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A MILLION SHILLINGS

DJIBOUTI, DJIBOUTI- MARCH 2008.Sitting in a row, childhood friends Ahmed Moalin, Mohamed Mousa and Sharmake Abdulahi play with their mobile phones and fake passports. Costing just for $50 for each passport on the streets of Mogadishu, con men have simply filled in the stolen documents with the boy's details making their entries into Somaliland and Djibouti an easy affair. Coming from a country where few people have ever set eyes on official paperwork, the forged passports have become objects of fascination within the gang of tahrib. They won't need them to travel to Yemen on smuggler's boats but are hanging onto them just in case things go wrong; there has been plenty of chatter about overland routes to Europe and they think they could prove useful in the long run. (KEYSTONE/NOOR/Alixandra Fazzina)

A MILLION SHILLINGS

DJIBOUTI, DJIBOUTI- MARCH 2008.Having lost all his possessions to thieves on the road from Mogadishu, Abdul Majid feels lucky to have hung onto his favourite camouflage baseball cap and England T-shirt; his shoes are long gone. Like many teenagers fleeing Mogadishu, his parents have encouraged him to leave, fearing that like other young men, he will be captured by the Shabaab militia and either killed or forced to fight in their ranks. Abdul says he is eighteen years old but appears much younger- probably more like sixteen.Since arriving in Djibouti with the aid of smugglers at Somaliland's mountainous border fifteen days ago, Abdul Majid has been sleeping on the streets beside a mosque and begging around the cafes of the Quartier Quatre for free meals. Despite having got word to his family that he has now arrived in Djibouti, he is still waiting for them to forward money so that he can continue to Yemen- it could still take some time but they have promised. Two years ago they paid for Abdul's younger brother Mohamed Daeq's boat fare from Bossaso. He was killed by smugglers on the crossing but upon hearing that new safer routes have opened up, are taking the opportunity and give their other son a chance in life.Although particularly vulnerable as an unaccompanied minor, Abdul has plenty of enthusiasm for the journey and has heard that if at any stage he is captured by the authorities, then his youth will protect him. Among the other tahrib in the city's Quartier Quatre though, he looks small and nervous, belying his confident exterior. Biting his nails he boasts, ÒWhen I reach to Sana'a or Saudia, then I will have enough money for me and my familyÓ.Hearing a tip-off at a cafŽ that morning, Abdul Majid accompanies two other newly arrived tahrib to the shanty house of a female Somali refugee who is rumoured to be helping young boys with nowhere to stay. As she watches television with her children in a dirty blue room, Abdul is discouraged. She says that without work s (KEYSTONE/NOOR/Alixandra Fazzina)

A MILLION SHILLINGS

DJIBOUTI, DJIBOUTI- MARCH 2008.Having lost all his possessions to thieves on the road from Mogadishu, Abdul Majid feels lucky to have hung onto his favourite camouflage baseball cap and England T-shirt; his shoes are long gone. Like many teenagers fleeing Mogadishu, his parents have encouraged him to leave, fearing that like other young men, he will be captured by the Shabaab militia and either killed or forced to fight in their ranks. Abdul says he is eighteen years old but appears much younger- probably more like sixteen.Since arriving in Djibouti with the aid of smugglers at Somaliland's mountainous border fifteen days ago, Abdul Majid has been sleeping on the streets beside a mosque and begging around the cafes of the Quartier Quatre for free meals. Despite having got word to his family that he has now arrived in Djibouti, he is still waiting for them to forward money so that he can continue to Yemen- it could still take some time but they have promised. Two years ago they paid for Abdul's younger brother Mohamed Daeq's boat fare from Bossaso. He was killed by smugglers on the crossing but upon hearing that new safer routes have opened up, are taking the opportunity and give their other son a chance in life.Although particularly vulnerable as an unaccompanied minor, Abdul has plenty of enthusiasm for the journey and has heard that if at any stage he is captured by the authorities, then his youth will protect him. Among the other tahrib in the city's Quartier Quatre though, he looks small and nervous, belying his confident exterior. Biting his nails he boasts, ÒWhen I reach to Sana'a or Saudia, then I will have enough money for me and my familyÓ.Hearing a tip-off at a cafŽ that morning, Abdul Majid accompanies two other newly arrived tahrib to the shanty house of a female Somali refugee who is rumoured to be helping young boys with nowhere to stay. As she watches television with her children in a dirty blue room, Abdul is discouraged. She says that without work s (KEYSTONE/NOOR/Alixandra Fazzina)

