Refugees_of_the_Future

Refugees of the Future
The Genesis
It is June 16, 2070, a month after my 76 th birthday. I am riding shotgun in a red Jeep Wrangler.
In the driver’s seat is a 28-year-old young man. Mading Deng. Mading is a 5th generation South
Sudanese refugee in Kenya. He now works for the Kenya’s Refugee Affairs Secretariat (RAS),
based in Nairobi.
For the past twenty years, I have embarked on a personal project where I travel the world,
revisiting places I had visited when I was a young man. During these second visits, I document
the changes that have occurred by juxtaposing the experiences of my then younger self and
those of my current older self. These stories have been documented and produced by Radical
Futures, a documentary series that was started fifty years ago and run by McGill University
Research Center, Building 21.
For today’s story, I am taking you to Kakuma Refugee City, in Northern Kenya. The first time I
set foot in Kakuma was 66 years ago. I was ten years old. With my father, we had crossed the
border from what is present day South Sudan, into Kakuma as refugees. At that time, South
Sudan was part of Sudan and there had been 21 years of continuous civil war between the
Sudanese in the North and those in the South. I would leave the camp one month later for the
interior parts of Kenya, becoming an urban refugee. The second, and last time that I went to
Kakuma was after I completed high school in the year 2013. I was 19 years old. At that time, not
much had changed. It was still a shanty temporary settlement with a lot of environmental and
social challenges.
However, as I write this, almost everyone from across the world has heard of the magnificence
and attraction of Kakuma city. From science and technology to art and culture, and
conservation. Today I have decided it is high time for my third visit to the Kakuma I may not
recognize. My goal is to bring you the past, the present, and the future in one trip. So, travel with
me. Or should I say, “with us”? Mading is part of this trip. I bring the past and he brings the
present and the future.
I was introduced to Mading by an old colleague months back. I quickly befriended the lad for
rather ulterior motives that are the reason why he is behind the wheel today. I have manipulated
this young man to drive me over 730 km because this story will not be complete without a
person of today’s generation in it. I have seen enough media content on Kakuma that made it a
few points shy of being Marvel’s Wakanda come to life. Both my previous trips to Kakuma had
been by road, so this one must be by road too if I wanted a properly documented experience for
the purposes of this work.
That is why I had asked Mading to drive, as opposed to taking a one-hour flight to the city. He
wasn’t excited about the road trip, but he couldn’t dare be accused of being “unSudanese”. It is
“unSudanese” to disappoint an “uncle”. Especially a grey one. His generation of refugees are,
unlike any other, culturally conflicted and they try too hard to prove that they are still culturally
rooted within the Sudanese ethnic customs and traditions. Even if it means compromising
against their wishes, the reward of being validated as a legitimate ethnic Sudanese is enough.
One of these tricks is to maintain most of the conversation in ethnic Dinka language,
“Thuongjang”. I may have implicitly capitalised on these insecurities when I politely asked him to
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hit the road with me. But as an aging Sudanese uncle, it is completely okay that I should have
my way, regardless of how “my son” feels about it. The perks of old age among the Sudanese is
that the “old uncle” card never fails.
“Mading, how did you end up working with RAS?” I ask him, with my eyes fixated on his hairline,
wondering why it reminds me of my late great uncle.
“Well, RAS employs a good number of the so-called ‘UN citizens’, I worked for 5 years for the
UNHCR department of urban refugees based in Eldoret and…”.
“Eldoret?!” I interject. “I grew up there! Did both my primary and secondary education there. I
was of course one of the many undocumented Sudanese refugees there”.
He may not understand why I was undocumented, of course. This lad was born in 2042. Can he
even understand the true hustle of a refugee during my time? Today, there is a huge refugee
community in Eldoret, the town I grew up in, and now that they are “UN citizens”, setting up a
pseudo consulate for them through the department was the best way to support them as urban
refugees. The UN now has a policy that over 75% of their staff globally must be refugees, both
inside and outside of the refugee designated areas. Letting refugees take agency over their own
lives. What a time to be alive! Mading has not said another word since I interrupted him.
