Access: Kakuma and Dadaab

There's little information available online for prospective researchers or journalists attempting to access Kakuma and Dadaab camps.  The best I found was an information packet published by the UNHCR in 2008. Access hinges on permission from Kenya's Department of Refugee Affairs (DRA), though it's not easy to get in touch with the DRA. The listed phone number is frequently disconnected. The website has been under construction for two years. Emails seem to get lost in cyber space.

Yet, those unaffiliated with the UNHCR or it's many partner NGO's have managed to navigate the approval process from the Commissioner at the DRA. I started by contacting a handful of these researchers and journalists--sending emails and phone calls and receiving a wide range of advice that reflects a wide range of experience:

"Basically you have to just camp out at the DRA--I came back every day for three days--and eventually they'll get to you."

 
"I was in and out in 45 minutes...I just showed them a letter from the university in Kenya that I'm affiliated with."

 
"I tried but basically bypassed the waiting game and just went--I had to fly below the radar a bit, but was there for three weeks and was fine."

My own experience further widens the range. I wound up calling the UNHCR sub-office in Dadaab camp and speaking with a community relations officer who put me in touch with Mr. Nyale (himself a community relations officer with the DRA). I sent him an email of inquiry regarding the process of securing a letter of permission and was thrilled to receive an email within twenty-minutes asking for a copy of my passport and a letter of intention that included my dates of travel. Upon doing so (immediately), I received still another email of confirmation, stating that the letter would be fast-tracked and ready within two days.

Cautiously optimistic, I arrived at the DRA three days later and met the one and only Mr. Nyale. Young, enthusiastic, and willing to accommodate my travel plans, we rearranged my dates to better facilitate my research. "You must be in Kakuma for World Refugee Day on June 20th," he said. "Here, let me push back just by a couple of days your trip to Dadaab so you can be sure to make the flight." "Come back tomorrow and I'll have a letter prepared and signed by the Commissioner," he said, concluding our meeting. "In fact, if you want you can even interview him too."

Conducting research, particularly research that requires interviews with overworked NGO staffers and permission to access populations at the margins requires a certain zen. Delays, complications, and long gaps in communication with contacts are more frequent than not. And often it happens that just when I've cast off hope of hearing from someone or gaining access somewhere, suddenly plans materialize. Those moments tend to require something different, that is a tenacious persistence and willingness to drop everything for an interview or event (and race across town via bus, foot, or tut-tut). The answer is always "yes" to the question "are you available now?" 

So when tomorrow came and Mr. Nyale called to say the letter was not yet prepared (though most certainly would be first thing the following day), I held my breadth. Sure enough, I received a call this morning. "Your letter is ready," Mr. Nyale said. "Can you come in now?" I flagged down the first motorbike taxi I saw and off we went.

Thanks to the time and insight shared by the researchers and journalists whom I contacted and Mr. Nyale (and the support and encouragement of many others who assured me it would work out when I was not particularly zen), I have the letter in hand.

I leave for Kakuma tomorrow where I'll be conducting research and reporting until June 23rd (and will travel to Dadaab on June 30th). Stay tuned!

A World Away

Ironic that to understand (in part) policies and programs for refugee education is to cull through hundreds of documents at the United Nations High Commission for Refugees (UNHCR) Headquarters in Geneva, Switzerland--a world away from the camps themselves. Everyday between 9am and 1pm I sit hunched over my computer in an alcove on the third floor and make digital copies of twenty-five years worth of policy briefs, technical mission reports, funding appeals, and position papers. The well-patterned routine (scan, turn page, scan, turn page) is occasionally interrupted by a particular title or passage that catches my eye. "Significant antitipcated shortfall in UNHCR budget constricts education funding in Dadaab," or "student to teacher ratio in Kakuma Camp 100 to 1."

These two camps, Dadaab and Kakuma, are the first and second largest refugee camps in the world. They are not so much camps as sprawling cities of approximately 500,000 and 100,000 persons respectively. Established in 1991 to shelter Somali and Sudanese refugees, the camp-cities are fixed features of the landscape. There are tents as far as the eye can see but there are also permanent structures--airstrips, tarmacked roads, hospitals, community centers, market places. And there are schools. I haven't seen any of this yet, but I will. Soon. Understanding refugee education begins in Geneva but carries on to Kenya in a days time.

Here's the situation in short. Refugee education is complicated, particularly in protracted situations (lasting 5 years or more). Challenges include who funds it, who manages it, what curriculum is taught and in what language. Then there is the challenge of determining what education is preparing refugees for.  Repatriation back to their home country? Local integration into their host country? Or resettlement to a third country? These are the three "durable solutions" to refugee situations that the UNHCR works towards on behalf of approximately 10.5 million refugees throughout the world. However, many "third" countries are significantly reducing their resettlement quotas and host countries are increasingly resistant to local integration and confine refugees to camps. Finally, as conflict is intractable in many refugees' countries of origin, the average stay in a camp is over seventeen years. Some stay for much longer; there are tens of thousands of "third generation" refugees born to parents who themselves were born in the camps.

Many of these challenges are reflected in the gaps and shortfalls of refugee education. In a 2011  review, UNHCR found that across 92 camps worldwide, 24 percent of primary school-aged children and sixty-four percent of secondary-school aged youth remain out of school. The average student to teacher ratio is 70 to 1. And education receives only 2 percent of all humanitarian aid funding. In Kakuma and Dadaab camps, these figures are worse.

In the coming weeks I will travel to Dadaab and Kakuma and talk with education officers, refugee students, teachers, parents, protection officers, and government officials. I'll ask them to tell their stories of changes and continuities to education policies and programs (and according to documents in Geneva there are several) as well as their lived experiences in (or out) of schools. My intent in doing so is to gather enough threads and traces to construct a history of education in Dadaab and Kakuma camps.

Many studies have described what is (or is not) happening with regards to refugee education in the months when the study is conducted.  However, an historical analysis of refugee education allows for explanation--to ask and answer not just "what" questions but "why" and "how" questions. Addressing persistent challenges to refugee education necessarily requires considering old problems in new ways. It's like driving forward with the help of the rear view mirror.

I'll be sharing updates from the field. Stay tuned!

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The Broken Chair, outside of the United Nations and just up the street from the UNHCR, is intended to serve as a reminder of the consequences of war and conflict (specifically cluster bombs and landmines) to politicians and tourists visiting Geneva.  

Photo from the Bain de Paquis on the Geneva waterfront. A world away...