Sans Frontières clinic which was well placed in the middle of the newly arrived area of homes – their children receiving the immediate care they needed. CARE delivers water to this clinic; it was great to see a partnership of this sort, with the same goal of supporting the refugees, in action.

Some families have walked two weeks. Two weeks. Sleeping where they could, pushing-on to get to this camp. The children are much smaller than they should be. One story I heard was devastating: a mother walking, arrives at the clinic, takes her baby off her back and finds it has died without her knowing. I can't even imagine the pain this causes her. One man spoke to us in perfect English – he told us he has been a refugee since 1991, and now, here among the newly arrived, is his grandfather.

I feel privilege to have this time here, to talk and to hear the stories of people. I was asked today to tell the world, to share the stories and the reality of the situation. Thank you for reading.

Women and children collect water from a temporary  water tap near the Ifo camp. (Photo: 2011 Alexandra Lopoukhine/CARE)

By Alexandra Lopoukhine, Emergency Media Officer
July 6, 2011

The heat is strong and the wind is blowing. The shade provides relief. People are lined-up, orderly and patient. There is an overwhelming sense of calm. This is not exactly what I would have expected in the Dagahaley Registration Center, as today, 1,055 people wait for food and to be brought into the United Nations High Commissioner on Refugees (UNHCR) system.

Then, we spoke to a few of the women and they explained their long and challenging journey that brought them here, to Dadaab, the world's largest refugee camp. They told us of their days of walking, of the challenges they faced in the last few days, and last few hours before they reach here. The hunger they faced at home. The insecurity. One women explained she had heard on the radio in Somalia that here, in Dadaab, they were giving away free food. This was the information she needed to get her kids in order and start the move. People were calm, I realized, because they had arrived.

They arrived to be greeted by staff from UNHCR, World Food Programme, CARE, and so many other organizations here, ready and able to support them. Relief was offered in the tangible supplies water, food and order.Orderly lines, orderly registration points, orderly information given to people reeling from their recently history of chaos. This is today's relief.

Newly-arrived refugees from Somalia wait to be registered at Dagehaley camp, one of three camps that make up the Dadaab Refugee Camps in northeastern Kenya. Photo: 2011 Kate Holt/CARE

by Laura Bellinger

Bobbing in and out of his chair, a spritely six-year-old boy answers "Mignon" when asked his name. Mignon means "cute" in French. The name suits him, but unfortunately his life has become anything but cute.

Mignon and his father, Tiehi Didier, are staying a camp in Duékoué, Côte d'Ivoire sheltering 10,000 of the more than 500,000 Ivorians forced from their homes after several months of bitter, post-election fighting. And the heartbreaking story of how son and father arrived here speaks to why CARE has created a "listening center" to provide professional psychosocial support for survivors of Côte d'Ivoire's brutal violence.

Two months ago, Mignon and his mother traveled to Dabou, a coastal town where his mother regularly bought cassava to sell near their home in Abidjan. Like most Ivorians, Mignon's mother did not own a car, so, as is quite common there, they shared a ride home with a stranger. As the car neared Abidjan, they were stopped at a roadblock. Unbeknownst to Mignon's mother, the driver of their car had a gun. When the people manning the roadblock found the driver's gun, they ordered everyone out of the car.

"They cut off the driver's head," Mignon says quietly, "Then they told my mother to close her eyes. She closed her eyes and they shot her with the gun and cut her arms with a machete." Mignon gestures to his own arms to show where the men cut his mother, then gets up from his chair and runs behind his father.

"Mignon ran home to find help," Tiehi says. "And his aunt called me."

Tiehi hopes the listening center's social workers will be able to help Mignon. A school administrator, Tiehi says he understands the importance of counseling gravely traumatized children. Tiehi was traumatized during the post-election violence, too. Separated from Mignon's mother, Tiehi was living in Bloléquin during the attacks. Not only was his house burned down, but he was imprisoned as well.

"I was chained by the ankles for four days. They thought I was with a rebel group and I finally convinced them to let me go," he says. Tiehi and Mignon, along with Tiehi's wife and their four other children found shelter at the camp for internally displace people in Duékoué.

"I don't know what to do with Mignon," Tiehi says quietly. "He can't sleep. He has no distractions. He keeps asking to go back to school, but now I have no money for school. We have no home."

Working with the local partner ASAPSU, the CARE listening center offers private one-on-one sessions where these victims of violence can work through feelings of grief, fear, sadness, and revenge. The listening center also provides referrals to professional psychologists for the worst cases of severe trauma. It's a crucial first step, not only for personal healing, but for preventing further violence and working towards reconciliation.