Decampment vs Encampment
Over 50 years ago there had been two main competing ideologies to refugee settlement in
Kenya. The United Nations and other development agencies had called for decampment and
integration of refugees into the host population in Kenya. But there was a counter and less
popular government policy on encampment of refugees: Keeping refugees confined in
designated, marginalised, arid areas, like Kakuma. The reasons why the government took such
a stance were varied, but they could be speculatively categorised into two main categories:
Economical and Political.
The economic argument on encampment was that the Kenyan government did not have the
capacity to provide the most essential social services that would facilitate the integration of
refugees. Social services and other public amenities such as healthcare and higher education
were highly under-capacity, Unemployment rate was high and kept rising year after year. Given
that an overwhelming majority of Kenya's refugees are prima facie refugees that flocked in, in
thousands, it was economically viable to confine them to distant, resource-scarce areas where
they would pose limited competition for resources with the citizens. This way, they were not a
direct responsibility of the government and their activities did not directly disrupt government
functions. Moreover, refugees in a camp were seen primarily as a UN responsibility so the
government could distance itself from their social wellbeing.
Second, there were political reasons for encampment. The refugee act of parliament had made
it very easy to obtain refugee status for mostly prima facie refugees that get into Kenya either
legally or illegally. This provision in the refugee act blurred the line between illegal immigration
and asylum seeking. It is important to note the context at that time that almost all of Kenya’s
neighbours were countries in political turmoil; Ethiopia, Somalia, South Sudan, DR Congo, and
Uganda. Kenya would not have wanted to be in a position where it was not in control of its
borders.
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Police Crackdown on Urban Refugees
I remember when I was in high school in Eldoret. There was this one evening the Kenyan police
went on a crackdown and rounded up a good number of South Sudanese refugee youth, loaded
them into pick-up trucks and drove them to the police stations where they spent the night. I was
among the young men that ended up in those overcrowded cells. I was 15 years old and the
youngest of the group. The cells were full and most of the people arrested that evening spent
the night in the corridors of the cells. The crack-down was an attempt by the Kenyan authorities
to implement their strict encampment policy for refugees. All refugees were required to live in
the refugee camps and were to only travel outside of the camps with authorization. Now we
were, thousands of us, living in Kenyan cities and towns with neither these authorizations nor
valid refugee status. Some had seen their status expired, others never registered as refugees in
the first place. The following morning, we were all let go, with no explanation. My guess is that it
was not logistically possible to deport thousands of refugees back to the refugee camps given
there was not a practical way of preventing them from coming back. My second guess is that
deporting refugees would not have made economic sense. First, because the refugees were not
competing for jobs with Kenyan citizens, and second, because they created a huge consumer
base. Thus, we were a source of tax revenue for the Kenyan government. For instance, half of
my primary school population had been refugee children, and this was a private school. So, I
guess the authorities chose to turn a blind eye on peaceful refugees and concentrated only on
the few that were disrupting the peace.
To add fuel to fire, the rise of Al-Shabaab terrorism sect in Somalia in early 2000s and their
frequent attack on Kenya had even compelled the Kenyan government to, unsuccessfully, call
for a shutdown to the Dadaab refugee camp complex near the Somali border, claiming that the
camp had become a harbour for terrorists and criminals. These activities had led to anti-refugee
sentiments and ethnic profiling of the people of Somali descent in Kenya by the police, leading
to their arbitrary arrest and searches. This fear of Somalis had intensified among the Kenyan
public when public buses exploded with bombs killing innocent civilians.
The Power of Fear and the Burden of Ethnic Identity
The fear of Al-Shabaab terrorists, and by extension the fear of Somali immigrants in Kenya had
been a general public feeling by 2012, and the fear had been increasing, following random and
consistent attacks on Kenyan civilians. I remember being extremely uncomfortable and paranoid
when I was travelling by bus to East-Leigh Nairobi in 2014. East Leigh is a Somali neighborhood
in Nairobi, and it is where most terrorist related activities had emerged. Police crackdowns and
violence had been consistent there. The fear of Somalis was widely spread across the nation
and there were explicit and implicit anti-Somali sentiments. I remember my uncle forcing my
cousin to shave his beard because he ‘looked like a Somali’ with his beard on.
