July 30th, 2008
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| The Canadian students on their last day in Kakuma. |
I will be honest. Today was a very emotionally draining day. Early this afternoon, we witnessed over 500 people in just 11 buses arrive in Kakuma after having just spent three days straight travelling from the Dadaab refugee camp. This group of Somali refugees was the last of three bus loads that had travelled from the Dadaab Refugee Camp in southeast Kenya located just 90 kilometres from the Somali border.
I can’t even begin to imagine what these people have been through during these last few weeks let alone let alone during the last few years. These people, with families as large as 11, had fled from the unrelenting conflict in Somalia and been hiding from looters and bandits, to seek refuge in the Dadab Refugee Camp, only to be told there was no room for them and that they would be relocated to Kakuma.
Entire Somali families had gathered at the arrival site and were patiently awaiting registration as UNHCR (United Nations High Commission for Refugees) staff were busily compiling and handing out families’ arrival packages. These ‘packages’ were comprised of one bag of rice, a small gathering of firewood, a wicker floor mat, a cooking pot, three bars of soap, one blanket and one plastic water jug. I watched in despair as women and children stood barefoot in line under the intense midday sun. The exhaustion on their faces left me aching inside.
I found myself trying to distance my emotions from the reality I saw in front of me as I imagined their difficult and dangerous journeys. Recalling what I had learned from literature, media and films, I tried hard not to let my heart become involved with the spectacle right before my eyes. But when I started to picture myself and my family having to journey for weeks to a foreign country—empty handed, with no concept of what might await us upon arrival, I became overwhelmed and my instinct was to again block out any personal images to ‘protect’ myself from this heartrending situation. (When our group prepared to come here from Nairobi, we were told we were restricted to 10 kilograms of luggage each. The four of us found it nearly impossible to sort through our possessions and part with certain items, items that we would have to leave behind for only three weeks, a mere 21 days!) And yet these individuals, these families, these human beings, had arrived here indefinitely with absolutely nothing but themselves.
As we stood there watching, a group of Somalis caught my attention; it was a family of seven—a mother and six children. The oldest appeared to be around 13 years of age and the youngest, three. The children all participated in gathering the discarded pieces of twine, which once bound the arrival packages, and then they began to carry what they could of the arrival supplies. They all were fairly coy about gathering the strings… trying to do it when we weren’t watching, but with the approval and encouragement of their mother. When she was allocated her supply load, they all gathered around and took whatever they could carry. One boy lifted the empty water container, which was about half his size, and proceeded to stagger in the direction of his mother.
Another family was resting in the shade beside us and one of the young children, a small girl who couldn’t have been more than five years old, was rocking her infant sister. Every so often, between cradling her baby sister and feeding her, she scolded her other siblings when they stepped out of line and became too curious about their new surroundings. It was just incredible to see the involvement and responsibility levels of these children.
Our group had an interesting discussion afterwards when we returned for dinner about how these children had been entrusted with so much responsibility that they were ‘robbed of their childhood.’ I remembered a discussion I had in one of my anthropology classes this past year about the construction of our notion of childhood Western civilization’s relatively recent obsession with ‘remaining young’ and not wanting to ‘grow up.’ When regarded in such a manner, it is clear that the transition out of ‘childhood’ can be considered an ideological notion, more than innate.
With that being said, I do think many of these children did not have the innocence and curiosity that youth often exude. Instead, many of them seemed solemn and emotionless. And yet, at the same time, amid the chaos I witnessed at the arrival site today, there were countless young children playing in the sand and jumping about, carefree and with smiles on their faces. These children are also the same children who care for their siblings and help their mothers out in every way they can; all revealing a certain capacity for the care and management of their families.
These children did not seem hopeless by any means, but rather demonstrated to me the diversity of reactions people exhibit during challenging situations and how truly outstanding the resiliency of the human spirit can be.
Dalhousie student Julia Keech was one of eight students chosen from across Canada to participate in the World University Service of Canada’s (WUSC) Refugee Study Seminar in the Kakuma Refugee Camp this summer. While in Africa, Julia kept a journal detailing her experience in the refugee camp, located in the northwest region of Kenya.