Mogadishu, Somalia ( Media Line) - Fatima Nor, a 47-year-old mother of eight, lives in a ramshackle camp just outside Mogadishu in her modest home, a one-room hut made of sticks and plastic sheets.
Nor, a street cleaner, is the sole breadwinner for her family since her husband was killed by a stray bullet two years ago.
She recalls the day in early August when a roadside bomb killed more than 20 of her co-workers and wounded dozens more.
Tens of thousands of women like her must continue their work as street cleaners despite the serious risks.
The street cleaners are employed by the International Labor Organization (ILO) under a program called Employment for Peace.
"If I stop or I am unable to continue this work, where I can at least barely acquire enough food to keep my children from starving; and then what would that make me? So I am satisfied with this work although it is dangerous," Nor says, pointing out that what she earns is not enough for her family of eight.
Nor's plight is shared by thousands of other women throughout the Somali capital, who struggle tirelessly to make the slightest improvements to the lives of their families, or to at least maintain a safe environment for their children, sometimes at the expense of their own lives.
Nadifa Hassan, who was killed that horrific day in early August, was one of those women. Hassan’s children, now lacking any source of income, have resorted to begging for scraps of food.
Somali women have taken on the roles of sole or primary breadwinner for many families since the start of the Somali civil war in the early Nineties.
Another co-worker of Fatima, Dahabo Gesey, lies splayed on a hospital bed, barely breathing, her legs riddled with shrapnel.
“I will not and cannot return to work as a street cleaner again,” Gesey says to The Media Line. “I am telling my fellow Somalis that they should abandon this work, and if they are considering it, not to.”
Still, in a sense, Gesey is fortunate; her children have already grown up.
“I am rather lucky because my children are not young, some of them have children,” Gesey says. “They can manage when I am not around.”
Most Somali women work in the business sectors, especially in retail.
Nimco Geddi, 56, has been working as a clothing retailer for many years in Mogadishu, but she says the two last years have been the most horrible in her life as a working woman in this dangerous city.
Geddi comes into the main Bakara market in Mogadishu in the early morning, but on her way to work there is usually gunfire and heavy mortar shelling.
"I am scared because I cannot work safely," says Geddi.
All the same, Geddi continues in the insecure job, risking her life daily.
She says that she leaves her children at home to fend for themselves, but when fighting occurs near their home the children face huge problems, particularly if they are outside.
Geddi herself is confronted by daily challenges at her workplace.
“Mortars at times have hit the market while we are going about our daily work. Three of my neighboring plaza traders were wounded 10 days ago when a mortar hit the market after fighting broke out between Islamists and transitional government troops near the market,” she says.
Geddi admits her children are neglected.
“My husband became blind in 2001; he can’t go anywhere and I have to work for our children,” Geddi says sullenly.
She adds that she is caught between violence and earning an indispensable income.
Geddi opened her market stall with some income her husband had earned before he was blinded.
“I bring in enough for my children, glory be to God,” says Geddi, sitting in her wooden two-meter kiosk in the Bakara market.
She says that she was in high spirits about her job before the violence erupted in the Somali capital. Roadside bombs and battles between the Islamist insurgents and the Ethiopian troops are now the main hurdle for Geddi.
“If fighting happens you should stay at home; if the battle starts while you are in the market, you are able only to flee,” she adds.
Next to Geddi’s stall, Habiba Farah, 35, shares her concerns, revealing that she lost three of her children while she was out at work.
“My children died when a mortar landed on my home in Suuqa Holaha area in the Heliwa district in Mogadishu. It was horrible – my children need to be removed from the house when violence erupts, but unfortunately I am out,” the sobbing mother of five relates.
She adds that life in Mogadishu has gone from bad to worse, as when she goes to work her children may get into trouble, wandering the streets and walking into gunfire in their hotspot neighborhood.
“I am unhappy with my life, but I cannot change it,” she says.
Farah and her husband separated two years ago and he went to Kenya, so now she is the sole breadwinner in the family.
“From the time he left he gave us nothing,” Farah says, sitting in her tablecloth shop.
She comes back from work late and sees her children only at night.
“At some point, women have to make a decision,” she says matter-of-factly. “Having children means you have to make compromises,” at work regardless of difficulties.
She is looking forward to sending her children to school, but in war-stricken Mogadishu the pupils will also face huge challenges.
“However, if they become skilled, I would be able to rest in the future because of their work, so this is important to me and to them,” Farah muses.
But she is nervous about the security of the town and how her children can learn safely.
“It’s a lottery for my children to go school in this unsafe city, but, Lord willing, they will be safe,” she adds.
In Mogadishu students sometimes don’t go to school because when violence erupts in the city the streets are closed by the government troops.
Violence in Mogadishu drove hundreds of thousands of civilians from the city in 2007, forcing them to live in squalid camps on the outskirts of the capital, where they have limited access to food and water, and lack shelter, medical and sanitation facilities.
Maryan Ow Isaq lives in a dome-shaped shelter made of little more than rags and sticks. When it rains, it pours through the gaps onto her children.
She says she has not had enough food for her children since last year when she and her family came to the Arbiska area outside Mogadishu.
"My husband was killed by the Ethiopian forces as we fled the city last year," Isaq tells The Media Line. "We came here with nothing; we just live on the occasional handouts we get from aid agencies.”
When she arrived at the camp early last year, Isaq built a makeshift home out of sticks cut from nearby woods and old clothes. Despite her lack of building knowledge, she managed to put together the wood and rags so that her children could have a semblance of shelter over their heads.
"Then I began searching for food and water for my children, although I had lost contact with all my relatives and neighbors; I just went out," she says.
As the rainy season started in Somalia, at least 14 people died in the chill of the rains. All were displaced people.
“I am fearful of the threat from the rainwater, but I will be safe if God wills it,” she says.
Nevertheless, she insists that her children have a right to learn at school despite the insecurity in the city.
“I sent them to school fearfully, but their education is important,” she says.
One of her children got lost some days ago after being sent home from school when fighting started near the schools.
It was five days before Isaq was reunited with her seven-year-old child. She didn’t go to work during the time her child was missing, but as the sole breadwinner how can a mother earn enough for her family without the help of a second person?
Source: Media Line, Sept 09, 2008