Keep Calm and ቀጥል i.e.“Carry On”
By Chania Coombs, MArchD - GDHP student, CENDEP, Oxford Brookes University
Acknowledgements: Research team members from the School of Law at Arba Minch University (AMU) and Centre for Development and Emergency Practice (CENDEP) at Oxford Brookes University (OBU) with whom a joint Ethiopia field trip reflection report was developed include: Supriya Akerkar, Becky Ansari, Chania Coombs, Harry Jones, Godsend Korosha, Aanisah Kausar, Makdia Mulugeta, Nida Noor, Abigail Ogden, Lilli Osborne, Sam Ponniah, Hagerwork Sinebo and Mekdes Tesfaye.
The field trip including students and staff from CENDEP, OBU and AMU was undertaken between the 12th - 21st May, 2025 visiting the conflict-affected areas in the Gamo and Konso Zones in Southern Ethiopia. Team members sought to understand how multiple displacements impact internally displaced persons’ (IDPs) access to and experience with assistance specifically in relation to livelihoods, education, shelter, food and health. This blog captures my reflections and the learnings from this field trip.
There’s a complex migration dynamic within the country, with multiple regions facing ongoing internal displacement while simultaneously generating and hosting a large number of displaced persons and refugees. Key contributors include political instability resulting from warfare, ethnic violence and community dissatisfaction, along with climate-related events and natural hazards such as droughts, famines, landslides and floods.
When the phrase “keep calm and carry on” was coined, it was meant to inspire perseverance in the face of adversity.
It’s no secret that displacement causes a wide range of challenges, affecting many aspects of the lives of those who experience it. In our interviews, we spoke with communities uprooted by conflict and the far-reaching consequences of climate change, which have compelled them to live with the reality of multiple displacements. Their stories highlighted how deeply displacement complicates access to basic entitlements and support. The cumulative effect is a prolonged state of liminality, where communities are neither fully settled nor adequately supported, but continually negotiate survival amid uncertainty.
Yet, even with varying coping strategies, all households ultimately sought intervention and assistance, underscored by an absolute determination to persevere, an unwavering spirit of joy, a kind and receptive nature and an unmistakable display of resilience.
Small acts of solidarity showed how the group draws inner strength through community. We quickly realised that interviews wouldn’t be private moments but rather occasions for communal witnessing. Neighbours gathered, some silent onlookers, while others tended to the children and, in some cases, encouraged the participants to engage. In this way, “keep calm and carry on” encompasses the importance of supporting one another in the ongoing journey of adaptation and the instinct to overcome through collective effort.
Access and assistance: the reality.
In both Gelabo and Hamasa villages, most residents work as agricultural labourers, with farming as their primary source of income. In Hamasa Village, the government allocated one acre of farmland and necessary equipment to each household; however, reliance on rain-fed agriculture means harvests depend heavily on weather conditions. In Gelabo Village, while many cultivate their own land, others face the loss of access to farmlands, livestock and vital tools amidst conflict.
With these disruptions in their source of sustenance and income, residents rely heavily on aid distribution that is often irregular or inadequate. To cope with these challenges, some individuals turn to additional income-generating activities, such as roadside trading or making goods to sell at the local market. Notably, community-driven strategies, including collective labour-sharing or crop-sharing arrangements, are also practised. As such, livelihoods are no longer solely economic but are increasingly linked to dignity, agency and a sense of belonging. Continuing becomes an act of courage.
Similarly, education is regarded with high symbolic significance as a path for generational change, a source of future livelihoods and a means of normality during times of instability. Government assistance programs have played a beneficial role in supporting these aspirations. For instance, in Hamasa Village, the construction of a school up to Grade 4 increases the likelihood of children attending. However, the lack of assured and sustained support ultimately undermines access and the chances for continuity for children in these areas.
With repeated disruptions in enrolment, attendance and retention within the educational system, education in the regions remains fragile. In several instances, families reported that children struggle with hunger, long travel distances, financial hardships and inaccessibility to uniforms, supplies and course materials. In other cases, children are compelled to join the workforce at a young age to supplement their household income. These recurring issues commonly lead to fragmented learning and potentially high dropout risks.
Despite these obstacles, belief in a ‘better future’ is reflected as a quiet form of resistance, supported by parents’ and grandparents' strong desire to see their children excel and avoid facing the same trials they have encountered.
Shelter was perhaps the most notable difference between Gelabo and Hamasa villages and it was striking to observe how closely displacement and shelter were intertwined. In Hamasa, families were provided government-built housing, consisting of mud wall structures, corrugated iron roofs, unsealed floors and no electricity. It was noted that strong winds shaking the frames, water leaks and pests are commonplace.
In contrast, Gelabo families with households of six to ten members inhabit what were supposed to be “temporary structures” that they constructed themselves. These “shelters” were assembled with plastic sheets stretched over wooden posts, offering little defence against the elements and varying temperatures.
“I wish to return and live on the ashes of my own land.”
For most, there is some acceptance of the situation. Still, the desire for a safe, permanent place to call home is prevalent, especially as many fondly recall their Gojo homes, known for their solidity and spaciousness.
Hunger is the thread that binds these groups together. Food aid is irregular and short-lived. As such, households from both villages expressed their struggles with “food insecurity.” Some families spoke of starvation, not just hunger. Parents spoke of children working for food rather than wages. Mothers and wives expressed the heartache that comes with being unable to provide and fulfil their roles within the household.
“It is my responsibility to provide food for the family, but I can’t”
Again, households adapt as best they can, consuming rations, eating unconventionally or normalising hunger as part of their reality. This pattern, a cycle where one outcome affects the other, extends to health.
Residents connected their everyday struggles with broader underlying issues. In Gelabo, participants linked the spread of malaria, pneumonia, anaemia and yellow fever within households to poor shelter and hunger. In both villages, access to healthcare is limited, requiring long and costly journeys to under-equipped centres with medicine and staff shortages. Some rely on borrowed money, trading livestock and traditional remedies as ways to cure ailments. Adaptation becomes more than mere survival.
Keep calm, carry on. But maybe not alone?
What stands out most in these stories is the persistence of hope.
Every request, from the desire for permanent housing and closer schools, to irrigation systems, electricity, livestock and financial support, was made to rebuild a dignified life, driven by the dream of a future beyond current struggles.
The nature of these communities is inspiring; it affirms that resilience does not mean resignation. Through their quiet strength, the residents of Galebo and Hamasa villages remind us that carrying on isn’t about ignoring hardship, but about moving forward despite it and believing in the possibility of something better.
The question is: Should they have to carry on alone?
Assistance programmes often focus on “emergency” needs, but with multiple displacements, long-term livelihood recovery remains a significant challenge. Therefore, how do they achieve the better life they seek? At what point do interventions and opportunities address the instability caused by displacement? Additionally, how does aid, as a necessity, reduce the risk of dependency if it doesn’t address the root causes of the problem?
Rethinking assistance as partnership.
Emergency measures begin to feel like a holding pattern rather than a path forward; they present as a means to alleviate symptoms instead of addressing the core problems.
Dependency occurs when aid does not include meaningful opportunities for rebuilding and recovery. Therefore, support should begin to reflect the evolving nature of the problems it aims to address; otherwise, those affected risk remaining trapped in a state of “survival mode.”
Aid should not be viewed as a gift, but as a bridge that allows displaced communities to retain their dignity. When programmes treat people as both beneficiaries and partners in shaping recovery, the risk of dependency diminishes. Instead of encouraging passivity, aid can promote agency, supporting the spirit that IDPs demonstrate daily.