I kept wishing I had not taken that bus to East-Leigh. My whole life of 20 years, I had never
judged someone and presumed them “criminal” just because of their physical traits. But in that
dreadful bus ride, I kept questioning myself if cheaper shopping in East-Leigh was worth all this
risk. You see, by being in the same bus with Somalis, I had believed that I had taken a huge risk
on my life. I kept thinking, “Which of these is likely to pull a grenade or a gun?”. I was actively
profiling each and everyone of the passengers that boarded the bus. And for every one that
alighted I glanced over their seats to see that they didn’t leave any ‘suspicious’ object behind.
The irony is that, I was a refugee in Kenya, an undocumented one for that matter. But no one
profiled me as a potential terrorist because there had not been reports of terrorist activities in
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the Sudanese neighbourhoods. In that bus, I was judging an ethnic group of people because of
political events that were beyond their control. Like me, they were just there seeking freedom.
Little did they know that their ethnicity made them be presumed criminal. The burden to prove
that they meant no harm hung on their shoulders as the police arrested and detained them
arbitrarily. We watched the crackdown in the news, and somehow felt that was okay. Anything
for public safety. The things fear will make you do... Now take my story and multiply it by 45
million people and tell me if such a population will elect a government that will allow free
integration of Somalia citizens into Kenya. Full integration of refugees was not an option.
Forced Integration Equals Assimilation?
What does it mean to integrate refugees who already have a ‘tag’ of ‘criminal’ and other
‘unwanted’ behaviours? They are thrown into a system that will continuously discriminate and
marginalize them at all institutional levels. The antagonism that arises from that is neither good
for the refugees nor for the host communities. The refugees having limited agency and choices
will be forced into assimilation as opposed to integration: ‘Abandon everything we don’t like
about you, even though it means your core identity, and adopt everything about us and then we
may accept you as one of us.’
But refugees have cultures and identities to protect and preserve without prejudice and forced
integrations do not serve these interests. The refugee camps are cultural hubs providing
diversity in ways that cannot be replicated in any other setting. All refugees I knew, growing up,
had had a great deal of nostalgia about their experiences at the refugee camp. For instance,
starting and owning a small business was easier at the camp. Children and adults freely roamed
the camp playgrounds morning and evening to play soccer and basketball. The joy of going to a
shop where the shopkeeper spoke your native language made shopping accessible to the
educated and the uneducated alike. At the refugee camps, they felt a sense of ownership of
their spaces. All these experiences were no longer possible once the refugees moved to the
urban centers. I believed that if people wanted to integrate, it would be a natural process that
needed no policy. For these reasons, between encampment and decampment policies, a middle
ground was found about 50 years ago.
Are Countries not an Example of a High-Level Encampment Policy?
What was it about an encampment policy that wasn’t working for us as refugees? In the grand
scheme of things, aren’t countries an example of a high-level Encampment Policy? There are
certain things that one can do within certain borders that they would not do beyond those
borders. So, what is it that makes refugee camps undesirable? Was it not better to remove the
undesired characteristics and introduce desired ones inside a refugee camp to make refugees
want to willingly live there? An “Upgraded Encampment”? Over 50 years later, someone
seemed to have picked up on my thoughts and now I am on my way to go check it out. And this
kind young man beside me is driving me all the way.
“Upgraded Encampment”
Since I interrupted the last conversation, I need to start the next one. Mading is being a
quintessential South Sudanese kid. Does not speak unless spoken to.
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“UN citizens? How does that work in practice?” I ask
“Well, though the UN is technically not a country, it kind of operates like one. The two refugee
cities of Dadaab and Kakuma are autonomous in practice, almost independent of the Kenyan
government. Well there is a legal framework defining the jurisdiction of the Kenyan government
in refugee cities and refugee affairs. But mostly in practice, refugees can do business and
acquire employment just like any other foreigner in the country. On top of that, the UN refugee
passport lets you travel visa-free to almost all countries.”
I knew about the passport and visa-free part. Just when I no longer needed it, it was available.
Life insists on humour that isn’t funny.
“Can I see your passport?” I am curious to see what it looks like.
Mading reaches for the glove compartment, revealing a shiny blue passport with the UN logo
right in the center of the cover. On the top of the cover is engraved: The United Nations,
Refugee Passport. At the bottom page of the cover is engraved: Through the Republic of
Kenya. It looks and feels like any other passport, except it is a hybrid. Every refugee passport is
issued through the host country.
