Collectively, the camps in Dadaab are the largest refugee settlement in the world. Built to house 90,000 displaced people, they now hold upwards of 250,000, mainly from neighbouring Somalia. Camps which were supposed to provide temporary shelter for refugees before they could be resettled have instead become distressingly permanent, with many people living in limbo for years.

Goodwin builds a relationship with each student, meeting the families and friends they will have to leave behind as they move, alone, to various universities across Canada. There are wonderfully light moments, and the strength and dignity with which the students face their various challenges is incredibly inspiring. But this is not a happy story. The feelings of dislocation that come when trying to adapt to an alien culture are accompanied by the constant pressure to do well enough, quickly enough, to pull their families out of the camps.

Expectations are high partly because of the perception in the camps that everyone in Canada is “rolling in money” and that once they break through and make it here, they — and their families — are set. Only after arriving in Canada do they learn that this is not the case. It is here that the book offers a look at Canada through the eyes of some very intelligent newcomers. Some wonder why their new Canadian friends don’t seem to care very much about Canadian politics. Others wonder why, in a country so much richer than the ones they were born in, homelessness and poverty are allowed to persist.

The students also struggle with questions of identity, with each having to decide how strongly to hold to lifelong religious and cultural beliefs. Often there is an eagerness to try new things, accompanied by a deep reluctance to leave behind customs which remind them of home. Their views on the interaction between women and men in Canadian society are varied, as are their recollections of gender relations in the camps. More than one of the male students has had the word “feminist” used against him as a severe accusation, and more than one of the female students believes the hijab is a central part of her wardrobe.

As a journalist, Goodwin gains the trust of the students and reports their experiences and observations in their own words. As a mother with a daughter the same age as the students she is writing about, she becomes part of the story herself. For most of them, she is the only outsider who has seen them both as they used to be, young leaders in Dadaab, and as they are now, young leaders in Canada.

This year marks the 50th anniversary of the “Year of Africa,” when 16 African countries successfully achieved independence from their European colonizers.

Since then, the graduates of the 1960 decolonization movement have gone on to do some great—and some not-so-great—things. Below we highlight five of these countries and their current statuses.

SOMALIA
Most Depressing
This Horn of Africa country has not had a functioning government since 1991 and instead is run by warlords and terrorists. One of these groups, al-Shabab, maintains connections with al- Qaeda, making Somalia a place of interest in the United States’ War on Terror. Oxfam International has called Somalia Africa’s worst humanitarian crisis and no wonder: About three million of its residents depend on foreign food aid.

CONGO (KINSHASA)
Most Influential (but not in a good way)
Africa is in the grips of its own world war and this central African state was at the middle of it. For five years (from 1998-2003), Angola, Namibia, and Zimbabwe had been fighting against Uganda and Rwanda over the Democratic Republic of the Congo and its mineral wealth. Over 500,000 have been driven from their homes by soldiers, and about 5.5 million have died from war-related causes since 1998.

GABON
Most Stable (though not necessarily for the right reason)
Since it’s home to 40 ethnic groups, one might reasonably expect this West African state to have experienced some conflicts. But no, Gabon is stable and, thanks to oil reserves, relatively prosperous. But while stable, the country is anything but democratic: there have only been two presidential administrations since independence, a family dynasty of one leader followed by his son.

NIGERIA
Most Uncertain
This African powerhouse is both the diplomatic centre of West Africa and the continent’s leading oil producer. It’s also internationally recognized for its freedom of the press. However, economic inequality brought about by unequal access to the fruits of oil production is bringing Nigeria to the brink of division along ethnic lines. A corruption-prone government doesn’t help matters.

BENIN
Most Hopeful
First the bad news: Benin has the alarming title of the least developed country out of the 16 who gained independence in 1960. But on the positive side, this small West African nation has a fairly robust civil society and, unlike Gabon, boasts a number of established political parties the people can choose from.

A nomadic Somali woman leads her camels in the drought-afflicted north of Kenya. Photo by Siena Anstis.

The drought in Northern Kenya this year is severe. Farah Olad, the Deputy Chief of Party of Education for Marginalized Children of Kenya (EMACK), an organization which works with Somali pastoral communities, tells me grey is the “color of death” in this rural region.

And the whole landscape is grey: from the ground to the pinky-sized thorns on the low-lying trees that populate the desert. Within minutes of leaving the paved highway leading out of Garissa, the biggest city between Nairobi and Mogadishu, I am greeted by the ominous sight of two dead goats.

Northern Kenyans are primarily pastoral ethnic Somalis. Many call the region “the forgotten Kenya” and characterize it as under the partial authority of wealthy Somali businessmen.

For centuries, these nomadic groups have crossed the borders of Ethiopia, Kenya and Somalia with little regard for politics. Their one mission, to maintain their herd, was fulfilled through the graces of nature and a predictable climate: long and short rainy seasons, as well as a limited dry spell.

However, climate change has brought new challenges: an extended dry season, no short rains this year and the potential of an El Niño long rain accompanied by violent flash floods in December.

Pastoral communities are aware of the ticking time-bomb that comes with their lifestyle. While, as Olad says, most would herd their goats, cows and camels into the depths of a war-torn country like Somalia to maintain their livelihood and culture, many understand that their lifestyle will not suffice for all. Increasingly, pastoral communities rely on the capacity of the uninterested central Kenyan government to deliver relief services and help them build alternatives to their unstable lifestyle.
One way of addressing this problem—and ensuring equitable representation of Somali Kenyans within their host country—is through secular education. Education offers alternatives: it gives children the possibility of thinking for themselves, as a part of a wider Kenya, and ensuring that they understand that there are choices. However, as families move year-round, there is little means for a child to access the formal primary school system.

Through mobile schools, the Nomadic Heritage Association (NOHA) and EMACK, are attempting to bring the next generation of nomadic Somalis this choice. They foresee the escalating difficulties pastoralists will face as potential “climate refugees.”

Each nomadic community is made up of an average seven households, all led by a head man. These communities follow pasture and water with their herds. Mobile schools follow these communities. As Islamic education is key to Somali culture, each group already has a dugsi, or an Islamic learning school, which occupies a majority of young children’s time along with daily chores. Secular education is slowly being introduced through the mobile schools, which provide teaching materials and offer the opportunity to train a teacher from the community.

Classes focus on English, Kiswahili, and Math. In one mobile school, most children have learned to write their names. Their exercise books are filled with neatly drawn figures and calculations. For a community that has been illiterate for generations, this is a significant change. Many would call it self-empowering. As Olad says, “It is not about changing culture, but about strengthening existing culture.” The latter part means ensuring that Somali communities can maintain their culture through a network made of a younger generation who speak the languages of both their Somali homes and of Kenya at large.

For more photos, please visit Welcome to “Forgotten Kenya.”