Trafficked Eritreans' long road to recovery

As published by Al Jazeera English, December 8th, 2013

Cairo, Egypt - "I just want to leave Egypt. I hate it here," says Mohamed. He was shot in the leg a year ago, months after he arrived in Cairo. As Mohamed lay in the street with blood soaking his pants, he heard the shooter's friend say as they walked away, "Leave him. He's just an African."

Egypt's Sinai Peninsula is a tourist destination, with its white sand beaches and crystal-blue water. Water sports and beautiful mountains draw tour groups from all over the world. Yet parts of the peninsula are lawless regions where insurgents regularly attack security forces. It's also a smuggling hotspot, and over the past few years, thousands of Eritrean, Ethiopian, and Somali immigrants - hoping for a better life - have been trafficked through the peninsula, many hoping to make it to Israel.

On a rainy afternoon in Cairo's al-Azhar Park, a group of 12 Eritrean youth meet to draw pictures of umbrellas under the grey sky. All are victims of human-trafficking rings in the Sinai Peninsula. Sitting in a circle on the wet grass, the youth are participating in a group workshop meant to teach them how to deal with stress and find a positive outlet for the frustration, fear and anger they feel.

Habtom's dreadlocked hair is the topic of the hour. He jokes with one of the NGO outreach workers, and they playfully argue about whether or not he should cut the hair. "I'm telling him to cut it, because it makes him a target on the street and he stands out to Egyptians." The NGO, which does not operate with the Egyptian government's permission, asked not to be named.

According to the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) and Human Rights Watch, Eritreans are the most commonly trafficked people in the Sinai. Perhaps due to the diaspora of Eritreans worldwide, traffickers believe they can extract the most profit, exploiting the desire for a better life that motivates many Eritreans to leave their homeland.

"When I left Eritrea, I knew I was going to end up in Sudan. But I didn't know where I would be after. Somewhere with protections, I hoped," says Mohamed, an 18-year-old victim of trafficking who declined to give his last name. Considered one of the most repressive and secretive states on the planet, Eritrea requires mandatory military service, and those who do not wish to join are viewed as traitors. Once an Eritrean leaves, he or she can never return for fear of retribution.

"Sometimes when I walk down the streets, people throw stones at me," says Nabiet, a 15-year-old girl with tightly woven braids and a small picture of Jesus hanging from a chain around her neck. Nabiet, who says she never wanted to leave Eritrea in the first place, was kidnapped from her home country and brought to the Sinai, then held for ransom. Full of energy yet shy, she grins when she speaks about her memories of English class in school. But the smile disappears when she recounts her challenges in Egypt.

"One time I was shoved by a women into traffic, and hit by the car. She didn't even stop to apologise," she says angrily. "The driver got out and apologised a lot. But the woman, she said nothing."

Like many refugees, the youth have difficulty integrating into Egyptian society. The smugglers who trafficked the youth through the Sinai are often the only Egyptians with whom the Eritreans have had contact. Accordingly, they're nervous around Egyptians, and most don't learn how to speak Arabic. Eritreans in Cairo are often the victims of attacks and unwanted attention.

"When you rent a place, when they [Egyptians in the neighbourhood] find out you are new, they come to you almost every day with a knife. And they threaten you," says Habtom.

Leaving the Sinai doesn't always mean leaving the captors behind. In some cases, captors follow their victims to Cairo, harassing and threatening their families in an attempt to extract even more money. Operating elusively, the criminals are part of well-connected gangs, and are difficult to apprehend. Aid groups help the youth and offer a certain level of protection, but it is often not enough. "They attacked us in our house and they stole our mobiles and even cut my friend," says Ramodan, an Eritrean refugee. "But there are good Egyptians, who respect refugees."

Local NGOs work to co-ordinate efforts to provide for the youth. Staffed primarily by Egyptians, they work to provide the tools needed to move forward. All five girls in the group were victims of rape while in the Sinai. "The difficulty of the [psychological anxiety] is that you live in constant reminder of the event, with nightmares and traumas when they recall the event. They develop trust issues, become cautious and guarded in their dealings with other human beings," says Georgette Savvides, a psychologist based in Cairo. "They feel isolated, and it's a big package of psychological difficulties."

During the group sessions, the refugees begin to act like regular teenagers who relax, laugh and even flirt. "When we first started, they were pretty quiet. But over the last few sessions, they've become really involved," says Andy, one of the group leaders, an Australian who recently moved to Cairo to help refugees integrate. As the afternoon progresses, some emerge from their shells.

The Eritreans in the park are all under the age of 19. Still minors, they receive money from relief organisations to pay for food and housing. After Mohamed was shot, funds from the group Caritas covered the medical expenses from the hospital. Mohamed, along with many of the youth, will lose their status as minors next year. In a country already crippled by high youth unemployment, job prospects for refugees are virtually non-existent. Work permits are elusive, and most only have their UNHCR refugee cards for identification.

School is also an obstacle. Refugees have a difficult time obtaining education in Cairo. The only options left to the Eritreans are private lessons and tutoring. Nabiet says she wants to go back to school. "I hear about courses, and I need papers from [my case worker]. But then when I bring them to the people who give the courses, they say there are no more spots."

What is most damaging to the youth is not their difficult pasts, nor the turbulent present. It is the future which is more of an abstract idea than a practical reality. It is with resignation that they discuss ambition and where they envision themselves after Egypt. Joking after the meeting, brief smiles betray grimaces and it is tempting to forget a generation of Eritreans is being lost each day in the Sinai desert.

