The 'Forgotten' Camps Where Syria War Displaced Languish

Girls stand next to a tent at the Al-Yunani makeshift camp in Syria's northern province of Raqa
Girls stand next to a tent at the Al-Yunani makeshift camp in Syria's northern province of Raqa
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The 'Forgotten' Camps Where Syria War Displaced Languish

Girls stand next to a tent at the Al-Yunani makeshift camp in Syria's northern province of Raqa
Girls stand next to a tent at the Al-Yunani makeshift camp in Syria's northern province of Raqa

Thousands of people displaced by 12 years of war are stuck in squalid, unofficial camps in Syria's Kurdish-held northeast, languishing in extreme poverty and largely cut off from international assistance.

"We've been completely forgotten," said Rahma al-Hammud, 33, standing at her tent -- a shoddy patchwork of worn-out fabric, tarp and old fertiliser bags crudely sewn together.

"Our children get sick over and over again. They get fever, diarrhoea and vomiting," said the widowed mother of four, AFP reported.

She lives in the Al-Yunani camp in the northern province of Raqa, where ISIS group had set up its de facto capital before its defeat in 2017 by US-backed Kurdish-led fighters.

Located near the Euphrates River, it is one of many informal camps inside Syria for people displaced by the conflict.

Women can be seen carrying heavy buckets of water from communal tanks in heat that can exceed 40 degrees Celsius (104 Fahrenheit), while children in filthy clothes and bare feet play in the dirt.

Sheikhmous Ahmed, an official in the semi-autonomous Kurdish administration, said tens of thousands of people live in dozens of informal camps in north and northeast Syria.

Only 16 camps, housing around 150,000 people, are formally recognized and have access to international aid, including Al-Hol and Roj, which host suspected relatives of ISIS militants, he said.

While living and hygiene conditions can be dire even in official displacement camps, the situation in informal settlements is sometimes worse, with no semblance of organization and little or no humanitarian assistance.

Tanya Evans of the International Rescue Committee said such informal camps "can be considered the 'forgotten camps' of Syria".

"Increased attention, funding, and sustained efforts by the international community are crucial" to ensuring such camps "receive the assistance they desperately need", she told AFP in a statement.

Hammud, who is displaced from elsewhere in Raqa province, said aid was "scarce" and that international organizations "do not recognize" the Al-Yunani camp.

"Even if they helped us every two or three months, people would have" better lives, said Hammud, a day labourer in the agriculture sector.

Three of her children also work in an industrial area nearby to help make ends meet.

Syria's war has killed more than half a million people and displaced millions since it broke out in 2011 with the regime's repression of peaceful protests.

It spiralled into a deadly conflict that pulled in foreign powers and global militants.

According to Sheikhmous Ahmed, Kurdish authorities are working "on a plan to transfer residents from informal to formal camps" in a bid to improve their living conditions.

If this were to come true it could improve the life of residents of Sahlat al-Banat, a makeshift camp which sits next to a landfill on the outskirts of Raqa city.

Residents spend their days scavenging the rubbish tip for anything of value, such as scrap metal and bits of plastic, which they hope to sell. It is their main source of income.

"The situation in the camp is tragic," said 30-year-old mother Shakura Mohammed, who was displaced from nearby Deir Ezzor province.

"People search through the rubbish for things they can sell in order to buy bread and earn a living," she said.

"No aid comes to the camp," she added.

According to a report by the United Nations humanitarian agency OCHA, 79 percent of settlements in Raqa province are informal.

A UN cross-border mechanism allowing aid to enter northeast Syria from neighbouring Iraq was halted in early 2020 after pressure from regime ally Russia at the UN Security Council, worsening conditions for those in need.

Umm Rakan, who lives at Sahlat al-Banat, said she had given up on the idea that things would improve.

"We no longer count on anyone's help. We lost hope years ago," said the woman in her 40s, who was also displaced from Deir Ezzor.

