Rann, located a 40-minute flight time from Maiduguri, the Borno State capital in northeast Nigeria, is a far-flung community cut off by climate and civilization.
From the air, the community is a speck of habitation fenced in by a large body of water. For nine months of the year, this siege is the firm lot of the community of 39,536 people, half of whom are children.
The scene unfolded as the United Nations Humanitarian Air Service (UNHAS) helicopter, carrying me and other aid workers, prepared to land at this Nigeria-Cameroon border town last Friday.
It was my first visit to this town, which holds painful memories for humanitarians and residents. Rann is famous for its remoteness, inaccessibility, extreme hot weather, and frequent attacks by armed groups.
For humanitarians, accessing Rann must be done by air while essential supplies are transported by armed escorts over land and two rivers to reach the town. Unlike some other communities in the northeast region, the United Nations (UN) lacks an accommodation hub for aid workers to stay overnight. This is due to the closure of the hub in March 2018, following a deadly terrorist attack that claimed the lives of frontline workers, including Onyedikachi Izuogu, a UNICEF-supported medical personnel stationed in the town, as well as Emmanuel Yawe Sonter and Ibrahim Lawan, who worked with the International Organisation for Migration (IOM).
To calm my nerves, I had clutched and managed to read Ankur Warikoo’s bestselling book, Do Epic Shit, during the flight. But now, as the rotors of the chopper sing their requiem, excitement and trepidation are the twin emotions raging in my mind.
As we sauntered into town, wan smiles pasted on our faces, I noted that the population of donkeys competed with the number of residents.
The buildings in Rann have a distinct appearance, in contrast to what obtains in other parts of the region. Every house is built with the same materials—burnt mud and roofs made from raffia leaves. There were no vehicles in sight, only donkeys and bicycles.
“I have been working in Rann for three years, and I have yet to see a car,” Liyatu Maina, a humanitarian supporting UNICEF activities in the town, told me.
Liyatu has more—there is no secondary school in Rann. With Rann Primary School as the only learning facility in the town, education is a limited service in Rann. Children desirous of a higher education are left with no choice but to go to nearby Cameroon, where they must deal with learning French, a new language first.
Rann’s topography is such that floods and vehicular traffic cut it off for nine months of the year. Our team quickly set about our business, knowing that the chopper would be back soon for the return journey.
In company with Philimon Majwa, UNICEF Emergency Manager, and a filming crew, we checked on water points, chlorination sites, health facilities, and the Rann Primary School, the only education facility in the town.
Earlier in the week, tonnes of humanitarian WASH supplies had been sent from Maiduguri, the capital city of Borno State, to Rann to support residents and improve access to sanitation services for women and children.
After finishing our monitoring of project sites and conducting interviews, we moved to the riverside to await the arrival of the humanitarian cargo. The spectacle at the riverside was bewildering. As they returned from their farm, scores of men, women, and children, each with bundles of raffia wood stacked high on their heads, walked through hundreds of meters of water, only to be submerged up to their necks in the floodwaters.
By the time they emerged, humans and bundles were thoroughly wet, shivering like chickens beaten after a downpour.
But this is the route anyone in Rann, going to or returning from the farm or nearby towns, must take.
Welcome to Rann, one of the hardest-to-reach communities in northeast Nigeria, where basic comfort is rare and in between.
Still, none of the residents submerged in the water wore a frown—what is usual for one person is a wonder to another!
From afar, we sighted the humanitarian cargo on two boats made by locals from tarpaulin. On the boats were toilet pipes, bolts, nuts, wires, solar panels, and other supplies. The supplies had survived an unusually long journey, passing through the towns of Dikwa and Mafa and two rivers before arriving in Rann.
Through the Rapid Response Mechanism (RRM) approach, UNICEF is providing quick emergency response to cater to the sanitation, nutrition, health, and education needs of children living in hard-to-reach locations like Rann. The RRM, with funding from the Foreign, Commonwealth, and Development Office (FCDO), allows UNICEF to overcome protocols and quickly mobilise support for children and women affected by disease outbreaks, man-made or natural disasters, or other types of emergencies.
In collaboration with the government and local partners, such as the GPON, UNICEF has provided handpump boreholes and solar-powered boreholes through the RRM. Other interventions include the provision of educational supplies and acute malnutrition treatment.
Across the northeast, UNICEF, with funding from donors, is providing emergency response to over 250,000 people in nine local government areas. With the RRM, UNICEF is supporting government to bring prompt relief to those who need it the most.
As we approached the chopper on achy legs, I was certain that the thoughts of donkeys, children wading neck-deep through dirty floodwater for firewood and travelling to Cameroon for their secondary school education would haunt me for a long, long time.
Folashade Adebayo is a Communication Officer with the UNICEF.
