As the shadows lengthen over the village of Tuli Guleed in the Somali region of southern Ethiopia, Halemu Hassan Ali and her husband Elias Abdi Abdullahi move methodically through row after row of knee-high wheat. Pulling out weeds that overgrow their precious crop is physically demanding. Both are hunched over but move quickly, and their casual chatter belies the seriousness of the task.
Because in Ethiopia, a country plagued by recurrent hunger—and where more than 20 million people rely on some form of food aid—crop yields are more than just a matter of numbers for the couple’s family. They could ultimately mean the difference between life and death. Strengthening their domestic food supply could wean them off costly food aid and strengthen their long-term economic well-being.
Over the past five years, the Somalia region has experienced a series of devastating droughts that have destroyed crops and wiped out huge herds of livestock – a consequence of climate change that has had catastrophic consequences for the few countries in the Horn of Africa. Added to this, nearly a decade of inter-ethnic violence near their village, Halimu, Elias, their young children and most of their community members have been forced to abandon their farms and fields and seek self-sufficiency elsewhere.
Today, according to United Nations reports, there are about 4.5 million internally displaced Ethiopians in the country’s nine national regions, with more than a million of them in the Somali Region alone. “For the past nine years, we have been moving from one place to another to escape the violence,” says Halemu, sitting in the courtyard of her house as night falls. “It was only in the last two years, when we finally settled down, that we were able to farm our land.”
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Tuli Guleed is a cluster of several hundred houses in a wide, flat valley, several hours from the nearest big city. Many farmers there want to get as much as possible out of their small piece of land. To achieve this, Halemu and Elias are focusing on increasing their production of wheat only, instead of sorghum, maize and other crops they used to grow.
Not only do they hope to ensure their family has enough to eat until the next harvest, but they also hope to have some left over to sell in a nearby market town. The money would help rebuild a small portion of the household wealth they have lost in recent years and provide a buffer against possible future drought or violence.
A few days later, the pair took time out from their fields to attend an internationally funded program held at the local school. Ethiopian agricultural experts spend several hours teaching best practices for drought-resistant crops, planting techniques, marketing tips and the use of basic pesticides, which are now available at a discounted price at a small village store located a short walk from Halemu’s fields.
Strengthening “food resilience”
UN agencies and international nonprofits have led such efforts to protect against future food security challenges – such as drought or conflict – and to build what experts call “food resilience.”
“It’s about increasing production and productivity, improving their income and also their food security,” says Sinshaw Alemu, a policy officer with the United Nations World Food Programme who has worked with residents of Tuli Guleed and dozens of other villages. “We’re trying to introduce technologies that increase resilience and trying to build some of the key infrastructure in terms of market access so that incomes are diversified and these families have money if the worst happens.”
However, he acknowledges that despite nationwide efforts to address these challenges, food security in Ethiopia remains precarious and food production remains a huge challenge. The United Nations Food and Agriculture Organization said in a recent report that a “cascade of recurrent shocks” will leave more than 21 million people in Ethiopia needing humanitarian assistance this year, including 13 million who rely on agricultural support.
School meals for 5- to 25-year-olds
Elsewhere, other programs aim to improve workforce training by helping feed children in schools, where meals are often rarely available at home.
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PBS News Hour
In the village of Anderkelo in the northern Afar region, a US-funded dining hall is bustling with activity. Hundreds of students line up for lunch after several hours of classes. Hundreds of pounds of corn, soy, rice and oil line a small pantry. The supplies are measured out by local aid organizations but funded by the United Nations and will last for several months.
In the kitchen next door, a small team of cooks stir steaming cauldrons of porridge, which is generously spooned into plastic bowls, starting with the youngest grades. The fact that this food is served to students aged 5 to 25 – some of whom finish middle school very late after years of being displaced or helping on their families’ farms – has contributed to higher enrolment, according to school principal Abdu Awoke Mohammed, who has volunteered to work in this very poor region. “As this community is mostly made up of pastoralists, they move from place to place in search of food,” he says. “Since school meals have been available, they have settled down and (the children) come to school regularly.”
Anderkelo’s primary and secondary school – a collection of interconnected concrete classrooms, a large dirt playground and a scattering of trees – is one of more than 400 educational institutions across the Afar region that run similar programs and benefit around 90,000 children.
As the lunchtime crowds die down and children rush off to recess, Mohammed thinks about the long-term impact he hopes this support will have. ““The number of hungry people in our country will decrease,” he tells me in the rapidly emptying dining room, which has a roof without walls. “The young people of our country will learn more efficiently and will ultimately contribute significantly to the education of a population.”
Among those eating lunch that day were five siblings – Hayat, Ali, Abdu, Zahara and Mohammed – for whom it was probably the only meal of the day. Their father, Johar Hate Ali, has three other children who are not in full-time school and live with him in their tiny hut made of branches opposite the school gate. His wife recently died, he has only a handful of goats after a conflict that lasted several years nearby, and food prices have risen sharply.
The school meals helped him avert a disaster.
“There was no food shortage before,” he says. “Prices were low compared to current market prices. Now prices are exploding and we are facing a serious food shortage.”
Ed Kieran / PBS News Hour
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PBS News Hour
Families like his barely survive. Halemu and Elias are determined to avoid such a level of helplessness in the far south. “We have resolved to work hard,” says Halemu, “and enjoy the fruits of our hard work.” Despite challenges – like back pain and working while pregnant – I stick to my hard work.”
It is a strong desire that drives these people with laser-like focus on the success of the wheat harvest to maintain their food security, ensure their family’s survival and – perhaps one day – provide them with future financial stability.
“The reason for this,” she concludes, “is my obligation to care for my children.”
Willem Marx is a journalist based in London.
Copyright: NPR