A MILLION SHILLINGS

DJIBOUTI, DJIBOUTI- MARCH 2008.Having lost all his possessions to thieves on the road from Mogadishu, Abdul Majid feels lucky to have hung onto his favourite camouflage baseball cap and England T-shirt; his shoes are long gone. Like many teenagers fleeing Mogadishu, his parents have encouraged him to leave, fearing that like other young men, he will be captured by the Shabaab militia and either killed or forced to fight in their ranks. Abdul says he is eighteen years old but appears much younger- probably more like sixteen.Since arriving in Djibouti with the aid of smugglers at Somaliland's mountainous border fifteen days ago, Abdul Majid has been sleeping on the streets beside a mosque and begging around the cafes of the Quartier Quatre for free meals. Despite having got word to his family that he has now arrived in Djibouti, he is still waiting for them to forward money so that he can continue to Yemen- it could still take some time but they have promised. Two years ago they paid for Abdul's younger brother Mohamed Daeq's boat fare from Bossaso. He was killed by smugglers on the crossing but upon hearing that new safer routes have opened up, are taking the opportunity and give their other son a chance in life.Although particularly vulnerable as an unaccompanied minor, Abdul has plenty of enthusiasm for the journey and has heard that if at any stage he is captured by the authorities, then his youth will protect him. Among the other tahrib in the city's Quartier Quatre though, he looks small and nervous, belying his confident exterior. Biting his nails he boasts, ÒWhen I reach to Sana'a or Saudia, then I will have enough money for me and my familyÓ.Hearing a tip-off at a cafŽ that morning, Abdul Majid accompanies two other newly arrived tahrib to the shanty house of a female Somali refugee who is rumoured to be helping young boys with nowhere to stay. As she watches television with her children in a dirty blue room, Abdul is discouraged. She says that without work s (KEYSTONE/NOOR/Alixandra Fazzina)

A MILLION SHILLINGS

DJIBOUTI, DJIBOUTI- MARCH 2008.Visiting a cafŽ opposite the Somaliland bus terminal popular with newly arrived tahrib, Faisal and Ahmed enquire about a place to sleep having spent their first night in Djibouti on the streets. (KEYSTONE/NOOR/Alixandra Fazzina)

A MILLION SHILLINGS

DJIBOUTI, DJIBOUTI- MARCH 2008.Visiting a cafŽ opposite the Somaliland bus terminal popular with newly arrived tahrib, Faisal and Ahmed enquire about a place to sleep having spent their first night in Djibouti on the streets. (KEYSTONE/NOOR/Alixandra Fazzina)

A MILLION SHILLINGS

DJIBOUTI, DJIBOUTI- MARCH 2008.Disembarking in the evening from a truck that has brought them from the Somaliland border, best friends Faisal Abdulahi Tahlil and Ahmed Hassan Hersi hold hands as they set off anxiously through streets of Djibouti by night as they look for somewhere to sleep. Carrying with them only a light jacket, a shirt and a comb in a backpack, the two young men have spent the last six weeks on the road from Mogadishu, paying their way bit by bit by picking up badly paid jobs including a week spent breaking rocks in Galkayo. Hungry and tired, their first stop is at a restaurant where they hope to look for a contact they have heard might be able to help. To no avail, they instead bed down with a group of other tahrib in the streets of the city's Quartier Quatre.Short of funds for the boat journey to Yemen, Faisal and Ahmed have instead decided to try their luck by heading overland to Eritrea. They hope that by continuing in the same vein they can pick up work en-route and continue on through the deserts to Sudan and Libya, and then maybe onto their dream destinations of Italy or the UK where they have relatives. Having grown up knowing nothing but war, they are undeterred by the dangers that may lay ahead, ÒIf we stay in Somalia any longer, death will come to usÓ. (KEYSTONE/NOOR/Alixandra Fazzina)

A MILLION SHILLINGS

DJIBOUTI, DJIBOUTI- MARCH 2008.Just before the 9pm curfew, Somali refugees head to the Makfir Mosque in Djiboutiville's Quartier Quatre in the hope of finding somewhere safe to spend the night. As thousands of migrants fleeing violence in south central Somalia arrive in Djibouti each week, overcrowding in the small capital forces many to sleep on the dirty streets at risk of robbery and abuse. Three of the city's mosques are now opening their doors to those in need including the Makfir, which currently provides space for seventy refugees in it's main prayer hall many of whom are lone young boys. At nine however, the imam has no choice but to turn many away- there just isn't space. (KEYSTONE/NOOR/Alixandra Fazzina)

