displaced

Displaced families in Sidon are turning their vehicles into makeshift shelters, covering them with tarp to shield themselves from the rain after failing to find space in local schools. Hundreds of thousands have been forced from their homes as Israel’s offensive in Lebanon intensifies.

United Nations refugee agency says forced displacement likely to increase as US and Israel continue deadly strikes across Iran.

More than three million people have been displaced in Iran since the United States and Israel launched a war against the country late last month, the United Nations says, as concerns mount over a worsening humanitarian crisis.

The UN High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) said on Thursday that as many as 3.2 million people – representing between 600,000 and one million Iranian households – have been forcibly displaced since the war began on February 28.

“Most of them are reportedly fleeing from Tehran and other major urban areas towards the north of the country and rural areas to seek safety,” UNHCR official Ayaki Ito said in a statement.

“This figure is likely to continue rising as hostilities persist, marking a worrying escalation in humanitarian needs.”

The US and Israeli militaries have continued to bombard Iran despite mounting international condemnation and calls for de-escalation.

More than 1,300 people have been killed in US-Israeli attacks across the country to date, according to the latest figures from Iranian officials.

While the US and Israel have said they are targeting Iranian leaders as well as military and nuclear infrastructure, Iran says thousands of civilian sites, such as schools and hospitals, have been attacked.

Iran’s Deputy Health Minister Ali Jafarian told Al Jazeera on Thursday that medical teams have been responding to a growing number of casualties as strikes on urban areas have intensified in recent days.

“Most of these people are civilians,” Jafarian said, adding that more than 30 hospitals and health facilities have been damaged due to the attacks.

On Thursday, explosions were heard in several parts of the capital, Tehran, and other Iranian cities as the strikes continued.

Al Jazeera’s Tohid Asadi said rescuers were digging through mounds of rubble as several multistorey apartment buildings were heavily damaged in recent attacks on a hard-hit eastern neighbourhood of Tehran.

“We saw bodies taken out [of the rubble] … and the situation was far beyond what I can call disastrous,” Asadi said.

Iran has responded to the US-Israeli assault by launching a barrage of missiles and drones at US bases and other sites in countries across the wider Middle East region.

It has also shut down the Strait of Hormuz, a critical Gulf waterway through which about one-fifth of the world’s oil transits, raising serious concerns of disruptions to global energy supplies.

Hauwa Abdulkarim was inside her house when the violence began. 

As evening settled over Woro, a village in Kaiama Local Government Area (LGA) of Kwara State, North Central Nigeria, on Feb. 3, the terrorists descended on motorcycles like a sudden storm. What began as a seemingly ordinary evening quickly turned into chaos, with about 170 people killed, their homes set ablaze, celebrations interrupted, and families forced to flee.

“Most of the youths were at the field playing football [on a school field close to the house]. Then we saw people running back home with the news that kidnappers had entered the town,” Hauwa recounted. 

At first, she did not panic. The terrorists had sent word days earlier, a letter to the district head saying they were coming to “preach”. When the motorcycles rolled in, there was confusion and fear.

Then the shooting started. 

“Upon entering the village [around 5 p.m.], they started shooting at people,” she said. The football field emptied in seconds. Inside her house, Hauwa and her husband tried to gather their children, counting them quickly and realising some were still outside.

“We were thinking about some of our children who were outside and those that went to the football field. The shooting continued until 5 a.m., the next day,” Hauwa added. 

But the terror was not continuous. It came in waves.

“When it was time for the call to prayer, they suddenly stopped,” she recalled. “They made the call to prayer for Maghrib and called out people to pray.”

The silence was almost as frightening as the gunfire. After the prayer, the shooting resumed. “They did the same for the late-night prayer, stopping briefly to make the call to prayer and observe it. Afterwards, they resumed shooting through the night,” Hauwa told HumAngle.

Later that night, everything suddenly became quiet: the gunshots stopped. That was when the residents began to hear the call to come out and extinguish the blazing fires.

Many were confused and afraid, unsure whether to come out to help put out the flames, flee, or stay hidden. 

Hauwa and her husband came out with other residents, but they were ambushed. “We thought they had gone, so we came out with buckets to save our homes. That was when they opened fire again. It was a trap and my husband was almost killed in that encounter. He hid in a ditch, as I ran inside to stay with my children,” she recounted. 

By dawn, the village was scarred by destruction — dead bodies with gunshot wounds to the head and cuts to their necks, houses reduced to ashes, the district head’s residence consumed by fire, and families shaken by the night’s events. 

The alternating rhythm of violence and prayer created a chilling atmosphere that has left Hauwa to grapple with both physical loss and psychological trauma. She described the ordeal as a mix of terror and deception, designed to lure people into vulnerability. 