“How many urban refugees are in the country right now?”, I ask him, still holding on to the
passport. At this point, I am sure he will start his response with that word. Spoiler alert. I now
have a joke that I can tell only to myself. I put imaginary dollars in a hat every time Mading starts
a response with, “well”. Count my dollars.
“Well, right now, they are slightly over fifty thousand in total. The number used to be over two
hundred thousand before the development of the refugee cities. Now the refugee cities are so
attractive, most of the people that were initially urban refugees went back to the designated
settlements. Over 90% of the refugees are third or fourth generation, and they were born right
here in Kenya. The only connection they have with their home country is their cultures and
languages that they were able to keep and observe through their respective ghettos.” Mading is
speaking now with his eyes fixed on the road, as if to avoid eye contact. He seemed sad,
suddenly.
“You were born in Kakuma right?” I ask.
“Yes!”
“Have you ever been to South Sudan?” I followed up. Without saying a word, he shook his
head.
“My father has not been there either. For us, South Sudan is the promised land we may never
set foot in. To be South Sudanese is no longer about the country, it has become an ethnic
identity.” I nod in agreement. If anything, how many of my 76 years did I really spend in South
Sudan?
Gold, Diamonds, Coltan and Cobalt: The Curse of Exile
“You know when South Sudan became a country in 2011, I voted in that referendum. I was in
Eldoret. But shortly we found out that the gift of oil was a curse.” I put his passport back into the
glove compartment.
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“Well, since oil is almost worthless now, the real curse of our generation is the discovery of gold,
diamonds, coltan and cobalt.” I can tell he is well informed about the various crises in the region.
We were now almost approaching Lodwar town. I am still fascinated by the state-of-the-art
highway. Now, not only is there a highly maintained highway with palm trees and other desert
plants planted by the side and a continuous electrical grid, there is an electric train track running
parallel to the highway. It converges the trains from South Sudan, Uganda, and Ethiopia. It
mostly transports cargo to ease the load off the highway. The irony is that transport
infrastructure and natural resource trade is at its best in countries where refugees are fleeing
from.
The Rainmaker and the Flying Donkey
“What makes Kakuma city so attractive for traders and tourists?” I ask Mading, who now seems
to be lost in thoughts.
“Well, the refugee city is a rich industrial centre. It has brought the best craftsmanship from all
over East Africa, nurtured talent and innovation in ways not seen anywhere else in the country.
The Annual Cultural Festivals is the equivalent of Independence Day for refugee cities. This
week-long event brings together culture, business, education, science and technology. This is
when new talents are discovered, new business partnerships are made with the refugees during
business pitches, new technologies are unveiled. And refugees promote their heritage together
with the host communities. Tourists and business leaders come here in numbers from across
the world just to witness these events. The refugee city’s network of micro-finance and
investments from the diaspora have encouraged a great deal of entrepreneurship among the
refugees. And this was the catalyst for major start-ups in business and technology. The
rainmaker and the flying donkey technologies were invented right here. The rainmaker
technology is now being used across all arid areas in the world.” I am intrigued.
I know about the rainmaker technology because it made international news headlines about ten
years back. This is a technological invention by refugee students in Kakuma city that collects
clouds from the cooler regions, pushes them to the dry area, and converts them into water
droplets, making it rain. It almost sounds like magic, because the refugees are now in complete
control of when they want rain and how much rain they want. When there is more rain than
needed, extra water droplets are converted back to water vapor and stored as clouds. This is
one of the reasons I am going to Kakuma just to experience ‘the rain day’. But I have not heard
of the “flying donkey” technology before, so I turn back to ask Mading about it.
“Well, Think of an electric train without the train tracks. Then think of a drone technology but the
drone is on a leash. When you put these two together, what you get is the ‘flying donkey’.”
explains Mading.
“Ok. I get the idea, now tell me what it actually is.” I am evidently enthusiastic.