A MILLION SHILLINGS

Covering their bodies with tattered blankets and veils, a group of thirty female refugees spend the night sleeping along the pavement in Djiboutiville's Rue Issa. Having fled the escalating fighting in Mogadishu, this group of women arrived in Djibouti just three days before.Record numbers crossing the porous border has lead to serious overcrowding in the city's slums. For these already vulnerable women, there are no shelters, no place of refuge at the mosques and nowhere to turn as the already impoverished city dwellers start to charge exorbitant rents that remain unaffordable to all but a few of the tahrib. Testament to this, females have been seen sleeping out in the open for the first time. Most have paid out what little money they have to bed their children down for the night in a place of safety; they don't have enough shillings spare to put themselves out of harm's way. (KEYSTONE/NOOR/Alixandra Fazzina)

A MILLION SHILLINGS

DJIBOUTI, DJIBOUTI- MARCH 2008.Having lost all his possessions to thieves on the road from Mogadishu, Abdul Majid feels lucky to have hung onto his favourite camouflage baseball cap and England T-shirt; his shoes are long gone. Like many teenagers fleeing Mogadishu, his parents have encouraged him to leave, fearing that like other young men, he will be captured by the Shabaab militia and either killed or forced to fight in their ranks. Abdul says he is eighteen years old but appears much younger- probably more like sixteen.Since arriving in Djibouti with the aid of smugglers at Somaliland's mountainous border fifteen days ago, Abdul Majid has been sleeping on the streets beside a mosque and begging around the cafes of the Quartier Quatre for free meals. Despite having got word to his family that he has now arrived in Djibouti, he is still waiting for them to forward money so that he can continue to Yemen- it could still take some time but they have promised. Two years ago they paid for Abdul's younger brother Mohamed Daeq's boat fare from Bossaso. He was killed by smugglers on the crossing but upon hearing that new safer routes have opened up, are taking the opportunity and give their other son a chance in life.Although particularly vulnerable as an unaccompanied minor, Abdul has plenty of enthusiasm for the journey and has heard that if at any stage he is captured by the authorities, then his youth will protect him. Among the other tahrib in the city's Quartier Quatre though, he looks small and nervous, belying his confident exterior. Biting his nails he boasts, ÒWhen I reach to Sana'a or Saudia, then I will have enough money for me and my familyÓ.Hearing a tip-off at a cafŽ that morning, Abdul Majid accompanies two other newly arrived tahrib to the shanty house of a female Somali refugee who is rumoured to be helping young boys with nowhere to stay. As she watches television with her children in a dirty blue room, Abdul is discouraged. She says that without work s (KEYSTONE/NOOR/Alixandra Fazzina)

A MILLION SHILLINGS

DJIBOUTI, DJIBOUTI- MARCH 2008.Often just a shack showing old action films or Bollywood movies on a video cassette, so called cinemas dot the streets and bazaars of Djiboutiville's African Quarter. For just a few francs or shillings, it's possible to find a place to sit for an entire day out of the sun with a little entertainment thrown in. Usually furnished with rows of wooden benches, the cinemas attract passing refugees looking for a distraction; many even use the venues as a place to lay their heads for a few hours. Exhausted, they sleep soundly as the rattle of gunfire for once bursts from the television screen. (KEYSTONE/NOOR/Alixandra Fazzina)

A MILLION SHILLINGS

DJIBOUTI, DJIBOUTI- MARCH 2008.Often just a shack showing old action films or Bollywood movies on a video cassette, so called cinemas dot the streets and bazaars of Djiboutiville's African Quarter. For just a few francs or shillings, it's possible to find a place to sit for an entire day out of the sun with a little entertainment thrown in. Usually furnished with rows of wooden benches, the cinemas attract passing refugees looking for a distraction; many even use the venues as a place to lay their heads for a few hours. Exhausted, they sleep soundly as the rattle of gunfire for once bursts from the television screen. (KEYSTONE/NOOR/Alixandra Fazzina)

A MILLION SHILLINGS

MAYFA'AH, YEMEN- MAY 2008.Resting out of the hot sun in one of the Mayfa'ah reception centre's breezeblock bungalows, newly arrived Somali refugee Aweis Ahmed Mohamed kneels down on his mattress in prayer.A tailor from the war torn Medina area of Mogadishu, the father of three has left behind his family in search of a more secure life in Yemen. Planning to join his brother Ibrahim who works washing cars in Aden's Basatine slum, his dream was for his family to follow once he had established himself. Now after the journey has he's not so sure. Feeling broken and traumatised, Aweis was robbed of all his money and possessions by the smuggling gang who he had put his trust in, and was terrified throughout the crossing made on a tiny vessel that was barely sea worthy. ÒI don't think there is a chance anymore. I really wouldn't want my wife and children to travel here on these boatsÓ. (KEYSTONE/NOOR/Alixandra Fazzina)

