Spectre of famine hovers over a land already wasted by war

Hunger is widespread in Darfur, Sudan, and massive difficulties obstruct aid efforts

By KATHARINE HOURELD, The Globe and Mail

MUHAJERIA, SUDAN, Feb 24, 2005 — After enduring bombing, displacement, robbery and rape, the people of Darfur are being stalked by a new enemy: famine.

A displaced Sudanese woman begs for food.

Hunger is widespread in Darfur, and despite the shaky ceasefire, there are massive difficulties dispensing humanitarian aid to the 1.5 million who depend upon it.

Last Friday, Jan Egeland, the United Nations emergency relief co-ordinator, warned that up to four million people were at risk if the security situation did not improve enough to deliver food supplies.

“We did prevent the massive famine that many predicted, but I think now it’s time to say we may perhaps not be able to do so in the coming months if the situation keeps on deteriorating,” he said.

“Too often the world sends us the Band-Aid, and the world believes that we keep people alive, and then they don’t have to take a political and security action.”

He warned that the death toll could surpass that of the Indian Ocean tsunamis, which killed 170,000 people at the end of December.

If conditions deteriorate further, the victims will be children like 16-month-old Mohammed in Muhajeria. The staff at the local feeding centre have bandaged his hands as a precaution, but he is far too weak to pull the feeding tube from his nose. His eyes are closed to ward off the flies and the skin on his stomach is wrinkled like an old man’s. It is a classic sign of chronic dehydration.

His mother, Sawat Ise, has three other children who are also ill, but they are too old to be admitted to this program. She has an eye infection, a common byproduct of sleeping in the open. Ms. Ise is one of the 1.85 million people displaced since 2003, when local tribes in Darfur took up arms against perceived discrimination and neglect by the central government.

The Sudanese armed forces, often working in concert with Arabic-speaking militias, retaliated by attacking local villages.

The militias, or janjaweed, have a history of conflict with the African tribes over land rights but the government’s twin gifts of impunity and automatic weapons escalated traditional tensions into all-out war.

“They [the janjaweed] came early in the morning and burnt our houses,” said Ms. Ise, who walked 25 kilometres to safety carrying two children.

“We left all our food and cattle and ran away into the bush. My husband carried two of our children over his shoulders and I also had two. Some of my neighbours were killed. I have nothing. My whole life was burnt.”

Around her, the other mothers nod silently as they recognize parts of their own stories.

Despite her problems, Ms. Ise is one of the lucky ones. Halim Osman, who has walked three hours to get here, sees her son refused entry into the feeding program.

Exposing a small breast, she pushes him forward and pleads: “I have nothing to feed him. Please, my son is sick, he is hungry.”

But he is not hungry enough, and she has to leave.

“We only admit children who are 80 per cent or less than their normal body weight,” explained Elin Jones, the local team leader.

It used to be worse. When nearby Labados was attacked by thousands of janjaweed and government soldiers in mid-December, it was feared that Muhajeria would be the next target. The Médecins sans frontières (Doctors Without Borders) team that runs the feeding centre had to evacuate the town and slash the number of children admitted into the program by more than half.

“We couldn’t get any food stocks in because of the security situation. We had to, otherwise we would not have enough for the sickest ones,” recalled Ms. Jones, a curly-haired Welsh woman with chipped blue toenails and a nose ring. “You have to make hard decisions.”

For some of her patients, the attack on Labados and the resulting evacuation of Muhajeria was the third time they had been displaced.

Although they have trickled back, the area is still unstable. Janjaweed raids on villages in south Darfur are common. On the road between Muhajeria and the regional capital, Nyala, robberies occur almost daily. The instability prevents food from reaching the town and pushes up prices on the scarce products that are available.

“The government blocks the roads that people use for trade,” complained Omar Abido, the traditional ruler of Muhajeria.

“Sugar used to be 1,000 dinars a bag. Now it is 1,500. Benzine used to be 30,000 dinars a barrel. Now it is 70,000. The government diverts all [commercial] lorries that are supposed to come through here. There have been no trucks from Khartoum for three months.”

Although life in Muhajeria is hard, it is not impossible. In the nearby mountains of eastern Jebel Mara, janjaweed attacks have prevented even the aid agencies from delivering food. The proximity of rebel camps to traditional nomadic paths, used by the janjaweed, make the area notoriously unstable.

The last two convoys that ventured into the area were ordered out at gunpoint. Yesterday in the local capital, Nyala, a U.S. non-governmental organization was loading 14 trucks with grain in another desperate attempt to deliver food to the displaced villagers whose food stocks had been burnt.

For parts of Darfur, Mr. Egeland’s warning may come too late.