“Well, they are donkey-shaped drones with the capacity to hold two adults. They are hooked to
a flyover electrical grid that feeds them with solar power. The donkeys are flying along the
electric cable to which they are hooked. This cable also prevents the drones from falling onto
the ground when they malfunction. These donkeys are faster than cars and 100% safer but they
are limited by load. They are mostly useful in mail delivery and e-commerce, or people with
emergency transportation needs. They connect the city with neighboring towns and suburbs.”
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“So, if my “donkey” fails, I will just be swinging on the cables like a pendulum?”
“Yes, worse case scenario. But the downside is, when one donkey malfunctions, the whole line
comes to a halt. This was designed intentionally to avoid donkey collisions.” The word ‘donkey
collision’ makes me chuckle. I was about to ask why ‘donkey’ was chosen for the technology,
but I came to my senses.
What About a Tragedy of the Commons?
The skeptical side of me still thinks that a refugee program that guarantees this level of comfort
for all refugees including traveling perks will have a breaking point and may not be sustainable.
“Okay, now that the refugee cities are this attractive, what is preventing everyone in East Africa
from becoming a refugee?” I ask Mading.
He smiles then says, “Well, it is not like back in 2020 or 2013 anymore. This is 2070 and the
refugee programs are highly sustainable and scalable. Unlike the previous decades, refugees
are no longer just aid receivers, they are an essential part of the workforce and they contribute
millions of dollars in tax revenues annually. The refugee settlement program is efficient enough
to provide settlement for millions of refugees if need be but that has not been the case. In
consultation with the host communities, the city expands every year because the communities
have seen the great value added by the refugee settlement. Remember this place was a mere
desert during your last visit, and now? Besides that, the refugees are giving back to their home
countries by building schools and hospitals and supporting farmers and making direct
investments with their governments. We have resilience programs within the countries with
conflict and this ensures that the communities can start over easily after a conflict. The priority
of the UNHCR has been to create a sense of permanent home for these third and fourth
generation refugees that know no other home. It is unfair to bundle up a group of people to
repatriate them to a country they know little about just because their ancestors were from there.
Take for example me, if I were repatriated to South Sudan, where would I begin. It has been
generations of no association with the country. In addition, the UN over the past couple of years
has managed to help avoid major conflicts in the region, so we haven’t really had an influx of
refugees at least for the past 30 years. But we still receive a good number from areas where
natural resources are being explored. People don’t really want to leave their homes, so we do
our best to make sure they stay in their homes. Crossing the border to Kenya is really the last
resort for most refugees.” I nod in agreement because he has a point. If people have lived in the
same place for three generations, that should be their de facto home.
The First Impression
It is about 6 pm. We are now driving into the city and we are greeted by a giant billboard,
“Welcome to Kakuma, the Solar City. One Refugee is Too Many. Be the Peace.” Before we
can pass the billboard, I look up from the Jeep to check the buzzing sound from above. There
they are! A line of the flying donkeys, flying along a grid line from Lodwar town. The sight is
incredible, with the propellers and the grid line almost invisible, they actually look like flying
donkeys. Some of them are carrying people, others have just cargo. It is like a dream. I look to
Mading, “I want to ride in one of those.”
“Well, you could ride the Kalobeyei grid tomorrow.”
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Kalobeyei is the second Kakuma, a few kilometers away. It was the first social experiment
centre on integration. I remember reading about its creation in 2015 to resettle South Sudanese
refugees of the 2013’s civil war. This model became the genesis of the modern refugee cities.
We are now in the city center, heading to our hotel. Of course, nothing looks or feels familiar.
The First Day
It is morning. I am about to go to the lobby where I would meet Mading for breakfast before we
head to our next tour. For a minute, I look down the view over the city complex from the 13th
floor of the hotel. I am perplexed by the architecture, the skyline and how green the city is. Over
50 years ago, this place was a dusty desert with shanty settlements of tin roofs. Now the same
Kakuma is competing with the nation’s capital city.
8 am, across the table is Mading talking about how much he missed the tamarind porridge with
goat ghee. We are taking the same porridge. The last time I had this Sudanese delicacy I was
10 years old. I don’t know how I feel about it over 66 years later. All I can remember is the
image of my mother making ghee from a calabash. Why does something as simple as porridge
remind me so much of my childhood in Sudan?
Over 70% of the Property Here is Owned by the Refugees
“Mading, I have a question, how do the refugees afford this expensive property? Given that over
70% of the property here is owned by the refugees.”
