The forgotten refugees
Emma Parsons
Djibouti One of the poorest countries in the world and only two years independent from France, Djibouti faces a series of seemingly insurmountable problems. This youngest African nation, a dot on the map sandwiched between Somalia and Ethiopia on the 'Red Sea, devoid of all natural resources and dependent almost entirely on foreign aid, can scarcely look after its own people, let alone the thousands of refugees that have been pouring over its borders sine the summer of 1977.
The Ogaden war between Somalia and Ethiopia, the emergence Of an oppressive regime in Ethiopia after the overthrow of Haile Selassie and the continuing strife in Eritrea, have caused such a massive influx of people into neighbouring Djibouti that 10 per cent of its estimated 300,000 inhabitants are now refugees. With over half of the population unemployed and all its food imported and selling at inflated prices, this I 0 per cent is not just a paper figure, ii is a human tragedy and a major burden on the already struggling economy.
The government of President Hassan Ghouled Aptidon, with considerable help from the United Nations High Commission for Refugees (UNHCR), US aid and other foreign donors, is coping as best it can, but with the majority of the local people living below subsistence level, any aid programmes must cater for the needs of the locals as well as the refugees, if a serious political crisis is to he avoided. Most of the Ogaden refugees, like the majority of Djiboutians, are ethnically Somalian. They share the same language and religion (Islam) as well as a tradition of pastoral nomadism. Between 10,000 and 20,000 Ogaden refugees have been taken in by Djibouti relatives and friends. Although this adds to the unemployment problem, it does not cause any ethnic or cultural disturbance. Another 10,000 are 'housed' in two camps in the arid provinces of Ali Sabieh and Dikhil, where they live in dwellings made from scavenged metal, cardboard and the remains of tents supplied by Britain and Germany that soon disintegrate in the intense heat and humidity.
Several simple and sensible projects are planned, covering both locals and refugees, such as vocational training centres, development of the largely unexploited fishing industry, and the planting of a sturdy self-perpetuating grass, that has proved successful in other desert areas, to encourage the largely nomadic population to increase livestock production.
A pilot agricultural project is already under way. Two dozen families, half local, half refugee, have been given ten acres of desert and access to water which they will cultivate on a cooperative system. After one year it should be evident if the project is viable or not.
But one group of about 3,000 refugees does not have the advantage of similar ethnic roots. These arc the mainly leftwing students from Ethiopia who, after helping overthrow Haile Selassie, quickly became disillusioned by the new communist regime under Colonel Mengistu, which they describe as a 'fascist reign of terror'. This group of young people, mostly aged between 17 and 25, have been crossing into Djibouti, after walking for up to 15 days, since 1976. They, thought Djibouti would be a staging post on their way to the West, the Middle East, or Englishspeaking African countries, where they hoped to finish their education or find skilled work, Few have made it. Instead they live in the sprawling area of Djibouti known as the `Quartier', where Europeans are advised not to go. Here you see row upon row of corrugated iron and cardboard homes, divided by dusty streets where goats graze on litter and cigaretteends. With their higher level of education and urban background they are reluctant to settle in the camps and, although they have to beg for food and water in the town, prefer this to the hinterland, where they might lose touch with the educated world they long to reach.
As these refugees can never be integrated, the Djibouti government fears that one day they might cause political problems and would like to see them leave. The government, and the refugees themselves, know that the present Ethiopian regime has attempted, largely unsuccessfully, to infiltrate them. Priority for the few jobs available must rightly go to the locals and, knowing English but not French, these refugees are less employable than their education would suggest, in spite of the serious shortage of Djibouti administrators. In 115 years of French presence only 18 university graduates were produced. The only hope for these men and women is either in educational institutions in the West or, as some have already done, finding jobs in countries short of skilled labour and rich enough to recruit from abroad, such as Saudi Arabia and the Gulf states, Many of the Ethiopian refugees are Muslim, which helps, but most of them still need vocational training. Their tribal divisions, suspicious nature, and the fact that they are scattered over the Ouartier means that they have little collective organisation. Attempts by the UNH CR to organise the election of a committee failed although, within the small street communes they have formed, any money earned or begged is shared, at least as far as basic food and water are concerned. The women, fewer than the men, live in separate communes and find it easier to support themselves. Although students or graduates, they can get jobs as maids with foreign families, or some put their natural good looks to use by hanging around in the many bars in the fashionable areas of town, coaxing money and drinks from the hundreds of foreign legionnaires who flock in each evening. The atmosphere in these bars, where the slim black girls, outnumbering the men, dance to the sound coming from shoddy juke boxes, accompanied by the heat and the noise of fans, with the legionnaires slumped at the bar in immaculate uniforms, their white kepis removed from their shaven heads, can hardly have Changed since Evelyn Waugh visited bjibouti in 1931.
Djibouti is still marked by the decaying grandeur of its architecture, the pleasant Wide streets, still with names like Rue de Paris, the excellent French restaurants (although with prices double those of rance) and the romantic colonnaded cafes, where a pound just buys a beer. In the main square, hawkers of ivory necklaces, carved heads, plastic shoes and ouvenir T-shirts pester any passer-by or, if they can escape the gaze of the men specially employed to keep them away, Will move into the tables and flourish underwear and sharks' teeth before the customers. But, lying behind these romantic, colonial streets and squares, there exists ' the maze of depressed streets, where even the mosques are made out of corrugated iron, where locals and refugees live side by side without sanitation or running water, and basic food is an expensive commodity. The government is trying to help these people, and spends any aid on essentials such as housing and health, but faced with the refugee problem — over 200 are coming in per month — and the poor colonial legacy, the prospects look bleak indeed.
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