As the world follows the escapades of the country's pirates, civilians are fleeing the anarchy on land, creating the world's biggest refugee camp.


The lucky ones come with their families, others appear out of the thorn bushes,  walking alone. Five hundred Somalis are now arriving at this bleak Kenyan outpost  every day. They join a population of 267,000 and counting, in a facility built to  shelter just 45,000. While the world has been captivated by the high seas drama of  Somalia's pirates, this human tide has swollen the ranks of Dadaab, turning it into  the world's largest refugee camp.

A farmer from a village close to the coastal city of Kismayo, Mr Bare found his life  taken over by the emergence of the powerful Al-Shabaab militia. The breaking point,  which sent him trekking for two nights across a sealed border to another country,  came when the militants began to dig up the remains of religious leaders from Islamic sects they considered their rivals. "The way they rule I cannot live under them," he said.

Amina, 22, was not one of the lucky ones. She was separated from her family and has  arrived alone from Kismayo. During her fortnight's journey to reach Dadaab she was  badly beaten twice, once by militiamen and once by Ethiopian soldiers. She says: "I'm a woman, I'm vulnerable and there's no government to protect me."

By midday at the UNHCR's registration office at Dagahaley camp, a state of organised  chaos prevails. Lines of worn and exhausted people queue in all directions; young  children howl as they are given basic vaccinations. The prize on offer is a ration  card. Outside the high fence faces and fingers push against the wire, some desperate,  some curious. "Some people will have to come back tomorrow," Andy Needham from UNHCR  explains. Registration means access to basic food and a rudimentary kit to build a  shelter. There is no more land to give so people must find relatives or friends  already inside the swollen camps to accommodate them.

After a week in which the first attempted hijack of a US ship off the coast of  Somalia propelled the troubled nation to the top of the news agenda, it is the image  of a shoeless young Somali, armed with a rocket launcher and shielded by a foreign  hostage, that has remained with much of the world. In fact, the hundreds of thousands  of Somalis in Dadaab are as much victims of those pirate gangs as the foreign sailors  captured in the Gulf of Aden. Food supplies to the camps were delayed by this week's  surge of hijackings and the refugees' rations have been cut by one third. A recent  report on Dadaab by Oxfam described conditions as "conducive to a public health  emergency".

The outlines of that are clearest at the N-0 encampment which lies on the fringe of  the Ifo facility. It is known to regular visitors as the "end of the world". There  are no buildings here, just white UNHCR tents and balloon-shaped shelters that  refugees have built from sticks and bits of plastic. Everything has been blasted by  red dust and nothing grows here but the ragged, thorned acacia trees. The shelters  are packed so tightly together there is barely room to walk between them. A fire here would have no natural barriers and the consequences would be devastating. Yet each  night hundreds of families cook on open hearths, there is no other choice.



This is just one of the nightmares that is haunting David Kangethe, a programme  manager for Care International, the agency struggling to deliver basic services like water, sanitation and rubbish collection.

"Refugees are building everywhere. This place is a matchbox, if you lit it up it  would just burn," Mr Kangethe sighs. There are chronic water shortages, sanitation  facilities are overwhelmed and diseases like cholera are rife. The need for new land  is acute but so far the Kenyan government has dragged its feet, citing complaints  from the local community that they are being overwhelmed by the number of refugees.  Some 70,000 people live in the surrounding area, mainly animal herders who fear the  loss of grazing land and scrub forest.

What is needed, according to aid workers, are three to four new camps but  negotiations with Nairobi have remained deadlocked. UNHCR has looked at what it would  cost to give people the basic minimum living standard. The answer is $92m and an  urgent appeal has been issued. The response has been a near-deafening silence. The UK  offered £2m in new money last week. Similar small pledges are trickling in but  observers believe donors are waiting for a major crisis to break out before taking  real action. That may happen very soon.

"If the numbers continue to increase we're headed for a crisis," says Mr Kangethe of  Care. In the meantime anti-piracy efforts will continue to dominate thinking in  regard to the Somalia situation. Gerry Simpson from the New York-based Human Rights  Watch says the equation is simple: "When commercial interests are at stake there's  money. When it's women and children there is not."

Survivors' stories

Ahmad Abdullahi Hussein

I was part of a militia that was fighting against al-Shabaab. We had to fight them.  At night I was attacked in my home. I managed to go from the window. Later I found my  wife was killed and only my two children Anisa and Abdulmalik were alive. The others  were dead. I couldn't do anything. No-one can do anything against them.

I brought my children here to find my mother. She is in Hagadera camp, I want to be  reunited with her. The children have no mother, they need mine.

Habib Waleda

In Mogadishu bombs were coming down from the sky and hitting houses. When the mortar  hit my house we all just ran away. We were separated. I had nine children. Now I  don't know where my husband is or where eight of my children are. I looked for them  in Mogadishu but they don't have a telephone. It's impossible to find them. I found a  taxi and I offered to give him the small money I had. I gave him $150 and I told him  I didn't have any more money. He brought me near to the border. I don't know where  they are. All I have is to hope they are coming.

Mohamed Ali

I am 70 years old. I fled from a town called Barra. I have lost my wife and my two  children. I think they have gone to Bosasso, but I have not seen them for a year. I  had to walk for 15 days through the desert. It was hard for me to walk because I am  blind.

I had to stop and ask people for a little food along the way. Even if I go out and walk on the streets now a member of my family could walk by me and I would not see  them. I have to hope that they will see me.


The Independent

Photos by Andreas Lascaris, taken from forthcoming documentary 'Stolen Seas: The untold story of Somali pirates'. More info at Thymayapayne.com