Ethiopia’s Refugee Crisis

There are children everywhere at the Um Rakuba refugee camp in eastern Sudan. Daniel Yemane, 12, is one of them. He fled the Tigray region of Ethiopia after getting separated from his family in the violence that recently erupted there. He crossed the border into Sudan alone.

On his way to the border, Daniel saw the bodies of dead people.

“With my own eyes,” he says, pointing to his eyes. “If things go the way they are, I will never go back.”

Daniel says he longs to see his two younger sisters, play and watch soccer with his friends, and return to school.

“I miss home,” he says.

Daniel is part of a wave of Ethiopians who have fled the northern region of Tigray since fighting broke out there in November. More than 61,000 Ethiopians have fled their country, and more than 20,000 of those refugees are at the Um Rakuba camp. Almost a third of the Ethiopian refugees are children, including hundreds who, like Daniel, are unaccompanied, according to the United Nations refugee agency.

They’re fleeing a conflict that began when Ethiopian Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed launched a military offensive in the Tigray region. Abiy accused Tigray’s regional leaders of attacking a government defense post and trying to steal military equipment. But even before that, a long-simmering feud between the federal government and the leaders of the Tigray region had been barreling toward conflict for months.

There are children everywhere at the Um Rakuba refugee camp in eastern Sudan. Daniel Yemane, 12, is one of them. His family had lived in the Tigray region of Ethiopia. After violence recently erupted there, he got separated from them. He fled the region, crossing the border into Sudan alone.

On his way to the border, Daniel saw the bodies of dead people.

“With my own eyes,” he says, pointing to his eyes. “If things go the way they are, I will never go back.”

Daniel says he longs to see his two younger sisters, play and watch soccer with his friends, and return to school.

“I miss home,” he says.

Daniel is part of a wave of Ethiopians who have fled the northern region of Tigray since fighting broke out there in November. More than 61,000 Ethiopians have fled their country, and more than 20,000 of those refugees are at the Um Rakuba camp. Almost a third of the Ethiopian refugees are children. Like Daniel, hundreds of them are unaccompanied, according to the United Nations refugee agency.

They’re fleeing a bloody conflict. It began when Ethiopian Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed launched a military attack in the Tigray region. Abiy accused Tigray’s regional leaders of attacking a government defense post and trying to steal military equipment. But the feud between the federal government and the leaders of the Tigray region had existed long before that. Things between the two forces had been heading toward conflict for months.

The violence has killed countless civilians and precipitated a humanitarian and geopolitical crisis that threatens to destabilize not just Ethiopia but also the entire East Africa region.

The conflict is essentially a political one between the current government and the group that was defeated in 2018 elections. But because political parties in Ethiopia are based on ethnic identity, there’s an ethnic component to it as well. For most of the past three decades, Tigrayans, an ethnic group that makes up just 7 percent of the population, controlled Ethiopia’s government. During that time, the country became an oasis of stability in a turbulent region. But the Tigrayans in power also repressed all political opposition, which led to broad dissatisfaction.

In 2018, Abiy, a young reformer from an opposing party, became prime minister, and he moved quickly to sideline the Tigrayans who had long held power. Tensions have been brewing ever since.

The violence has killed countless civilians, causing a humanitarian and geopolitical crisis. The growing crisis poses a threat to the stability of Ethiopia and the entire East Africa region.

The conflict is essentially a political one. The current government is fighting against the group it defeated in 2018 elections. But political parties in Ethiopia are based on ethnic identity. That’s why the conflict also has an ethnic component. Tigrayans, one of the country’s ethnic groups, make up just 7 percent of the population. For most of the past three decades, they controlled Ethiopia’s government. During that time, the country became an oasis of stability in a turbulent region. But the Tigrayans in power also stifled all political opposition. That suppression led to broad dissatisfaction.

In 2018, Abiy, a young reformer from an opposing party, became prime minister. Soon after taking office, he moved quickly to sideline the Tigrayans who had long held power. Tensions have been brewing ever since.

Violence in Tigray continues, and some 2.3 million children in Tigray don’t have access to humanitarian assistance, according to UNICEF, the U.N. agency for children. Many of the unaccompanied children say they were separated from their families as they bolted from their homes in the middle of the night, trekking for hours and days with nothing but the clothes on their backs to reach safety.

“It is quite heartbreaking,” says Filippo Grandi, the U.N. high commissioner for refugees. “I have hardly seen such a high level of people separated from their families, many children separated.”

At Um Rakuba camp, an arid bowl of land sandwiched between a few hills, a sense of permanence is already taking hold. Even as they dream of one day going back home, many refugees say they’re determined to establish a future—if delicate and uncertain—here.

The waves of refugees who have poured into Sudan describe hastily leaving their homes and harvests—and encountering violent militias and dead bodies along the way.

Prime Minister Abiy has declared the offensive over in Tigray. But there are still widespread reports of fighting and accounts of rights violations such as ethnic cleansing, sexual violence, and using starvation as a war tactic.

Many of the Tigrayans at Um Rakuba say that uncertainty, and the trauma of what they saw and experienced as they fled, will keep them from going home anytime soon.

Violence in Tigray continues. As a result, some 2.3 million children in Tigray don’t have access to humanitarian aid, according to UNICEF, the U.N. agency for children. Many of the unaccompanied children say they were separated from their families as they ran from their homes in the middle of the night. They had to trek for hours and days with nothing but the clothes on their backs to reach safety.

