Failed gamble of Somali-Ethiopian pastoralists

"It’s stressful, I’m still trying to accept it," says 40-year-old Mohammed Noor. Like many Somali-Ethiopian pastoralists from Ethiopia’s Somali region, he travelled hundreds of kilometers to Somaliland’s coast following rumors of rain and fresh pastures there. But there wasn’t enough for the numbers that descended. Only 30 of Mohammed’s original 100 goats are left. One camel died, two survived.

Pastoralists are now returning to homes in Ethiopia, a tortuous crawl through Somaliland’s barren Awdal region. Weakened livestock struggled to continue their journey. Some animals collapsed from exhaustion, while others, like these ones, died of hypothermia when the rains finally arrived, cruelly late. Drought has killed more than half a million animals in the region.

70-year-old Abdulahi Amir once owned three camels; now only one emaciated beast remains. "We’re stuck here, my sick camel can’t carry anything," Abdulahi said amid his possessions strewn on the arid ground. Abdulahi is accompanied by four family members; five others remained in Ethiopia’s Siti zone. "We will wait," he said when asked about his future plans.

It takes this family less than five minutes to load their camel with all their possessions: sacks of grains and pulses, yellow jerry cans, bottles of cooking oil and bits of fabric and plastic which can be draped over sticks to make rough bivouacs. After a final check of the ropes to see that everything is secure, the family sets off re-joining the trek southwards to Ethiopia.

A pastoralist has a reflective moment with a kid goat. Borders between Ethiopia, Somaliland and Djibouti have little significance for ethnic Somali pastoralists in the Horn of Africa. Living off the land, they roam where they need to, searching for water and pastures for their precious livestock that provides them with everything they need. A herd represents the savings of a lifetime.

Herds of livestock are driven south through Somaliland’s Awdal region towards Ethiopia. The Somaliland coast is now dotted with the mass graves of animals. Some pastoralists lost as many as 500 livestock, their entire way of life wiped out. Remaining livestock are so weak they can’t travel far each day, increasing journey times, exposure and the chance of further losses. It is a vicious circle.

Living in such tough conditions, everyone in a pastoralist family has an important role to play. Young boys carry axes (child-size, admittedly) so they can help chop and collect firewood once the day’s trekking is complete and the family sets up camp.

Somaliland-based pastoralists have also been hit hard by the drought. Many have responded by turning to agro-pastoralism, settling in one place and building permanent bivouac structures. Baderi Adam stands outside his home with some of his children in Magaalo Xayd village, in Gabiley region, east of Awdal. Twenty years ago his family roamed the land, but not anymore.

"There are still some extremely successful pastoralists, as you have a huge livestock trade through Djibouti, but the poorer ones are losing animals through drought and becoming destitute," says John Graham, Ethiopia country director for Save the Children. "So the important question is how to provide them, and especially their young people, with alternative employment."

How do pastoralists survive such an inhospitable terrain? And who is responsible for them as they cross borders from country to another? "Governments in the region need to talk more to each other about this," says Abdirashid Haji, country director for the Somali region with the charity Concern Worldwide.