The attack on Woro and neighbouring Nuku communities has displaced at least 941 persons and exposed glaring intelligence failures, despite prior warnings, and the growing influence of terror groups operating from the Kainji Lake National Park axis. HumAngle met with some of the survivors in Wawa, a town in nearby Niger State. 

Ibrahim Ismail Dan’umar, a community leader in Wawa who serves as the coordinator of the displaced persons, told HumAngle that the community has been providing the families with relief materials and accommodation, as there is no designated camp for them. 

“On our records, we have people from Plateau, Nasarawa, Kebbi, Kwara, and Niger,” he noted. “We decided to organise a breakfast for them and announced that anyone offering shelter to the displaced should bring them to the gathering. On the first day, we had 381 people, even though we only projected for 200.”

“The next day, we distributed food items, and by the third day, the Emir of Borgu and representatives of Kaiama Local Government came with support, which we shared among them. Now, we have 941 displaced persons — adults and children — here in Wawa,” he explained.

Amnesty International, a global human rights organisation, described the killings as evidence of systemic neglect of rural communities. In a statement, the organisation condemned the attacks as “vicious” and criticised the Nigerian government for leaving rural communities at the mercy of rampaging terrorists.

Following the deadly attacks, the Nigerian military has formally launched a multi-agency offensive  in Kwara and Niger states, code-named ‘Operation Savannah Shield’, designed to dismantle terrorist networks and restore security in the region. 

The initiative was flagged off on Thursday, Feb. 19 at Sobi Barracks in Ilorin by the Chief of Defence Staff, General Olufemi Oluyede, the Chief of Army Staff, Lieutenant General Waidi Shaibu, and the Kwara State Governor, AbdulRahman AbdulRazaq. 

Unmasking those behind the terror

This attack is one of the deadliest this year.

In the weeks leading up to the Woro massacre, Sadiku’s faction of Boko Haram had already reached out to the community.  

According to the village head, Salihu Umar, a letter dated Jan. 8 — written in Hausa and bearing the signature of JAS (Jama’atu Ahlis Sunna Lidda’adati wal-Jihad) — was delivered to him. The message requested a “private” meeting with local leaders for preaching and assured residents that no harm would come to them.  

Umar said he made copies of the letter and forwarded them to both the Kaiama Emirate and the Department of State Services (DSS) office in Kaiama. Despite this warning, no preventive measures were taken, raising questions about Nigerian security intelligence.

However, security sources revealed that the killings are part of a jihadist campaign commanded by Malam Sadiku, a notorious terrorist whose influence has steadily expanded across multiple parts of Nigeria’s North Central region. 

HumAngle has extensively documented how Sadiku, once closely aligned with Boko Haram founder Muhammad Yusuf and later Abubakar Shekau, has re-emerged at the forefront of a dangerous wave of insurgency. 

After a stint with the Darul Islam sect, he returned to Boko Haram with renewed zeal, positioning himself as one of Shekau’s most loyal comrades. Sadiku’s financial windfall from the infamous Kaduna train abduction gave him the means to expand his influence, strengthen his network, and spread Boko Haram’s radical ideology across Niger State and neighbouring states. 

With resources and reputation firmly behind him, Sadiku built a growing base of followers and fighters. Under his leadership, extremist teachings were not only revived but embedded into local communities, turning quiet rural villages into recruitment and indoctrination centres.

His trajectory, security analysts such as Yahuza Getso of Eagle Integrated Security note, reflects a long-term strategy of territorial control and ideological entrenchment, with this latest attack underscoring both the scale of his operations and the devastating impact on local communities. 

But he is not alone.

Malam Mahmuda, the leader of the Mahmudawa (an Ansaru faction), has also turned the Kainji Forest into a safe haven for his fighters. Despite previous arrests of their leaders, the group has replenished its ranks and rearmed its foot soldiers. 

According to Ahmad Salkida, HumAngle’s founder, who is one of the foremost experts on the protracted Boko Haram insurgency and the complex conflicts in the Lake Chad region, “The relocation of Sadiku and Umar Taraba, both veteran jihadist operatives, to the Kainji axis in 2024 marked a shift. Their presence injected technical expertise into a space previously dominated by loosely organised armed groups.”

He added that they are fragmented into smaller camps: some closer to the Benin border, acting as brokers linking criminal networks of jihadist actors. The Mahmudawa are said to facilitate training, arms movement, ransom negotiations, and sanctuary for fighters arriving from outside the region.

“Official claims regarding the arrest of their leader, Malam Mahmuda, remain unconfirmed in border communities, where continued attacks and coordinated leadership are still attributed to the group,” he noted. 