"We are destined to live trapped in this hell forever."



Morocco Mobile Desalination Units Quench Remote Areas' Thirst

Since 2023, Morocco has built some 44 of these desalination stations, also called "monobloc" -- compact, transportable units © - / AFP
Since 2023, Morocco has built some 44 of these desalination stations, also called "monobloc" -- compact, transportable units © - / AFP
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Morocco Mobile Desalination Units Quench Remote Areas' Thirst

Since 2023, Morocco has built some 44 of these desalination stations, also called "monobloc" -- compact, transportable units © - / AFP
Since 2023, Morocco has built some 44 of these desalination stations, also called "monobloc" -- compact, transportable units © - / AFP

In the small fishing village of Beddouza in western Morocco, locals have turned to the Atlantic to quench their thirst, using mobile desalination stations to combat the kingdom's persistent drought.

Since 2023, Morocco has built some 44 of these desalination stations, also called "monobloc" -- compact, transportable units that have come as a boon against the increasingly tangible effects of climate change.

The potable water is distributed with tanker trucks to remote areas in the country, currently grappling with its worst drought in nearly 40 years.

"We heard about desalinated water in other villages, but we never expected to have it here," said Karim, a 27-year-old fisherman who did not give his last name, gathered among dozens with jerrycans to collect his share of water.

Hassan Kheir, 74, another villager, described the mobile stations as a godsend, as groundwater in the region "has dried up".

Some 45,000 people now have access to drinking water directly from the ocean in Beddouza, about 180 kilometres (112 miles) northwest of Marrakesh, as a result of three monobloc desalination stations.

These units can potentially cover a radius of up to 180 kilometres, according to Yassine Maliari, an official in charge of local water distribution.

With nearly depleted dams and bone-dry water tables, some three million people in rural Morocco urgently need drinking water, according to official figures, and the kingdom has promised to build 219 more desalination stations.

Monobloc stations can produce up to 3,600 cubic metres of drinking water per day and are "the best possible solution" given the ease of distributing them, said Maliari.

For cities with greater needs, like Casablanca, larger desalination plants are also under construction, adding to 12 existing national plants with a total capacity of nearly 180 million cubic metres of drinking water per year.

By 2040, Morocco is poised to face "extremely high" water stress, a dire prediction from the World Resources Institute, a non-profit research organisation.

With coasts on both the Mediterranean Sea and the Atlantic Ocean, the North African country has banked on desalination for water security.

In Beddouza, the population is relatively better off than those in remote areas further inland.

About 200 kilometres east, in Al-Massira, the country's second-largest dam has nearly dried up.

The dam has filled up to an alarmingly meagre 0.4 percent, compared to 75 percent in 2017, Abdelghani Ait Bahssou, a desalination plant manager in the coastal city of Safi, told AFP.

The country's overall dam fill rates currently average 28 percent but are feared to shrink by 2050 as drought is expected to persist, according to the agriculture ministry.

Over that same period, official figures project an 11-percent drop in rainfall and a rise in temperatures of 1.3 degrees Celsius.

As the country grapples with the increasingly volatile effects of climate change, King Mohammed VI has pledged that desalination will provide more than 1.7 billion cubic metres per year and cover more than half of the country's drinking water needs by 2030.

The lack of water also threatens Morocco's vital agriculture sector, which employs around a third of the working-age population and accounts for 14 percent of exports.

Cultivated areas across the kingdom are expected to shrink to 2.5 million hectares in 2024 compared with 3.7 million last year, according to official figures.

In 2023, 25 percent of desalinated water was alloted to agriculture, which consumes more than 80 percent of the country's water resources.

Against this backdrop, authorities in Safi were in a "race against time" to build a regular desalination plant which now serves all of its 400,000 residents, said Bahssou.

The plant is set to be expanded to also provide water by 2026 for Marrakesh and its 1.4 million residents, some 150 kilometres east of Safi, Bahssou added.