“Well, the housing and development market is controlled by the city council. How much you pay
for a property depends on your economic profile. About 50 years ago the city’s Housing and
Development Board (HDB) was formed through the UNHCR and the local government, almost
all residential houses are the same standard and every refugee is guaranteed a house, the
wealthier refugees pay more and the poorer ones pay little and the equations somehow
balance. But if you want finer details of the HDB, you should talk with Hussein Mohammed. A
refugee from Ethiopia who is the chairman of the board.”
Top management of the refugee affairs is now primarily in the hands of refugees. Very
interesting.
The Sun, the Car, and the Mobile Phone Payments
It is 10 am and we are driving to the HDB headquarters in what used to be Kakuma 3. From
across the streets is a huge billboard, “The Sun is the New Diesel, Charge Your Cars at the
Nearest Solar Station. A Message from the City Council of Kakuma.” I want to see how the
charging stations look like, so I pull up my phone to look up the nearest station. “nearest solar
station” I type into Webdrop. Fifty years ago, no one would have imagined that the power of
open source technology would lead to the downfall of what was a trillion-dollar search engine
called Google. Webdrop search engine technology became faster and fancier than Google. On
top of that, it has guaranteed user privacy as no account creation is necessary for usage. Users
are completely anonymous and none of their personal data is collected. Humans finally found a
solution to get rid of an internet monopoly that had had eyes and years in every aspect of their
everyday life.
There was roughly one Solar station on every block. Afterall, the sun was not by any means a
scarcity in the Kakuma refugee complex. What had been their source of distress in the last half
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century is now their most lucrative resource. There was no petrol station within the refugee
complex, except the one on Lodwar highway. I request Mading to take a detour.
“We need to charge this Jeep anyways.” he says.
We drive into this elegant solar-roofed complex in what used to be Kakuma 3, now called
“District 3”. We get out of the car right next to a touch screen panel. The red Jeep is parked right
above a wireless charging pod. Mading then pulls out his phone and makes a payment with the
Mpesa mobile money payment. Credit cards are a thing of the past now. Then he walks towards
the touch screen panel to input a pin number sent to his mobile phone, and instantly the car
starts to charge.
Mading looks back at me and says, “Do you know what’s really cool about Mpesa payments
when charging cars?”
“What?”
“Every charging station has a unique paybill number which can be found through the city’s
“Solarcharge” website. This means that a person in Nairobi can pay for your charging here in
Kakuma without having to give you their personal banking details. You send them the station’s
paybill number, they make mobile money payments instantly to the station, and then they send
you the charging pin that you will need to redeem your charge at the station. It is so convenient;
it is like sending airtime across the country.” He seems elated with pride.
It takes 15 minutes for the car to fully charge and we jump back into the Jeep to go meet
Hussein Mohammed at his HDC office.
The Audacity of the Housing and Development Board
“Karibu Mzee, Karibuni sana.” Welcome. From across his desk, Mohammed welcomes us to
take a seat in Swahili. “Asante.” Thank you. Mading and I respond in Unison as we take our
seats.
“Thank you for having us Mr Mohammed. I write about development initiatives that can be
described as Radical Futures. The development of this refugee city is what I consider futuristic.
The last time I was here over 60 years ago, this place was a desert and the refugees were
barely surviving, how did this transformation come about? I want to hear your input about the
contribution of HDC to this development.”
“Thank you for coming to visit us.” responds Mohammed. He then pauses for a second as if
recollecting his thoughts and then begins to speak.
The information I am collecting from both Mohammed and Mading is that the Housing and
Development Board was established 50 years ago to develop the human resource capacity of
refugees and to solve the housing problem. Most of these goals and more have been
accomplished.
The first step was a collaboration with Kenya's ministry of education to improve the education
standard for refugees. They developed academic exchange programs for bright refugee
students to study in Kenya’s best schools under government and private sector sponsorships.
The refugee students were attached to Kenyan host families to cut living costs.