“If the Mahmudawa are brokers, the Lakurawa are enforcers. With an estimated 300 fighters, they have become one of the most active jihadist–terrorist hybrids affecting […] border communities. Operating from within and around Kainji Lake National Park, they routinely launch incursions into Bagudo and Suru LGAs, combining attacks on military targets with ideological messaging aimed at delegitimising the Nigerian state.”

Security sources and community accounts indicate that Sadiku’s group and Mahmudawa, linked to jihadist networks across West Africa, have long operated in the dense Kainji Lake National Park and Borgu Reserve, straddling Niger and Kwara states. According to the sources, this is an attempt to create another Sambisa: a hotbed for Boko Haram in the North East.

Local residents have repeatedly warned authorities about the presence of terrorist camps in the forest, but responses have been slow. Between September and December 2025, the Federal Government carried out aerial and ground operations in the area, yet the group remains influential. The forest’s vast terrain and porous borders have provided cover for training, recruitment, and staging raids. 

Getso believes that Sadiku’s Boko Haram has rebranded and reorganised remnants of Ansaru and JNIM cells, consolidating them into a formidable force in North Central Nigeria. He also revealed that the Woro massacre underscores the growing threat posed by Sadiku’s network. 

“Nigeria’s current counter-terrorism strategy is insufficient. There is a need for a comprehensive review of military doctrine and intelligence operations,” Getso noted.

A dream on hold

At just 22 years old, Ibrahim Ishaq Woro had recently graduated from the School of Health in New Bussa, Niger State. He had only returned home to Woro a year earlier and was in the process of applying for jobs when the attack shattered his community.  

On the day of the assault, Ibrahim was sitting at a tea stall when he spotted the terrorists approaching. Recognising them from a previous encounter, he fled — but minutes later, gunfire erupted across the village. 

That day was meant to be joyous, with three weddings taking place, including his cousin’s. Instead, the celebrations turned into a massacre. 

“The wedding was taking place at our house. Yahaya, my cousin, was killed. His wife and children were abducted and taken to the forest,” Ibrahim recalled.  

Like Hauwa, who described how false calls to prayer lured residents into ambushes, Ibrahim witnessed the same deception. “Those who hid inside were warned: ‘you either come outside or burn in your houses.’ Those who opened their doors out of fear were kidnapped,” he said.  

By dawn, Ibrahim returned to find the bodies of women, children, and men scattered across the community. His closest friends — Zakari, Habib, and Shamsudeen — were among the dead. 

His mother, three siblings, and several family members who came for the wedding were taken captive. “Personally, we lost 20 people from my extended family and about 50 are still missing,” he said quietly, while looking away. 

Like Hauwa, Ibrahim and other survivors fled Woro to Wawa and other neighbouring communities, with their belongings in wheelbarrows and on their heads, trekking for about 42 kilometres with swollen feet in search of refuge.   

Now displaced, their only plea is for the government to secure the release of kidnapped women and children, and restore safety so families can return home. 

“For those we have lost, we can only pray for eternal peace. But we need our loved ones back. That is why we are afraid to even return home,” Ibrahim said.

Officials in Wawa town, speaking on condition of anonymity, said discussions are ongoing with the district head to facilitate the safe return of displaced residents. The move, they explained, would allow survivors to access federal and state-level interventions more effectively once back home.

Feb. 18 (UPI) — As the Ukraine war nears its fifth year, more than a third of Ukrainian children remain displaced following Russia’s invasion of its neighboring nation.

Russian forces invaded Ukraine on Feb. 24, 2022, which has led to the displacement of 2.59 million Ukrainian children, UNICEF reported on Tuesday.

The number of displaced children includes 791,000 who are still inside Ukraine and nearly 1.8 million who are refugees living outside of the country’s borders. Russian forces also have taken many Ukrainian children and relocated them to Russia.

“Millions of children and families have fled their homes in search of safety, with one in three children remaining displaced four years into this relentless war,” said UNICEF Regional Director for Europe and Central Asia Regina De Dominicis.

“For children in Ukraine, safety is increasingly hard to come by as attacks on civilian areas continue across the country,” De Dominicis said. “In many ways, the war is following these children.”

Many children and their families have been forced to flee their homes several times during the war as Russian forces targeted civilian areas.

A recently published UNICEF survey showed that a third of teen respondents between age 15 and 19 said they moved at least two times due to safety reasons so far during the war.

Bombardments by Russian artillery, attack drones and ballistic missiles have killed or injured more than 3,200 children since the war started.

Each year, the number of dead and injured has increased among Ukraine’s children, according to UNICEF.

“Obligations under international humanitarian law must be upheld, and every possible measure to protect children and the civilian infrastructure they rely on must be taken,” De Dominicis said.

“Every child has the right to grow up in safety, and without exception that right must be respected.”

Many of the support services for the country’s children also have been damaged or destroyed, including more than 1,700 schools and other education facilities, which deprives a third of Ukrainian children from attending school on a full-time basis.