CARE has extensive experience implementing programs that strengthen the bonds between different groups in Cote d'Ivoire: Muslims and Christians; planters and cattle farmers; Boso fishermen and local fisherman. CARE continues to believe that the forces bringing them together are stronger than those pulling them apart.

Only by listening and learning can these groups build a future in which Mignon and the thousands of other children like him can sleep soundly once again.

Tiehi Didier brings his son Mignon to CARE's listening center regularly to try to him help him deal with the loss of his mother. Photo: 2011 Laura Bellinger/CARE

Martine Johopaoudy has regular sessions with CARE listening center social worker Vlei Leontine. "I need to be heard every day," says Martine. Photo: 2011 Hortense Agnimel/CARE

• Read more: CARE Advances Cote d'Ivoire Reconciliation through ''Listening Centers''
• Donate now: Make a difference for children, families and communities around the world

June 6, 2011
Stories and photos by Mildrède Béliard, CARE Haiti

On the road to Carrefour, nothing has changed. At the entrance to the town, you see the market where fruit and vegetable waste is rotting and where traders stand with their feet in water.>

You may not notice it but the town has been facing a resurgence of the cholera epidemic, which reappeared here just under two weeks ago. This morning, a 12 year old boy died. He was one of two people carried on the backs of other residents of the site to a Cholera Treatment Center (CTC). He did not make it. He was living near the camp Bel Air 3. He had been ill since the previous afternoon, but his mother refused to admit that he had cholera until camp residents, trained and sensitized by CARE, realized he was suffering from the disease.

In the car taking us to Lycée Louis Joseph Janvier, which houses more than 1,200 people, the cell phone of Naomie Marcelin, one of CARE's health promotion activities supervisors, does not stop ringing. She is told that three cases have been identified in a site that had not previously been affected by cholera.

"Last week we distributed aquatabs in sites where we work already. We have also offered HTH solutions (concentrated chlorine) to disinfect the tents where there is a risk of cholera," says Naomi. "During the week we plan to deliver oral rehydration salts (ORS) to households."

Naomie is dismayed about the death of the young boy . To avoid a similar situation, she plans to propose the installation of oral rehydration posts (ORP) on sites in remote areas. "The boy died of dehydration. If people had been able to rehydrate him before taking him to the CTC, he would have survived," she explains.

At Lycée Louis Joseph Janvier, CARE teams are ready! They have posters and leaflets to explain key practices to prevent the spread of the cholera epidemic to representatives of a number of other local camps.

Around 20 people are present. Some are members of mothers' or youth clubs created by CARE WASH and Health teams to serve as peer educators.

Brice Sodlon is a voodoo priest who performs at Lycée Louis Joseph Janvier: "It is essential to learn, especially if you are a leader in your community. My family lives in this camp. My friends live in this camp. It is a duty for me to learn how to protect them from this disease," said Brice. "CARE can't stop. CARE does not have the right to stop. If CARE had run this training at the start of the crisis at Grand'Anse, I am sure all these voodoo priests would not have been killed by the people who were accusing them of causing the disease," he says.

Like other participants at the training, Brice knows the essential actions to take to protect himself against cholera: wash hands regularly, treat drinking or cooking water, cook food well, wash fruit and vegetables thoroughly with chlorinated water, treat human waste. Simple actions that save lives.

The cholera outbreak, which had decreased a few months ago, returned in force two weeks ago, affecting areas in which it had not previously been seen. CARE has started training and awareness sessions in camps, and also plans to distribute hygiene kits, water purification tablets, oral rehydration salts and concentrated chlorine solutions.

On Saturday, May 4, CARE donated sanitation equipment – wheelbarrows, shovels, rakes, trash cans – to Carrefour City Hall, which had organized activities to mark International Environment Day. These materials will be used to clean camps and public areas to avoid the worst.

Béatrice Jean-Louis and Magdala Saint-Ange, CARE staff members, holding a training session on cholera prevention at Lycée Louis Joseph Janvier, an IDP camp housing approximately 1,200 people. The cholera outbreak hits Carrefour where more than a thousand people are hospitalized.

Brice Sodlon, a voodoo priest in Carrefour, participating in the training session

A CARE mother's club member showing to the group how to use purification tablets to clean water at the training session.

• Read more about CARE's work in Haiti
• CARE scales up activities to respond to resurgence of cholera
• Donate now to help CARE respond to emergencies and fight poverty worldwide
  

by Andisheh Nouraee
May 24, 2011

Access Africa’s second annual learning event opened today in Accra, Ghana.