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The Tertiary Education Loans Program
A few years after that they approved the Tertiary Education Loans Program. This provided loans
to select refugee students to attend University Education. This program became an immense
success and thus the enrollment kept doubling every year with support from NGOs and the
private sector. A graduate from this program is required to repay their loans by giving 10% of
their monthly income to the Loans Board. Interest free but adjusted for inflation. The loan
repayment rate has really been successful with over 90% of the graduates having secured good
jobs. About 20 years after refugee schools were built to the standards of the national schools, all
elementary and some high school academic exchange funding was cut to focus funds on the
Tertiary Education Loans Program.
In addition to that, they built the Kakuma Innovation Center to teach refugees about computers
and computer programming. they then launched annual start-up competitions to encourage
technological entrepreneurship and recognize and support talent and skills. Eight years later,
refugee students were developing world class technologies.
I am asked to stay for the Refugee Day, the Cultural Festival, to experience all this in person.
You bet I am staying.
A Renewable 99-Year Leasehold Policy for Refugees
The second agenda of the HDC was to create affordable and modernized housing for the
refugees. The land rights are complicated here so establishing any sort of permanent settlement
without the right consultation with the local and the national government would have been a
problem. So, the beginning of any complex permanent housing development began with
negotiating the laws around property rights and land ownership in refugee settlements. It
worked out that both the local and national governments agreed to a renewable 99 years
leasehold policy for refugees. Every housing unit pays land rates to the government annually,
and the land and property on it ultimately belongs to the government at the end of the leasehold,
unless renewed. This turned out to be a great deal for the government in terms of revenue. For
the host communities, it was more than a win because they shared the same social amenities
with the refugees, the housing project was not exclusive to the refugees but included the local
population also. Now the million-dollar question is, how could refugees and these poor
communities afford their housing?
The First answer is that the housing market in the city is controlled by HDC. Refugees are free
to sell and buy property anywhere in the city, but the price is determined by HDC depending on
the profiles of the buyer and the seller.
But how is the capital acquired to build these structures in the first place?
I am told that this is a collaboration between the government, the private sector, the United
Nations, NGOs, and the refugees. Almost all property development here is done by private
developers through concession contracts. The private developers are the rightful owners of any
property they build, within the limits of the contract, until the point that the agreed price of the
property is paid back in full. The refugees make monthly payments towards their homes. The
monthly payments are not fixed, HDC determines them according to the economic profile of the
refugee. On average, a property takes about 20 years to be paid off. Once paid off, the tenant
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refugee becomes the rightful owner of the property for the next 99 years, renewable. Think of
this as a mortgage model through the lens of socialism.
“Now, are there uncertainties after the 99-year lease is over? Yes! But we chose to tackle our
problems one century at a time.” Says Mohammed.
“Since we cannot actually evict tenants, our greatest asset was the investment in human capital
to ensure everyone was in a position to afford the housing program. As we speak, an average of
two persons in a refugee home have a job. And over 70% of all residential houses in the city are
completely paid off and owned by the refugees. Besides job creation, we have the most
impressive savings scheme. All refugees are required to put 10% of their income into a savings
scheme which is put in a diversified investment portfolio. We, because I am one of the refugees,
can only access these savings in very special circumstances.” Mohammed continues.
Social Impact Investing
Besides residential housing, most of the private and business properties were financed and are
owned by refugees living in the diaspora. It is not a requirement to live in the refugee city to
maintain your refugee status, but once a refugee acquires the citizenship of another country,
they cease being refugees and are required to sell or give away any property they own under
the jurisdiction of UNHCR. Since HDC determines the prices of all property being sold, the goal
is not for the seller to make any profit. It must be understood that property development, in the
refugee city and other areas under HDC jurisdiction, are not for financial investment. All kinds of
investments are vetted to meet the requirement for the greater social good. That is how they
have been able to avoid gentrification and inequality among the neighborhoods. The priority is
on Social Impact Investing.
Mr Mohammed then takes a sip from a glass of water. I take a quick glance at him as I finish
scribbling his last words on my notebook.
“Would you like to take a drive at four o’clock? I have something important to show you in
relation to Social Impact Investing.” Suggests Mohammed as he glanced at his wristwatch.
It is a quarter to 2 pm. Mr Mohammed has another meeting in 30 minutes and Mading and I
have to go look for lunch anyways.
