This archive report was first published on 24 August 2020.
As I navigated the crowded supermarket during the early days of the COVID-19 lockdown, I couldn't help but think of my past life in a refugee camp.
Having fled Somalia with my family, we settled in Kenya's Dadaab refugee camp, where I lived for many years. The experience of being quarantined and confined to a designated settlement is one that I will never forget.
As I watched people panic buying and ignoring physical distancing rules, I was reminded of the long queues in the camps where refugees wait for monthly UN food distributions.
"Every measure taken to prevent the spread of the virus reminds me of what it means to live as a refugee in a camp," I thought to myself.
While we have the luxury of driving to a different supermarket to buy extra food, refugees in the camps have no choice. They are forced to live in prison-like conditions, with their movement controlled by local authorities.
Even in emergency situations, refugees in the camps must apply for a special travel permit to travel to other parts of the country. This is a stark reminder of the lack of freedom of movement that refugees face.
The COVID-19 pandemic has also brought back memories of the stigma and misconceptions that refugees face. I remember a time when members of the host community refused to sit in the same room with refugee leaders, complaining that they were made to share a table with refugees.
However, the pandemic has also brought about a sense of urgency and collaboration in the search for a vaccine. Unfortunately, this sense of urgency is lacking when it comes to finding durable solutions for the millions of refugees displaced around the world.
