Observations on Ethiopia

The region of eastern Ethiopia known as Somali had been suffering a serious drought, but the rains have arrived just in time to avert a humanitarian catastrophe. Food aid, however, is still being handed out; what does this achieve in an area of recurring drought?

"We want lasting development, not food aid," says Fardawsa Mohamed, a Somali farmer. But this region of arid scrubland is far removed from the central government in Addis Ababa, and development activity here is very limited.

Food aid is meant to save lives in emergencies, but at other times little has ever been done to develop this area and rescue it from a never-ending reliance on such help. Instead of addressing the underlying causes of food insecurity in Ethiopia, we are perpetuating dependency on a system that should only ever provide transitory support.

Most of the aid is co-ordinated by the World Food Programme (WFP). The food is paid for by donor countries, mainly the United States and members of the European Union, and is distributed by the federal Ethiopian government.

Delivery is hampered by corruption: those in power along the route, officials and Ethiopian soldiers, ensure that their families and clan members receive a rake-off, so sacks fail to arrive where they are meant to. The amounts actually received by households can be negligible and often none at all reaches the remoter areas whose communities need it most.

There are also political problems. "The government or army forces call the traders when the aid arrives and sell truckloads," says Hassan Abdullahi, an elder. "Why do the NGOs deliver through the government? They know that there is conflict between us." There is a long record of tensions and fighting between the people of the region and their rulers in the highlands, dating back to Ethiopia's incorporation of the Ogaden in 1897.

Global aid is big business. Substantial grain producers such as the US subsidise their farmers to produce wheat, which is then bought and shipped to poor countries - a bonus several times over as surplus food costs huge amounts of money to store, and western shipping companies benefit.

It is common to see WFP sacks in the markets: many Somalis prefer to sell them. Hire Mallil, a villager, is dismayed. "Fresh maize and sorghum grows here, whereas food aid has travelled far before it reaches us," he says. "People don't buy our crops, instead they wait for aid to arrive. And many don't bother to produce themselves, they just wait for the handouts."

Somali has the potential to produce more food - Ethiopia's second-largest river, the Wabi Shebelle, weaves through it. On it there is a new dam, and 28,000 hectares of surrounding land are used at present, while a lot more cultivable land is waiting to be exploited. Though the people living along the river do not need food aid, they still receive it. "We require tools for farming instead, to work this land to its full potential," says Mohamed Ismail, a farmer.

Most of the population are nomads who depend on their livestock, and who would benefit far more from support for their livelihood than they do from sacks of wheat. "Market opportunities for our animals need to be strengthened," says Hadaw Awol, an elder.

Thankfully, the "Gu" rains have now arrived. Brooding clouds fill the skies and families prepare to slaughter their animals in celebration. Hadaw raises his arms: "We don't need food aid. Thanks to Allah the rains have come." For now, the cynic might say.

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