Russian strikes on Ukraine’s energy infrastructure have deprived millions of Ukrainian children and their families of the power needed to heat their homes and water during the country’s extremely cold winters.

Babies and young children are especially vulnerable to harm due to a lack of electrical power, which could lead to hypothermia and respiratory illnesses.

More than 200 medical facilities also have been damaged or destroyed in Ukraine over the past year and many more before then.

The stress of the ongoing war is putting a severe mental strain on Ukraine’s children, who often experience a constant fear of attacks that force them to seek shelter in basements and remain isolated while at home.

About a fourth of Ukrainian youth between age 15 and 19 say they are losing hope for the country’s future.

UNICEF officials said they are working with local and national authorities to support Ukrainian children and provide them and their families with safe water, healthcare, food, educational support, mental health services and similar needs.

Ali Juwon’s future shattered at the same time his father’s leg did. The year was 2012, and the 9-year-old, hand in hand with his mother, was fleeing his home in Borno State, northeastern Nigeria. Boko Haram members had stormed their community in Gwoza, killing neighbours and burning buildings Ali had known his entire life. 

As he and his mother ran, a familiar voice cried behind them. Both turned to see that Ali’s father had crashed to the ground, crushing his leg in the process. Yet, with all the odds stacked against them, the three managed to make it out with their lives. 

The family travelled for half a day to Nigeria’s federal capital, Abuja, and sought refuge in the Durumi IDP camp like many survivors at the time. 

The camp, with the flurry of Borno survivors, was overcrowded, but Ali’s mother promised him it would not be home, only a resting place before they could find their footing again. Over 14 years later, the Juwon family continue to reside there. 

Ali, now 23, explained how the situation derailed his life, “Before fleeing, my father had a business and was able to afford all my needs. Since he broke his leg, he hasn’t been able to work, and because we couldn’t get him properly treated, his leg never healed well. He hasn’t walked since the fall. Suddenly, all the luxuries we could afford before have vanished.”

Being the only child in his family, Ali took it upon himself to care for his parents. The only thing he needed was a decent education that would lead to a business or accounting degree. He planned to join whatever lucrative fields these courses would thrust him into and use his money to get himself and his parents a place away from the camp.

But Ali quickly learnt that he was no longer in Borno, dependent on his well-to-do father. His education now rested in the hands of IDP leaders, non-profit donors,  government promises, and his own hustle. As the years wore on, he learnt that even with seemingly more helpers, his chances of finishing school had dimmed significantly.

In the Durumi IDP camp, displacement does not end with fleeing violence. For many, it continues in the classroom. While primary education is often supported by NGOs or private donors, secondary school is where the system collapses. 

According to camp leaders, the girls in the camp are often married off after their basic education ends, as secondary education is no longer attainable without sustained government intervention. Hundreds of displaced boys, on the other hand, are forced to choose between survival and schooling, a gap that is reshaping their futures and deepening Nigeria’s long-term social and economic vulnerabilities.

No way past secondary school

“In primary school, things were okay. NGOs sponsored my schooling, but once I got to secondary school, that was where the real problem began. No one sponsored secondary schooling for us,” Ali explained. 

Liyatu Yusuf, the woman leader of the Durumi camp, finds the schooling situation distressing.

“We had certain sponsors who do everything for these children. Usually, it’s from an individual with a good heart. We used to do their secondary school education in the camp as well, but due to a lack of teachers and overcrowding, we had to stop it.”

According to her, over 1,000 students occupy the less spacious class, forcing them to have seven different sessions in just one class. But that’s not just the problem. There is a lack of teachers, too.

“The teachers we have are university volunteers. They would come three times in a week, but then refuse to come the next week because no one was paying them or giving them transport money,” Liyatu said.

Liyatu says the children never receive government sponsorship, and that many of the people who help the children through primary school are good-natured individuals or NGOs. Despite record education budgets announced in Abuja, camp leaders say they have not seen much implementation, especially for the displaced children like those in Durumi.

In a 2025 press release by the Presidential State House Villa, Nigeria’s Vice President, Kashim Shettima, called for collaboration between the government and the private sector to invest in education, as the burden of educating children cannot fall entirely on the government’s shoulders. But in the Durumi IDP camp, help has come mainly from the camp leaders and individual sponsors. 

So, with no one to help him through secondary school, Ali did what several boys in the camp chose to do: work and fund his education in tandem. This way, he would be able to pay for school with the money he made and leave some for his unemployed parents. 

But this was not an easy route, and soon the stress of paying for so much caught up with the boys. Salim Aliyu, for example, now runs a small provision shop near Durumi, as his education ended in Senior Secondary (SS) 1.