“It is quite heartbreaking,” says Filippo Grandi, the U.N. high commissioner for refugees. “I have hardly seen such a high level of people separated from their families, many children separated.”

At Um Rakuba camp, a dry stretch of land sandwiched between a few hills, things are already starting to feel permanent. Even as they dream of one day going back home, many refugees say they’re determined to establish a future. And many of them have started building a life there, even amid the uncertainty.

Waves of refugees have continued pouring into Sudan. Each of them describes being forced to leave their homes and harvests in a hurry. They also detail encountering violent militias and dead bodies along the way.

Prime Minister Abiy has declared the attack over in Tigray. But there are still widespread reports of fighting and accounts of rights violations such as ethnic cleansing, sexual violence, and using starvation as a war tactic.

Many of the Tigrayans at Um Rakuba say that uncertainty will keep them from going home anytime soon. And the trauma of what they saw and experienced as they fled is holding them back as well.

For many young refugees at Um Rakuba, their changed circumstances have also meant growing up too fast.

Ataklti Aregawi, 17, who is registered as an unaccompanied minor, goes around the camp each day selling plastic-wrapped cakes from a box hanging from his neck. With the small profit he makes, he’s able to purchase coffee and tea or even deep-fried doughnuts sprinkled with sugar.

Ataklti lived in Mai Kadra town in Tigray, where hundreds of people were reportedly killed in a massacre in early November. But after the war broke out, he fled, eventually heading for the Sudanese border.

“In our life, we have never seen bad actions like this,” he says of the war. “[Prime Minister] Abiy doesn’t like us. He doesn’t like us staying in Tigray.”

Ataklti puts on the demeanor of an adult when talking about his ordeal, broadening his shoulders, making his voice hoarse and smirking.

“I was not afraid,” he says when asked about making the difficult trip to Sudan. “I was not,” he insists, saying he was ready to defend himself from any harm. “One hundred percent.”

But when he bumped into friends from home at the refugee camp, he says, “I was sobbing.”

Many young refugees at Um Rakuba have had to grow up too fast because of their changed circumstances.

Ataklti Aregawi, 17, is registered as an unaccompanied minor. He goes around the camp each day selling plastic-wrapped cakes from a box hanging from his neck. He makes a small profit. It enables him to buy coffee and tea or even deep-fried doughnuts sprinkled with sugar.

Ataklti lived in Mai Kadra, a town in Tigray. Hundreds of people were reportedly killed there in a massacre in early November. But after the war broke out, he fled, eventually heading for the Sudanese border.

“In our life, we have never seen bad actions like this,” he says of the war. “[Prime Minister] Abiy doesn’t like us. He doesn’t like us staying in Tigray.”

Ataklti changes his mannerisms to be more adult-like when he talks about his ordeal. He broadens his shoulders, makes his voice hoarse, and smirks.

“I was not afraid,” he says when asked about making the difficult trip to Sudan. “I was not,” he insists, saying he was ready to defend himself from any harm. “One hundred percent.”

But when he bumped into friends from home at the refugee camp, he says, “I was sobbing.”

The sudden displacement has also been devastating for parents, such as Berhanu Kiros, 30, and his wife, Enkubahri Berhanu. Enkubahri, 24, was in the hospital in Humera, having just given birth to their first children, twins, when shelling of the town began. The couple fled, and Berhanu feared for his wife’s health, as she continued bleeding. After two days, they were separated as they fled again, and for days, each didn’t know if the other had survived.

“This was my first experience of war,” Berhanu says, talking about how the conflict coincided with the momentous time of becoming a father.

“We came from a nation of dignity and pride, and now we are here, begging with our children,” he says. “The country has collapsed. It’s heartbreaking.”

The Norwegian Refugee Council has set up makeshift classrooms for refugee children. Here, refugee teachers instruct hundreds of students in morning and afternoon shifts, tutoring them in math, science, and languages.

“I want to know ABC so that I can speak English,” Azeb Gebrekristos, 7, says through an interpreter.

On a recent evening, 17-year-old Ataklti says he’s had a successful day and is about to sell the last of his cakes. But more than anything, he longs for the familiar streets where he grew up in Ethiopia.

“I wish I could go back,” he says, eyes downcast. “I miss home.”

The sudden displacement has also been devastating for parents, such as Berhanu Kiros, 30, and his wife, Enkubahri Berhanu. Enkubahri, 24, was in the hospital in Humera. She had just given birth to their first children, twins, when gunfire in the town began. The couple fled. Berhanu feared for his wife’s health, as she continued bleeding. After two days, they were separated as they fled again. For days, each didn’t know if the other had survived.

“This was my first experience of war,” Berhanu says, talking about how the conflict happened at the same time he was becoming a father.

“We came from a nation of dignity and pride, and now we are here, begging with our children,” he says. “The country has collapsed. It’s heartbreaking.”

The Norwegian Refugee Council has set up makeshift classrooms for refugee children. Here, refugee teachers instruct hundreds of students in morning and afternoon shifts. The children receive tutoring in math, science, and languages.

“I want to know ABC so that I can speak English,” Azeb Gebrekristos, 7, says through an interpreter.

On a recent evening, 17-year-old Ataklti says he’s had a successful day and is about to sell the last of his cakes. But more than anything, he longs for the familiar streets where he grew up in Ethiopia.

“I wish I could go back,” he says, looking down. “I miss home.”

Abdi Latif Dahir covers East Africa for The New York Times.

Abdi Latif Dahir covers East Africa for The New York Times.