DADAAB – For more than three decades, generations of Somali refugees have called Kenya’s Dadaab refugee complex home.
Established in the early 1990s to host those fleeing civil war and famine in Somalia, Dadaab has grown into one of the largest and longest-standing refugee camps in the world.
Yet, for thousands of families who have lived here for years—some born and raised in the camp—hopes of a better future in the United States are now fading.
A key U.S. refugee admissions program, which many here relied on for the promise of resettlement, has been paused indefinitely.
The United States said it lacks the ability to absorb large numbers of migrants, and in particular, refugees, into its communities in a manner that does not compromise the availability of resources for Americans, that protects their safety and security, and that ensures the appropriate assimilation of refugees.
President Donald Trump ordered the suspension of refugee resettlement until such time as the further entry into the United States of refugees aligns with the interests of the United States.
The decision cast uncertainty over the lives of countless refugees who have already undergone years of rigorous screening and waited patiently for their chance to rebuild their lives abroad.
Halima Noor, 24, was born in Dadaab and has never stepped foot in the country her parents fled. Like many young refugees, Halima grew up hearing stories of life beyond the complex —of education, freedom, and safety.
Two years ago, she and her family completed their final interviews with the U.S. resettlement program. Since then, they have been waiting, their bags packed, their lives on pause.
“We were told we would go to America,” Halima said.
“We stopped making long-term plans because we thought we were leaving. Now we don’t know what to believe.”
The U.S. refugee admissions program, historically a beacon of hope for vulnerable populations, has faced mounting political and logistical challenges in recent years.
Administrative backlogs, shifting foreign policy priorities, and enhanced vetting procedures have all contributed to delays.
According to aid agencies, thousands of Somali refugees in Kenya had already been pre-approved for resettlement before the program was frozen.
The pause has left families in limbo and also increased pressure on humanitarian agencies struggling to provide for growing needs in the camp.
Today, over 300,000 refugees live in Dadaab, many of them Somali. The camp, originally meant to be a temporary solution, has become a permanent settlement for generations.
Basic services such as education, healthcare, and employment opportunities remain limited, forcing many young people into cycles of dependency and despair.
“Dadaab was never meant to be a home forever,” said Ahmed Warsame, a local refugee in Ifo.
“But now, it feels like the world has forgotten us,” he said.
Human rights advocates have urged the U.S. and other Western nations to prioritize stalled resettlement cases and provide clear communication to affected families.
Mr. Solomon Mugambi argues that the prolonged delays not only harm the mental health and well-being of refugees but also violate their rights under international humanitarian law.
“Resettlement is a lifeline for the most vulnerable,” said Mr. Mugambi.
“When that lifeline is cut, even temporarily, the impact is devastating,” he added.
As the sun sets over the dusty plains of Dadaab, families like Halima’s continue to wait—hopeful, yet weary.
Their futures remain tied to decisions being made thousands of miles away.
“We are not asking for much,” Halima says softly. “Just a chance to live a normal life. To be free.”