“I’m 25 now,” he said. “I stopped at SS1 because it was too expensive. Transport alone was about ₦1,000 every day. How much was I earning to pay that?”

At the time, Salim did menial jobs, sweeping houses and cleaning compounds to survive. Eventually, the numbers stopped adding up. “One day, I realised I couldn’t continue. I just had to leave school.” His story is common in the camp. For many boys, the challenge is not only tuition fees but the impossible balance between earning and learning.

Sulieman Nobo repeated SS3 three times after running out of money repeatedly. By his final attempt, anxiety had overtaken ambition. “In junior secondary school, I learned a lot,” he said. “But in senior secondary, I was focused on passing, not learning. I didn’t have time to retain anything.”

School ended by mid-afternoon. Work began soon after. By nightfall, he was too exhausted to revise his notes. Despite the strain, Sulieman managed above-average grades. Others were not as fortunate.

“I was funding my education myself,” Usman Selman, another young man in the camp, told HumAngle. “My school fees were ₦20,000 a year, so I had to work. But the stress became too much.”

The dual burden affected his concentration. “No matter how hard I tried to listen in class, the only thing on my mind was money.” For some, the pressure pushed them out entirely. Aliyu Usman began paying his own fees at 15. By 17, even ₦3,000 per semester proved unsustainable.

“I was tailoring while in school,” he said. “But I couldn’t cope with fees and transport. I dropped out in SS2. Now I do laundry. It feeds my family.” He paused before adding, “If I could go back to school, I would. But I know in my heart I can’t.”

Salim, now financially stable enough to run his shop, no longer sees school as essential.

“Even if I had the chance, I wouldn’t go back,” he said. “Everything I need for business, I learned here. And after school, where is the job? Unless you already have money, there’s nothing waiting.”

For the few who make it through secondary school, graduation does not guarantee anything. Umar borrowed ₦87,000 to register for the West African Examinations Council (WAEC) exam, one the final secondary school tests that qualify one for further education in the university and other higher insitututions. It took him half a year to repay the debt. In those six months, he was forced to cut back on food. “After all that, I still didn’t get a job,” he said. “If university graduates are struggling, who am I with only a WAEC certificate?” 

The repeated disappointments take a toll. According to Liyatu, who coordinates the camp, more than half of the 1,000 boys there are currently out of school and unemployed. “If they even register for WAEC, we are lucky,” she said. “Most cannot finish secondary school. When they see there’s no support, they lose hope.” She worries about the ripple effects.

“With no school and sometimes no work, small arguments turn into fights. I saw boys punch each other over ₦200. I don’t excuse it, but I understand the frustration.”

Humanitarian worker Mohammed Abubakar, who has spent over a decade in Nigeria’s humanitarian sector, says prolonged educational exclusion carries broader consequences. “When young people are cut off from opportunity, their productivity drops,” he said. “They become more vulnerable to exploitation and manipulation.” He cautions that marginalisation, not ignorance alone, creates risk. “If society neglects them, others will step in, sometimes with harmful intentions. That is how cycles of insecurity and poverty sustain themselves.”

Beyond security, he points to economic cost. “When you underinvest in education, your population becomes less competitive. It affects productivity, innovation, even GDP. The impact goes far beyond one camp.”

Yet, despite the barriers, many of the boys continue to dream. Sulieman plans to register for JAMB, hoping for a scholarship. If that fails, he wants to join the armed forces.

“My dream is simple,” he said. “To live a better life and take my parents out of this camp.”

Umar still hopes to study computer engineering. Aliyu once imagined becoming a doctor. Sadiqi Shauku, 18, who left school in SS2, says he would return “if someone helped.” And Ali Juwon, still carrying the weight of his family’s survival, has not let go. “If there is anyone who can help me continue my education, I will continue,” he said. “I want to study something that will help me start a business or work in government. I want to be a better man.”

For now, he survives on friends’ support and periodic food distributions. Hope remains, but evidence of escape is scarce.

“Since I started primary school, I have never seen anyone gather enough money to leave this camp,” Sulieman said. “I believe in my future. But no one has gotten out.”

A group of children gather on a Saturday morning in front of a three-block classroom at the Ekklesiyar Yan’uwa a Nigeria (EYN) displacement camp in Wurro-Jabbe, a community in Yola, Adamawa State, northeastern Nigeria. They run across the dusty fields, playing and chatting, but when a chessboard is laid in front of the closed classroom, the children fall silent and move closer to the scene. Their sudden silence and concentration do not come as a surprise because on the chessboard before them, new possibilities begin to unfold.

Seventeen-year-old Partsi David, one of the oldest players in the group, sets up the chessboard and gives instructions before the teachers arrive. She randomly selects the first team to play and urges the next group to be patient as each player is eager to demonstrate their moves first. 

