14 Years in a Refugee Camp: One Somali Man's Story

This article first appeared on the website of IRIN.

Having lived in a refugee camp in northeastern Kenya since he was 10 years old, Moulid Iftin Hujale, now 24, has struggled with his identity for most of his life. Hujale, a freelance writer for IRIN, wrote this article, based on his life, to illustrate the challenges of growing up as a refugee:

"I am embarrassed when I'm forced to introduce myself as 'a Somali refugee living in Kenya'. I am no longer in Somalia and yet I am not a Kenyan citizen; so where do I belong? Am I going to be a refugee for ever? I feel I am lost in between. But I believe in who I am.

"I was only 10 years old when we first arrived in Dadaab from Somalia in late 1997. My family did not flee when the civil war erupted in 1991. We didn't leave until our father died. The beautiful coastal town of Kismayo in which I was born turned into a battlefield. And there was no option but to escape. My siblings and I were separated from our mother in our struggle to escape the heartbreaking and indiscriminate civil violence.

"The journey was full of horror, exacerbated by ugly images that we came across, like families who were left along the road because they were too exhausted to go on. I still have bad memories about it.

"Our much anticipated destination was Dadaab, a refugee camp about 100km from the Somali border. Fortunately, after travelling the whole way with relatives, my siblings and I were reunited with our mother once we reached the camp. It was the most incredible reunion of my life.

“We registered with the UN Refugee Agency [UNHCR] when we finally arrived - a milestone for all refugees because the ration card it provided entitled us to food, shelter, water and healthcare.

“I truly honour the support they offered to all the refugees, specifically the Somali community, which makes up the largest refugee population in Kenya. There is nothing I can compare to Kenya's generosity for hosting us for more than two decades.

"But when we first arrived there, we didn't realize that the camp would unfortunately become our permanent home.”

A child in the camp

"I immediately enrolled in one of the few primary schools in Ifo, one of three camps that make up the Dadaab complex. I was put in Standard Two after passing an entry test. I had no books or paper to use.

“We younger pupils had class under the big tree right in front of the principal's office. Many were the days when we missed classes due to heavy rains that the tree did not shield us from. Since we couldn’t all fit in the classrooms, we were forced to stay away from school until the ground dried.

"All the lessons were in English, except for our courses in Kiswahili, as dictated by the Kenyan curriculum.

"Throughout my primary education, I rarely heard about my home country. Most of my history classes were about Kenya and when we learned about East Africa, Somalia was a side note. I can list all the different tribes of Kenya and explain the country's history and political system, but I know almost nothing about the people, history and politics of my native soil. We memorized the Kenyan national anthem. I forgot that of my motherland.”

Struggling to get a chance

"There was only one secondary school in Ifo camp and every pupil was struggling to get a spot in it. At the end of 2005, we did our final primary examination.

"After the results were released by the Kenya national examination council, UNHCR and its partners in Dadaab had to see how much funding was available and decide how many refugee pupils could be admitted to high school. It didn’t matter how many qualified candidates there were. Out of more than 800 pupils who sat for the exams, only 120 were selected from Ifo camp to continue their studies. I was among the lucky ones.