For many displaced families in Borno State, northeastern Nigeria, hunger is an everyday struggle. Since the government shut down camps in Maiduguri and resettled them in unfamiliar communities, they have been left with no food, farmland, or aid. Some have gone five days without a meal, while others risk their lives in Boko Haram-controlled forests, gathering firewood for a few hundred naira. 

Survival is a gamble, and the odds are against them.

“Since we were brought here, we have survived on selling firewood. No one helps us. My husband is too weak from hunger to go into the bush. Cutting firewood takes strength, and without food, we have none,” said Yaamsa Bukar, a mother of nine who lives in Dalori village along the Maiduguri-Konduga road, where 200 households from the Kawar Maila IDP camp were relocated.

Yaamsa paused and gestured toward her youngest child, his frail body bearing the marks of malnutrition. 

“We go entire days without eating, just like today. We just sit here, watching our children wander around, hungry. I cannot eat while my children are starving, so whenever I sell firewood for ₦300 or ₦400, I give them ₦50 each to buy roasted groundnuts. It helps reduce hunger, and that’s all we can afford,” she told HumAngle. 

A Ramadan without food

When HumAngle visited, Yaamsa’s cooking area was littered with cold ashes, and her empty pots were coated in dust. 

“It has been five days since we last cooked a meal,” she said. “We are living as if we are fasting. Now that Ramadan has come, I don’t know how we will survive.”

Before their relocation to Dalori in 2022, HumAngle had met Yaamsa’s family. Now, they looked different. Like their children, both she and her husband were severely emaciated, their cheeks hollow, ribs visible beneath their skin, and movements slow from weakness.

“Many families here are unable to observe the Ramadan fast due to severe hunger and food insecurity,” said Modu Bintube, chairman of the Dalori resettlement camp. “They have nothing to rely on for sustenance, and with Ramadan already five days in, they struggle to fulfil their religious obligations simply because they lack food.”

Under the shade of his house’s wall, Adam Usman watched his children slowly roam the dusty compound. His frail frame and sunken eyes told their own story, but his voice, heavy with struggle, revealed the actual depth of his suffering.

“I have always fasted during Ramadan. But this year, I cannot. How do you fast when you haven’t eaten in days?” he asked, tracing patterns in the sand with his fingers.

“When you break your fast, you are supposed to have something to eat, even if it’s just water and a little food. But we have nothing. My wife and children are starving, and I cannot bear to watch them suffer any more.”

The danger in the forest

The resettled families told HumAngle that land ownership remains one of their biggest challenges. The safest and most accessible farmlands belong to the village’s indigenous inhabitants. Displaced persons have no legal right to them, leaving them without a means to grow food.

“We can’t farm because our farmland is deep in the bush, where Boko Haram operates. It’s too dangerous to go there. And here, this isn’t our original community, so the landowners won’t let us use their fields,” Yaamsa told HumAngle.

“When people go into the bush, they risk being caught, so we try to move in large groups. Boko Haram watches us, and if they see only a few people, they take them. But when we go in numbers, they usually leave us alone. Sometimes, they even let us take the firewood because they know we have no other way to survive.”

This lack of farmland access has left many families without food security or economic stability.

To make matters worse, those abducted in the woods by the terrorists are either killed or ransomed.

“Four people were taken while fetching firewood. Boko Haram first demanded ₦2 million for their release. When we pleaded, they reduced it to ₦1.5 million; ₦1 million in cash and ₦500,000 worth of food and supplies,” Yaamsa recounted.

“We all contributed whatever little we had; some gave ₦50, others ₦100, and the men mostly ₦200. Eventually, we raised the money, and after three days in captivity, they were freed.”

‘This is not how it should be’

Water scarcity is another crisis. In their resettled area, access to clean water is almost nonexistent. Families must walk long distances, competing with others to fetch what little they can. With the severe shortage, they ration water; drinking takes priority over cooking.

“We used to have a solar-powered borehole in our area, but it broke down several months ago and has not been repaired. A manually operated pump is the only functioning water source which frequently breaks down,” Bintube told HumAngle. “Each time it does, we have to raise between ₦8,000 and ₦10,000 for repairs, sometimes two or three times a month.”

While the struggle for food and other necessities worsens, a generation is left behind. Since their camp was closed, many children have been unable to return to school. Education has taken a backseat as families fight for survival.

In their desperation, some children have resorted to stealing unripe mangoes from nearby trees to have something to eat, risking being caught, whipped, and punished. 

HumAngle saw young boys and girls sneaking into bushes, plucking whatever they could find to stave off hunger. Their tiny bodies, weakened by starvation, reveal the dire state of food insecurity among displaced communities. “School is not even a priority at this point,” a local said.

The closure of displacement camps was meant to signal progress toward stability, but for these families, it has only deepened their suffering. The inability to farm means families cannot sustain themselves, and hunger is a daily battle with no job opportunities. “We have no support, no food, and no land. We don’t know how we will survive,” Yaamsa lamented, shaking her head.

He explained that since their resettlement, the situation has worsened. Humanitarian aid has ceased, leaving families without a reliable source of food. “People wake up not knowing where their next meal will come from. Some go for days without eating, and when they finally find something, it’s barely enough to sustain them,” Bintube added.

For Usman, life has become unbearably difficult since their displacement and forced resettlement. “We were not taken back to our original village. Here, we own nothing; not land, not farms, not even the smallest means to earn a living,” he said.

He shook his head and looked away, as if ashamed.

“We don’t even have enough energy to work. My children beg for food or steal unripe mangoes just to survive,” Usman said. 

“This is not how it is supposed to be.”