It has been a decade since EYN established the camp to accommodate displaced persons from Mubi, Michika, Madagali, and other communities attacked by Boko Haram. While most residents from Mubi have returned home following the restoration of peace in their communities, those from Madagali and other parts of Michika remain in the camp. Apart from relying on donations from EYN and other humanitarian organisations over the past decade, the displaced persons have also taken up farming and menial work to survive. 

Survival became a priority over the years, pushing education down the list, and many children relied on the camp’s only primary school, run by older displaced persons who taught the younger ones basic English and numeracy. With barely enough chairs and tables inside the three-block classroom, the pupils bring mats from home to sit on. 

According to the United Nations International Organisation for Migration, Boko Haram has displaced over 200,000 people in Adamawa State so far, with residents of Michika and Madagali being among the most affected populations. As of 2025, 69 per cent of children living in internally displaced persons (IDP) camps across Adamawa, Borno, and Yobe were said to lack access to education services. 

However, through the Chess in IDP Camp Initiative, displaced children at the EYN camp are now being relocated to formal schools in Yola, where they have been receiving structured education over the past few years. The change came after a young woman, Vivian Ibrahim, introduced chess to the displaced children in 2023. 

After establishing the initiative in the EYN camp, Vivian replicated it in Malkohi, another Yola community where a displacement camp is situated. It was in this environment that chess began to take root.

The game of chess 

The displaced persons in Malkhohi are from Askira Uba, Gwoza, Damboa, and other parts of Borno State. Having developed a passion for chess during her junior secondary school years, Vivian’s experience enabled her to teach the game to the children.

She recounted that barely a few minutes after she introduced the game to them, the children began to catch up. “The kind of moves and the thinking ahead that I saw some of them doing left me amazed, and I was like, these kids are very intelligent,” Vivian said. 

On social media, she showcased how the children had embraced chess and how well they played. 

People began reaching out with tokens of support for the initiative, and soon, more chessboards were acquired. As monetary donations kept flowing, Vivian conceived the idea to direct every penny donated to the campaign toward the educational development of children from the various camps. The initiative’s goal is to use chess as a tool to help displaced children access opportunities in life. 

That same year, the initiative secured secondary school admission for five children at the Malkhohi IDP camp, and after she shared the success story on Facebook, the President of the Gift of Chess, an international chess club, reached out to her. 

“He donated $500, so I used it to get more of them back to school. And we got books, school uniforms, sandals, school bags, and all of those things,” she said. 

From the Malkhohi camp, Vivian began expanding her work to displacement camps in Yola alongside her younger brother, who was also skilled at the game and her only volunteer at the time. They held weekly chess lessons for the children after establishing chess clubs at Malkhohi and EYN camps. “We recently enrolled three-year-olds,” Vivian said with a smile. 

As the years rolled by, the children’s skills steadily improved. She noticed a shift in their mindset, particularly in their career aspirations. She explained that many of them believed their future was limited to manual labour since they were displaced children, but after several chess lessons, many of them felt they were really good at something. Vivian believed that participating in tournaments outside the camp would help the children realise not only that they were capable, but also that they were deserving and worthy of every opportunity. 

New opportunities 

As the children’s confidence grew, the initiative organised a tournament between the two camps and later expanded it across the state, so the young players could showcase their skills. They competed in the state chess tournaments and emerged as champions. The children said their confidence was boosted, and their learning efforts doubled.

For twelve-year-old Timothy Hassan, it was an opportunity to shine. 

“I love to calculate. I love mathematics,” he stated. 

However, he never thought his dreams could come true, since he didn’t have access to secondary education; education at the EYN camp stops at the primary level. So when the game was introduced to his camp in 2024, Timothy was among the first group to show interest. 

“I’ve participated in local tournaments within Adamawa and even travelled to Lagos and Delta states to compete,” he told HumAngle with a bright smile. 

Timothy says the feeling he gets anytime he’s set to travel for a competition is indescribable because he never thought it would be possible for him to leave the camp or even travel outside the state. Now, he gets to compete with other chess players, and the initiative has enrolled him in a secondary school where he is continuing his education. 

“The game has made me a more focused person. It has reduced the rate at which I play around the camp unnecessarily as I spend my free time practising with the chessboard,” Timothy said.  “I want to be an engineer,” he added. 

When preparations were underway for the National Sports Festival in 2025, the Chess in IDP Camp initiative seized the opportunity, as there was no group to represent Adamawa State in the chess section. 

“I made contact with the Adamawa State Sports Council, and I presented the kids to them. They played a match. The people at the sports council were impressed,” Vivian told HumAngle. 

The children were then selected to represent the state during the chess tournaments in Delta State. They competed against teams from other states in Nigeria and finished fourth.