Egypt aims for revolution in desert farming

As published by Al Jazeera English, October 2nd, 2013. By Leyland Cecco and Michael Fox

Cairo, Egypt -The hazy desert that extends from the outskirts of Cairo has become the unlikely scene of another revolution that has the potential to transform Egypt - and it is green.

Inhospitable, yellowed wasteland is now yielding up ripe red tomatoes, fresh kale and schools of fish in a bold experiment fuelled by the country's most precious resource: water.

This surprising harvest illustrates how Egypt is witnessing a slow transformation in attitudes towards the environment driven by groups such as Greenpeace and Nawaya alongside an innovative young sustainability movement.

In the vanguard of this movement is Faris Farrag, an Egyptian banker inspired by a love of growing plants and fishing, who has embraced the revolutionary technique of aquaponics at his unassuming farm outside Cairo called "Bustan" (Arabic for orchard).

"As the price of water soars, as the price of petrol soars, and when the subsidies on farming disappear, this model makes sense," says Farrag.

Reviving ancient techniques

Aquaponics, an ancient form of cultivation that originated with the Aztecs, enables farmers to increase yields by growing plants and farming fish in the same closed freshwater system.

Farrag studied the technique under Dr James Rakocy at the University of the Virgin Islands, whose sustainable farming method grew in popularity in the 1980s and is now gaining mainstream acceptance in developing nations.

Enterprising farmers have implemented the system in countries as diverse as Bangladesh, the United Arab Emirates and Yemen to save water and increase output.

At Bustan, the first commercial aquaponics farm in Egypt, olive trees flank the growing areas sprouting from what seems to be sandy ground, and dusty mesh screens are the only barriers protecting delicate young plants from the expansive tracts of sand.

Water circulates from tanks hosting schools of fleshy Nile tilapia through hydroponic trays which grow vegetables including cucumber, basil, lettuce, kale, peppers and tomatoes on floating foam beds with run-off flushed out to irrigate the trees.

It is an ingenious solution to an old problem in a country dominated by unforgiving deserts where access to fresh water is a luxury in many areas.

The Nile supplies Egypt with almost all its water, 85 percent of which goes to agriculture - but the country has long outgrown agreements with neighbours on its share of this resource as its population has soared to 85 million, and is pressing to renegotiate terms.

Earlier this year the most populous Arab nation made global headlines in an angry disagreement over plans to dam the Blue Nile, denouncing Ethiopia's attempts to reroute the river.

Need for environmental policies

Compounding problems of access to water is pollution, and visitors only have to peer at the Nile's swirling eddies and water catchments to notice the gunk and assorted rubbish that confirm the low priority afforded environmentalism.

Most of the population lives on the 2.9 percent of land that is arable and use the only source of fresh water as an industrial, human and agricultural dump, undeterred by laws that prohibit the throwing of waste into the Nile.

Compounding water pollution, Egypt's annual "black cloud" caused by the burning of agricultural waste costs an estimated $6bn in damage to natural resources and a further $2bn in associated health effects, according to date compiled by the American University in Cairo.

These challenges are a bleak reminder of how desperately Egypt needs environmental policies to protect its fragile agricultural resources.

From Cairo's unremitting expansion into fertile areas to the mountains of garbage strewn on the city's streets, incessant congestion, and misuse of the water supply, there are precious few examples of sustainability.

Which is where Farrag believes aquaponics comes in - Bustan uses 90 percent less water than traditional farming methods in Egypt.

He argues that his model is economically viable and scalable, producing between 6-8 tonnes of fish per year and potentially yielding 45,000 heads of lettuce if it were to grow just a single type of vegetable.

Sustainability underpins the whole operation, he says. Bustan is not land-intensive and Farrag also uses biological pest control methods, such as ladybirds to kill aphids, in order to avoid chemical inputs.

The project also employs two locals, Abdul Rasul Hassanain and his wife Amal, who live on a nearby plot of land and have dramatically increased their role in running the farm.

Dr Ashraf Ghanem, a professor of water engineering at Cairo University, is a strong advocate of the system.

He recently told journalists about the potential benefits of these farms in the Middle East, saying they: "Could serve as a means of income generation for unemployed women, as well as a means of education for children of the household on principles of water saving, plant and fish biology, nutrient cycle, fluid mechanics, hydraulics, microbiology and renewable energies."

A local non-governmental organisation, Nawaya, is taking a leading role in supporting sustainable farming and has brought locals to visit Farrag's farm in a bid to help them swap traditional irrigation techniques for sustainable methods.

But that transition does not come cheap. Inside Bustan, the hum of pumps to ensure the fish are raised in pools with properly filtered water is constant, raising concerns about costs - and posing questions about whether sustainable farming can only be a novelty for the wealthy.

Farrag has invested more than 300,000 Egyptian pounds ($43,500) in his dream over the last two years - a daunting sum compared to the modest incomes of most rural Egyptians.

But the green entrepreneur is quick to point out that the project could be set up with half that sum, and notes that Bustan was built with locally sourced construction material.

"This is all Egyptian made or stuff that's easy to find in Egypt. Anyone could do it," he says.

With the late afternoon sun hanging low in the sky and the desert wind brushing over olive branches, the hangar-like structure of the farm rests like an oasis.

"The beauty of this system is that you can go to a piece of land that is non-plantable, that is not viable for agriculture, because you build the system"” adds Farrag.

"You can take a rock and build on it. And then you have tomatoes and fish in the desert."