The fire that destroyed the Moria refugee camp this week has exposed the conditions in which asylum seekers live

The other Moria

photo_camera AFP/TONY KARUMBA - Somali refugees walking in the new Ifo extension in the Dadaab refugee camp in Kenya

International attention has been focused these days on the more than 13,000 people living in that camp on the island of Lesbos who have been sleeping outdoors on roads for days while the Greek government improvises a new camp. But this attention is unusual. Many other refugee camps around the world, with hundreds of thousands of inhabitants, face difficult situations, especially in times of pandemic. They are "the other Moria", such as Dadaab (Kenya), Cox's Bazar (Bangladesh) and Zaatari (Jordan).

Dadaab, the African refuge

Ethiopian Bapwoch Omot Oman, 26, has hardly heard of the Moria fire but knows all about living in a refugee camp: since the age of 9 he knows no other world but Dadaab, home to over 200,000 people in eastern Kenya. He arrived after following in the footsteps of his mother and six siblings for weeks from the Gambella region of Ethiopia, where more than 400 members of his ethnic group (the Anuak) were killed by soldiers on 13 December 2003.

"Many people have lived in this camp for so long that they don't know any other place to call home," explains Bapwoch, who only in this arid compound, and often forgotten by the international community, has been able to go to school, follow the games of his beloved Chelsea and celebrate the wedding of his only sister. "If they closed it would be like destroying our future: we would not know what to do or where to go because we do not know anywhere else," he reflects on the ever-present threat that, like Moria, Dadaab will disappear.

At least since 2016, and most recently in February 2019, the Kenyan authorities have made several attempts to close this camp coordinated by the UN Refugee Agency (UNHCR), citing national security concerns and insufficient support from the international community. "I did not flee with my family from Ethiopia with the intention of being resettled or relocated to a third country, but in search of refuge: my mother was only looking for a place where we would not be killed," explains Bapwoch, who today considers it a privilege to have a roof over his head, running water and food to put in his mouth, even though he sometimes has to go to bed hungry. Seventeen years after his flight forward, he still thinks that "sooner or later" and "outside or inside" the imaginary, torrid walls of Dadaab, a better future awaits him.

Bangladesh campo de refugiados
Cox's Bazaar, the home of the Rohinnias

"Life in the camp is not easy," acknowledges Bashirul Islam, leader of the persecuted Rohinya minority from Burma who runs one of the refugee camps in Cox's Bazaar in southeast Bangladesh. These camps house some 738,000 members of this mainly Muslim ethnic group who fled from Burma amidst a wave of violence that the UN described as a possible genocide. Responsible for nearly 10,000 families in the same overcrowded camp, Islam acknowledges that the overall situation is safe, but the cramped shelters, restrictions on movement and virtual impossibility of earning money are a heavy burden.

Their most basic needs are met, with aid packages that include thirteen kilos of rice per person per month, plus oil and spices, but aid agencies and the government do not reach everything. The lack of electricity in the shelters exposes them to extreme temperatures combined with high humidity and leaves them in the dark as the sun goes down. Refugees are unable to work outside the camps and very sporadically get some cleaning work, for which they receive about $4. Islam has survived by selling some gold jewellery brought in from Burma. "I can still provide for my family's needs, but I don't know for how much longer. That's why I want to go back to Burma as soon as possible.

The repatriation process between Bangladesh and Burma has so far failed after several attempts, mainly due to the lack of Rohinna volunteers to return to their home country in the face of poor security guarantees from the Burmese authorities, who do not recognise their citizenship and impose many restrictions on them. Saad Hammadi, Amnesty International's South Asia activist, says that Bangladesh should give the Rohinna people the tools to assert their rights. "A clear policy that establishes their participation in decisions that affect them is a step forward," he says.

Jordania campo de refugiados
Zaatari, the great camp of the Middle East

The Zaatari refugee camp, built in 2012 85 kilometres north-east of Amman near the Syrian border, is the largest in the Middle East. It is currently home to some 80,000 Syrians who fled their country's war, although as many as 150,000 have taken up residence there. The pandemic has been kept under control thanks to the measures deployed by different international agencies and the awareness of residents, says UNICEF's head of communication for the region, Juliette Touma.

The most worrying thing, however, is "that not all basic services are available". "UNHCR gives food stamps, but we have to cover other expenses. I have a 20-year-old daughter who needs clothes and other items," says Shahira Al Hariri, who has arrived from Syria's Daraa province. Another refugee, Hasan Bassam, explains that, for those who do not work outside, "life in Zaatari is not good. "The assistance does not even cover items such as sugar, rice, eggs and milk for children," he says.

All other aspects work to a minimum: "We receive electricity 12 hours a day and water once a week to fill our two-cubic-metre tank. The government estimates the number of Syrians in Jordan at 1.3 million, but the UNHCR says only 658,000 are registered. The agency's spokesman in Amman, Mohammad Hawari, stresses that the pandemic has worsened conditions for the refugees. "Forty-three percent of them lost their jobs," which "caused them to accumulate debts and affected their ability to pay for health, education, electricity and water.

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