Partsi, one of the chess players who represented the state at the National Sports Festival, says she’s getting better at the game with each passing day. She also participated in a secondary school tournament in Adamawa, where she emerged as the female winner. 

While she wants to become a doctor, Partsi aspires to be a famous chess player. 

“I want to be seen on TV, and I also want to be the winner in every competition. I want to win for Nigeria,”  she said. 

In 2024, Vivian noted that the Commander of the 105 Composite Group, Nigerian Air Force (NAF), who is a patron of the NAF Chess Club in Maiduguri, Borno State, reached out to the Chess in IDP Camp Initiative in Yola, requesting that the programme be introduced to some displaced camps in Borno. Led by Vivian and Tunde Onakoya, a Nigerian chess master and founder of Chess in Slums Africa, the initiative reached Maiduguri, with Tunde directly engaging players at the Muna and Shuwari IDP camps. 

Tunde’s visit was said to have brought further media and public attention to the role that chess can play in healing, learning, and reimagining futures for children affected by conflict.

“This game makes me calm whenever I’m playing because chess doesn’t want your attention to be divided. It wants your full attention,” Partsi said. 

After Tunde became affiliated with the initiative, Vivian explained that several chess players in the state, mostly young people, volunteered to teach the children. This increase in human resources helped the initiative to reach more children in the camps.

Vivian highlighted that the initiative teaches chess to over 200 IDP children from both camps, ranging from ages four to 18. The chess clubs operate on Saturdays for two hours during the school term, but during the holidays, volunteers visit two to three times a week to tutor the children. 

Fifteen-year-old Emmanuel Paul, one of the players who joined the club in 2024, said he needed no persuasion to join. 

“The game itself impresses me. The game requires a lot of calculation,” he told HumAngle. 

The boy explained that the game makes him feel confident, and anytime there is a forthcoming tournament, he feels ready to play. Emmanuel said the hardest part of the game is the endgame when a tournament is drawing to a close. 

“If you don’t strategise well during the endgame, your opponent will win,” he said. 

Like many other chess players in the camp, Emmanuel has been enrolled in a secondary school by the Chess in IDP Camp Initiative. 

Mary Zira, a renowned chess player from the EYN IDP camp, secured a scholarship for secondary education at a private school in Yola. This came shortly after she returned from an international competition in Georgia in 2025. There, she competed in the Chess Community Games, won a silver medal, and earned a chance to speak at the United Nations. 

Impressed by her performance, an individual reached out to the initiative and offered to sponsor her secondary education. While Mary is currently in a private boarding school, her mother, Hannatu Victor, spoke to HumAngle about the achievement. 

“I am a very proud mother,” Mary’s mother stated. 

She explained that she had never imagined her daughter’s life would change overnight because of a game. “This game is helping us, especially our kids, in furthering their education. It also exposes them because they go out to meet other children when they play in different places,” she said. 

From chessboards to classrooms 

Following several tournament victories by the displaced children, the Chess in IDP Camp Initiative has gained widespread recognition. Although the initiative has not yet partnered with any local or international humanitarian organisation, Vivian remains grateful to individuals who have given the children the opportunity for a better life. 

According to Vivian, about 70 young chess players from both the Malkhohi and EYN IDP camps have been enrolled in various private and public secondary schools in Yola, with the initiative covering their fees. The oldest student has recently completed secondary school and is now ready to pursue a university education. Scholarships have also been secured for some of the children.

Apart from chess, a group of young volunteers from the Modibbo Adama University, Yola, who recently joined the initiative, are incorporating AI and tech sessions into several chess classes. Their goal is to equip the children for a rapidly changing world. 

Elisha Samson, one of the volunteers at the camp, told HumAngle that the children have shown noticeable improvement in STEM subjects integrated into their sessions. The volunteers have been teaching the children how to use Arduino, an open-source platform used for building electronics projects. 

“I feel that, going further in the future, maybe we could have a lot of them build very cool tech on their own without us guiding them to do it,” Elisha said. 

Elisha noted that the major challenges they face as volunteers are the lack of electricity in the camp, as some of the tech and AI concepts they are introducing to the children require electricity. 

“Sometimes we have to come with a backup power supply from home, and then we use it for them. We also need more Arduino kits to be able to handle more students or show more students what we’re talking about and have lots of practicals because our practicals are limited, as the kits we have are very limited,” he added.

Jerry Sunday, another volunteer with the initiative, explained that sessions are more interaction-based. 

“When we notice that a student is trying to lose interest or is not doing well, we break the concepts down into basic everyday examples, and they quickly understand and relate to it,” he said, adding that students who don’t do very well are often paired with better-performing colleagues who serve as their tutors. 

Despite these efforts, sessions are sometimes disrupted.  

“There is no consistency in attendance, especially during the rainy season, because most of them go to help their parents on the farm,” the volunteer said. 