Preservation of Culture and Heritage
I am craving Ethiopian. It is almost unheard of to go to Kakuma and not eat anjera, an Ethiopian
delicacy. So, in the Jeep we go, Mading is driving us to the famous Ethiopian ghetto, locally
known as Habesha. On the way we are encountered by a crowd of people, a mob. Women,
men and children carrying all sorts of things from tree branches, flags, drums. Singing and
dancing. If you are from another part of the world this would be a protest. But this was far from
it. “Is that what I think it is?” I ask Mading, who nods his head in affirmation.
It is an engagement ceremony among the South Sudanese community. Traditionally among the
Nilotic people of South Sudan, an engagement was a community affair. The clan of the groom-
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to-be brought the proposal to the homestead of the bride-to-be. And they came in their
hundreds, with goats and cows to offer. A cow is slaughtered in the middle of the compound.
During my parents’ generation, these clan engagement proposals were imposed upon the bride.
And most brides were intimidated to accept these proposals through these theatrics and mobs.
But over the years, the refugees have been educated about international human rights and
marriages that borderline coercion are a criminal offense now. Thus, if you see these mobs, it is
a clear sign the bride has given her consent in advance. How times have changed!
Social Impact Investment
It is 10 minutes to 4 pm and we are on our way from Habesha, going back to Hussein
Mohammed’s office for that appointment from earlier. We meet him in the parking lot, and
Mading goes to the back seat of the Jeep offering Mohammed to drive.
“We are going to District one, what used to be Kakuma one. You will see the beauty of Social
Impact Investments.” Says Mohammed with a smile on his face.
We take a few turns then end up turning into the first street with an actual name. All the streets
in the city are given alpha-numeric keys. Like K3-200B which is Mohammed’s office address.
But this street we just drove into had a name. Nike Street. After the sports brand.
The ‘Adopt a Block’ Campaign
Twenty years ago, the city council launched the ‘Adopt a Block’ campaign to attract corporate
socially responsible programs to refugees. So instead of corporations donating money to
UNHCR, they were challenged to identify a block and build a project that would meet the needs
of the refugees in that block. This way, corporations were making more sustainable and socially
responsible investments among the refugees.
In addition, they get free advertisement in the city. So, Nike chose District One to build a fully
equipped sports facility that selects top talent from around the block and trains them
professionally. Other major corporations have done the same thing across the city complex and
it is amazing. Over 30 refugees from these sports facilities play in international leagues in the
NBA and the English Premier League. Notably, Mac Kuol, who plays forward for the Manchester
United Football Club, was trained by the Adidas Sports Academy in District two. Ousmane Taha
of the Chicago Bulls in the USA was trained at the Under-Armour Academy. Others like Gatluak
Kuon of Arsenal were trained by Nike.”
On the tech front, Webdrop and Microsoft are the main supporters of the Innovation Center.
That produced the famous Rainmaker Technologies.
Mohammed parks the Jeep just meters from the park, Mading gets out quickly to help me get
out of the car. Sometimes, I forget that I am old, and I try to jump out. I was offered a walking
cane by my doctor, but it makes me feel old and weak, so I abandoned it. I sit on a bench as I
watch these young children play their hearts out.
Mohammed begins to narrate:
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“These children, once they reach professional success, become the backbone of our economy.
They are the investors in our social programs, and they contribute more money through
remittances and taxes that amounts to billions of dollars per year. More than the GDP of some
countries. That is why we put all our resources in building their capacity. On top of that, these
projects and facilities are creating thousands of jobs across the city. And by Kaa….yei gortooo
brrrr grid line tomooooorrow zzzzzzzz… ”
Mohammed is talking but I am slowly losing attention. I stopped writing. I am remembering my
childhood and how I was not a good soccer player even though it was the madness running
through my peers. I still remember the injuries I incurred playing bare foot on a sandy field. The
smell of fresh blood dripping from my raptured toes. Now refugees are not only training in
international standard facilities, but also have a professional shot at their talents.
The irony remains: a few kilometres across the border is a country they believe is their place of
origin. Will they ever feel completely at home on foreign land, a place where they renegotiate
their rights every 99 years? What is it about their home countries that makes it so hard for
citizens to put their guns down? Must you forever be a refugee until all the gold and diamond is
exhausted from under your ancestral land?
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