At virtually every stage of the relief effort, food slips away from those who need it. An on-the-ground look at the chaos:
The struggle to deliver food begins at sea, along the aqua-blue waters of Somalia’s Indian Ocean coast. Violence has closed Mogadishu and Kismayu, the two main ports in the famine zone. A Mogadishu-bound cargo ship turned back after it was shelled near the breakwater two weeks ago, despite guarantees of safe passage from the two local warlords. The shelling came from the northern sector of the city, the domain of Ali Mahdi Mohamed and his Abgal subclan. Ali Mahdi, who considers himself the president of Somalia, told NEWSWEEK he was “very sorry” about the attack. Sitting on the second-story porch of his villa overlooking a patchwork of corroded metal roofs, Ali Mahdi said: “There were some irresponsible people behind it… It is true that within our territory there are gangs which are not under our control.”
Even when it is possible to get food to shore, relief agencies are hostage to their own protectors. Forced to hire gunmen to guard themselves and their supplies, workers face extortionate demands for money and food. It costs some $5,000 a day in protection payments to operate the Mogadishu port when it’s open. The cash goes to thugs who patrol the area in “technicals,” souped-up jeeps mounted with cannons or heavy-caliber machine guns. The racket, dominated by illiterate young men from the bush, is the city’s main form of business. Most of Somalia’s educated elite has fled the country. “The only thing we haven’t done is pay them to eat the food,” says Rhodri Wynn-Pope, team leader for the relief agency CARE. Last week the Red Cross bypassed the port by unloading a ship-laden with rice donated by French schoolchildren-onto smaller boats that delivered the food to shore north of the city. A second vessel was due to land its cargo in similar fashion to the south of Mogadishu.
Truck convoys to the interior over long, desolate roads are easy pickings for hijackers. Drivers hired by relief agencies often cut deals with merchants or gunmen and split off to drop their loads at private warehouses controlled by warring clans. Convoys crossing the Mogadishu “green line”-a no man’s land of pockmarked buildings, broken lampposts and limbless trees-sometimes come under fire. Medical supplies have been stolen, doctors and nurses threatened. Violence against relief agencies is commonplace. Last Thursday night the World Food Program residential compound was attacked by armed men. One of their guards was hit by six shots, but the assailants were driven off. With U.S. troops on the way, many gunmen are taking what they see as their last chance for looting and theft. CARE officials in Baidoa, at the heart of the starvation belt, were robbed of $16,000 at gunpoint last Friday night.
Airlifts would be equally problematic. An agency must pay $150 to $400 in landing fees at airfields in Mogadishu and inland towns such as Jalalaxi, Baidoa and Wajid for the privilege of providing relief The C-130 Hercules cargo planes can evade hijackers on the ground but are expensive to operate and are vulnerable to groundfire. Other planes avoid landings and drop their shipments-triple-bagged and tied to large pallets-over starving villages.
But these efforts can’t keep thousands of Somalis from overwhelming regional feeding centers. Some of the army of the dispossessed are nomads who have lost their herds. Others are farmers who have abandoned their land because they are too weak to work. When food finally arrives at Red Cross warehouses, it is still in danger of being stolen. Bags of grain can vanish even after they are distributed. To ensure that the vulnerable receive the meals they desperately need, a Somali woman working for the Red Cross developed the idea of “wet feeding” kitchens. Operating under the assumption that cooked food is less likely to be stolen, the food is prepared, distributed and eaten at the same location. There are now 800 such facilities, feeding an estimated 1.1 million people each day.
It is far from enough. And always, the threat of death from the armed gangs remains. “We are hostages,” says biologist Beshir Shiil, one of the few professionals who have remained. “They could kill us tonight, tomorrow or in two days. We are just looking for someone to give us some liberty.” That is no small task for liberators coming from a world away.