A 2024 fact sheet on Nigeria’s education, developed by the United Nations Children’s Fund (UNICEF), shows that rural and poor children across all levels have lower school completion rates than urban and wealthier children, whose completion rates are above average. The report further states that while 90 per cent of children from the wealthiest quintile complete senior secondary education, less than 16 per cent of children from the poorest quintile do so.

Against all odds, the children continue to excel. 

Rebecca David, a displaced woman from Madagali whose daughters participate in the chess programme, noted that their confidence has improved since they enrolled. 

“They are now smarter and more critical in doing regular things at home,” she said. 

With a focus on long-term sustainability, the initiative aims to partner with local and international organisations to enrol more children in school, expand opportunities for the children, and ensure that displaced children have the chance to dream beyond the confines of their camps. 

The smell hits you before you even see the tents. In the al-Taawun camp, wedged between Yarmouk Stadium and al-Sahaba Street in central Gaza City, the line between human habitation and human waste has been erased.

Forced to flee their homes by Israel’s genocidal war in Gaza, 765 families have set up makeshift shelters directly on top of and adjacent to an enormous solid waste dump. Here, amid mountains of rotting garbage, they are fighting a losing battle against disease, pests and the psychological horror of living in filth.

Fayez al-Jadi, a father who has been displaced 12 times since the war began, said the conditions are stripping them of their humanity.

“The rats eat the tents from underneath,” al-Jadi told Al Jazeera. “They walk on our faces while we sleep. My daughter is 18 months old. A rat ran right over her face. Every day, she has gastroenteritis, vomiting, diarrhoea or malnutrition.”

Al-Jadi’s plea is not for a luxury accommodation, just a mere 40 to 50 metres (130ft to 164ft) of clean space to live in, he said. “We want to live like human beings.”

‘We wake up screaming’

The sanitary crisis has unleashed a plague of skin infections among the 4,000 residents of the camp. With no running water or sewage system, scabies has spread like wildfire.

Fares Jamal Sobh, a six-month-old infant, spends his nights crying. His mother points to the red, angry rashes covering his small body.

“He doesn’t sleep at night because of the itching,” she said. “We wake up to find cockroaches and mosquitoes on him. We bring medicine, but it’s useless because we are living on trash.”

Um Hamza, a grandmother caring for a large extended family, including a blind husband and a son suffering from asthma, said shame is no longer compounding their suffering.

“We’ve stopped being ashamed to say my daughter is covered in scabies,” she told Al Jazeera. “We’ve used five or six bottles of ointment, but it’s in vain.”

She added that the collapse of Gaza’s healthcare system has left them with nowhere to turn. “The hospitals, like al-Ahli, have started turning us away. … They write us a prescription and tell us to go buy it, but there is no medicine to buy.”

A city drowning in waste

The conditions at al-Taawun are a microcosm of a citywide collapse. Hamada Abu Laila, a university lecturer who helps administer the camp, warned of an “environmental catastrophe” exacerbated by the lack of sewage networks and drinking water across Gaza City.

But the problem goes deeper than a lack of aid. According to Husni Muhanna, spokesperson for the Gaza Municipality, the crisis is man-made. Israeli forces have blocked access to the Gaza Strip’s main landfill in the east, forcing the creation of hazardous temporary dumps in populated areas like Yarmouk and the historic Firas Market.

“More than 350,000 tonnes of solid waste are piling up inside Gaza City alone,” Muhanna told Al Jazeera in January.

He explained that the municipality is paralysed by a “complex set of obstacles”, including the destruction of machinery, severe fuel shortages and constant security risks. With interventions limited to primitive means, the municipality can no longer manage waste in accordance with health standards, leaving thousands of displaced families to sleep atop a toxic time bomb.

Sleeping next to a tank shell

The dangers in al-Taawun are not just biological. Rizq Abu Laila, displaced from the town of Beit Lahiya in the north, lives with his family next to an unexploded tank shell that lies among the rubbish bags and plastic sheets.

“We are living next to a dump full of snakes and stray cats,” Abu Laila said, pointing to the ordnance. “This is an unexploded shell right next to the tents. With the heat of the sun, it could explode at any moment. Where are we supposed to go with our children?”

His daughter, Shahd, is terrified of the pack of wild dogs that roam the dump at night. “I’m afraid of the dogs because they bark,” she whispered.

Widad Sobh, another resident, described the nights as a horror movie. “The dogs bang against the tent fabric. … They want to attack and eat. I stay up all night chasing them away.”

For Um Hamza, the daily struggle for survival has reached a breaking point.

“I swear by God, we eat bread after the rats have eaten from it,” she said, describing the desperate hunger in the camp. “All I ask is that they find us a better place, … a place away from the waste.”