Ethical Development Action

International Development and Food Policy Student, Mirjam Hirzel, carried out her work experience in the Saharawi refugee camps. She has written an article detailing the conflict entitled 'Divided by the Wall of Shame'.

Divided by the Wall of Shame

By Mirjam Hirzel, International Development and Food Policy Student, UCC

The ‘Wall of Shame’ refers to the 1600 mile long Moroccan-constructed sand berm that divides the disputed territory of Western Sahara into the part controlled by Morocco, the occupying power, on the West and the fragment controlled by the POLISARIO, the liberation movement representing Western Sahara, on the East. The ‘Wall of Shame’ is what it is called by the people whose land it divides, the Saharawi.
It was built during the 16 year conflict between the POLISARIO Front and Morocco which arose when in 1975, Spain, Western Sahara’s former colonial power, Morocco and Mauritania signed the Madrid Accords. This was a treaty that ‘authorized’ the annexation of the territory of Western Sahara by the two African nations; a treaty that was endorsed regardless of a ruling of the International Court of Justice confirming the Saharawi’s right to self-determination.
A UN-backed ceasefire was agreed upon in 1991, but the conflict remains unresolved and Western Sahara continues as Africa’s last colony. The humanitarian consequences of the war persist: moving eastwards away from the berm and across the Algerian border, one arrives at refugee camps located in the Hamada, an area in the Sahara known to be amongst the harshest on earth. Currently, and for the past 33 years, these camps have been the ‘home’ of an estimated 165,000 Saharawi refugees.
The word ‘refugee camp’ immediately conjures up images of a temporary settlement, yet the Saharawi exile has been a reality for more than 30 years. I have spent six months in the camps, having returned after a short visit in January to carry out my university work placement with the National Union of Saharawi Women. Being there and witnessing their exile has taught me of the significance of good governance, the uncertainty of food insecurity, the restriction of water shortages, the value of accessible health services, the priority of education, the reality of poverty, and the consequences of conflict...
Even though the United Nations declares Western Sahara as one of the last remaining non-self-governing territories, there has been great ambition to create political and administrative autonomy: in 1976, POLISARIO proclaimed a government-in-exile known as the Saharawi Arab Democratic Republic (SADR). Governance and administration of the camps, both decentralised and extremely well structured, are carried out with little or no interference on the part of Algeria.
While a certain political autonomy has been achieved, this is quite the opposite in relation to basic human needs, the satisfying of which heavily relies on international humanitarian assistance. Of particular concern is the dependence on food aid which has created extreme vulnerability: ‘The people here have absolutely no idea how much of what type of food will arrive. What is important to them is that food arrives, no matter if less than needed is delivered’, explained Nasra Salek, the coordinator of food distribution in the ‘27th February’ Camp. In order to compensate for the frequent changes in supply and irregularities in delivery, the refugees are often forced to buy supplies with the little resources they have or to acquire food by relying on the support network of their families and neighbours, a support network that itself is also at risk.
The basic food items, lentils, rice, flour, sugar and oil, are supplied through the World Food Programme; and often the deliveries are limited to these. The combination of this lack of variety of food with frequent food shortages has serious consequences for the health and well being of the refugee community. A successful community-based initiative had been launched two years ago involving the construction of 1220 family gardens for the local production of much needed fruit and vegetables. However, because the programme depended on financial assistance from UNICEF it was brought to a halt when UNICEF made the decision to cut the funding, causing not only the loss of this year’s summer season but the collapse of a key initiative in reducing uncertainty and vulnerability within the camps.
Accessing water too comes with its difficulties, which in 50 degrees heat is not an easy risk to bear. While treatable and potable water can be sourced within close proximity of the camps, the lack of a piping system makes families dependant on water being delivered to their homes. These deliveries too are irregular and I often came across households without water.
The health system has been built on prevention and access to health services is emphasised, with dispensaries and hospitals located within each camp. If necessary, medical care abroad can be arranged. The clinics and hospitals are all staffed by qualified and well trained Saharawi, assisted occasionally by outside specialists. It seems a well established and thorough system. Its vulnerability lies in the frequent lack of medication, the availability of which is dependent on aid delivery. I was invited to visit the central storage facility for pharmaceuticals and the majority of the shelves were empty; often patients are brought to the hospital, and after a successful consultation turned away, without treatment, without medication.
Education has been prioritised in the camps since their initial establishment, through a system that has proved its potential by raising literacy rates from 10% to 95%. Primary education is facilitated within each camp neighbourhood. Again, access is not a problem. However, having spoken with many teachers, I was often told that they rely on one book to teach a class of many. Nevertheless, student progression to secondary level has measured a good rate and is made possible by a boarding school in the camps, ‘12th October’, as well as by invitations to study abroad in Algeria, Libya or Cuba. These host nations cater for up to tertiary level education for many of the students. In spite of high qualifications, however, employment opportunities remain limited by the reality of the refugee camp setting.
Their homes are either tents or mud-brick houses, to us probably an unacceptable standard of shelter. Belongings are limited. It comes down to the haves and have-nots. Have-nots are plenty, the Saharawi fit well into the definition of poverty. The haves? Well, they too define richness if the goodness of their hearts is counted.
Their pain has not made them bitter, yet they are suffering. Having gotten to know many of the refugee families I have learned that most live divided. Yes, the Wall of Shame divides much more than just the territory of Western Sahara: I have met fathers who have not seen their daughters for thirty years, brothers who do not know their sisters.
The UN has established a programme called Confidence Building Measures (CBM), which facilitates the reunion of divided families by assisting the journey of a relative from the occupied territories to the camps or vice versa. I have often been told that even though appreciated, a 5-day reunion does not allow for much more than the saying of ‘hello’ in tears and the saying of ‘goodbye’ in tears.
Family X was ‘lucky’ enough to benefit from CBM, allowing one of the daughters to travel to the camps from the occupied territories. Preparations began two days in advance, a special tent was set up and guests were invited. I had the privilege of being one of them. When the UN car pulled up, the duality in the atmosphere was startling: in the midst of loud cheering and heavy banging on empty oil drums it seemed silent as the father embraced his daughter for the first time in thirty years. The celebration lasted many hours, a chance for people to exchange their news.
They invited me to their family home again the next day. This time there was no party, just a quiet evening with the family a part more complete. In Saharawi society, affection is not usually shown openly, making a hug all the more significant when it is given: the father let go of his daughter not for a second. The brother was somewhat shyer but extremely content. The daughter in shock. Often she had to be addressed loudly or even nudged in order for her to respond reluctantly. Her face showed the psychological distress of what she has experienced as a Saharawi in the occupied territories; it showed the effects of separation. Five days later the daughter departed, saying goodbye until an uncertain next encounter. This is not a consequence of war; this is war.
Whether it is activists subjugated to unlawful torture and imprisonment in occupied Western Sahara, nomads grazing their herds among 10 million landmines in the liberated territories or refugees surviving in the Hamada, separated from their families for more than 30 years, one is brought to question the effectiveness of the UN Declaration of Human Rights, how liberated the ‘liberated zone’ really is, the validity of the UN-backed ceasefire, the fact that the world is apparently paying attention.
It was a great privilege to experience Saharawi society and my time in the camps has taught me a great deal and on many different levels. It has allowed me to live a different way of life, one that comes with many challenges but also with qualities that are vital but forgotten in too many parts of the world. Most importantly, it has allowed me to experience what the Saharawi exile really means as I witnessed the tragedy of separation, the cost of dependence, the price of liberty and freedom, the essence of respect and dignity and the strength and resilience of a community with a common cause.