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MAYFA'AH, YEMEN- MAY 2008.Queuing along a wire fence, women form a long line as they wait to receive a cooked dinner ration of tea, rice and a little fish from a busy kitchen at the Mayfa'ah Reception Centre. Exhausted after their long journeys, over the coming two or three days in transit here, the temporary residents will receive cooked breakfasts, lunches and dinners as they recover their strength. (KEYSTONE/NOOR/Alixandra Fazzina)

A MILLION SHILLINGS

MAYFA'AH, YEMEN- MAY 2008.Queuing along a wire fence, women form a long line as they wait to receive a cooked dinner ration of tea, rice and a little fish from a busy kitchen at the Mayfa'ah Reception Centre. Exhausted after their long journeys, over the coming two or three days in transit here, the temporary residents will receive cooked breakfasts, lunches and dinners as they recover their strength. (KEYSTONE/NOOR/Alixandra Fazzina)

A MILLION SHILLINGS

FUWWA, YEMEN- MAY 2008.Soaking wet and covered in sand, groups of newly arrived Somali migrants huddle together on the beach at Fuwwah as they try to keep warm. Landing in the early hours of the morning after crossing the Gulf of Aden in tiny boats operated by smugglers, most are tired and disorientated after the dangerous two day voyage. One of three boatloads of migrants and refugees that left Somalia together, the group lost sight of the others as high waves almost overwhelmed them during a patch of bad weather. Assumed to have been lost at sea, one of the boats never arrived in Yemen. (KEYSTONE/NOOR/Alixandra Fazzina)

A MILLION SHILLINGS

BASATINE, YEMEN- MARCH 2008.A taxi cautiously makes its way through the narrow, rubbish strewn lanes of Basatine slum. Known as Little Mogadishu, Basatine is home to the highest density of Somali refugees in Yemen. (KEYSTONE/NOOR/Alixandra Fazzina)

A MILLION SHILLINGS

SANA'A, YEMEN- APRIL 2008.In a rented one bedroom flat in Sana'a, divorced mother of six Anab Yusuf prepares her refugee papers as her sons Husini and Hamsa sit doing their homework on the bed. Thirty-five year old Anab has been struggling hard to bring up the children alone but can see no future for the family in Yemen. She is simply fed-up with feeling completely marginalised. As a vulnerable, single parent she will now begin the long process of seeking asylum in a third country. In the mean time, Anab is determined to do the best she can. Having received a micro-finance loan from a local NGO, she has begun selling clothes in the city's street markets. Her stock amounts to nothing more than a couple of carrier bags full of cheaply imported baby clothes but it has put her two boys in school and means that she can more or less pay the rent each month. It has given her some strength for now but moving on from the beggared life she has found could take years. (KEYSTONE/NOOR/Alixandra Fazzina)

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SANA'A, YEMEN- APRIL 2008.Packed tightly into a shared taxi, newly arrived Somali refugees make their way along Sana'a's Haile Street. Colloquially named after Ethiopia's former Emperor, the poorly constructed terraced houses here have long been home to families of Ethiopian migrants and refugees; more recently large numbers of Somalis have also begun to move into this segregated community. Fortified iron doors lead into damp alleyways off which rooms partitioned only by flimsy knocked together sheets of plywood accommodate overcrowded informal family groups. Residents here must assemble together in order to afford the high rents that come with living in Yemen's capital, further inflated by greedy landlords who take advantage of the vulnerable migrant and refugee communities. (KEYSTONE/NOOR/Alixandra Fazzina)

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AL-KHARAZ, YEMEN- APRIL 2008.For the refugees who do stay put at Al-Kharaz, it might take two or three years to be allocated a permanent shelter. The waiting list is long and the clusters of accommodation blocks expand slowly. Leaving behind the tented transit area for new arrivals, they move on to the sprawling bush camp that isn't a world away from the ones many have known in Somalia. Building their own shelters, refugees use found materials. Collecting dead wood from the surrounding desert, the crudely constructed structures are then covered in old clothes, sheets, cardboard and sacks. Some move into the skeletal ruins that previous occupants have left behind, reinforcing the patchwork covers as and when suitable components come their way. Distributions of non-food items provide residents with pots and pans and a plastic sheet that helps give some protection from the elements. Monthly rations of rice, flour and pulses provide basic sustenance but few can afford to supplement their diet. Far away from home and the outside world, the bush camp is a stark reminder of how desperate life was, and still is for its inhabitants. (KEYSTONE/NOOR/Alixandra Fazzina)

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AL-KHARAZ, YEMEN- APRIL 2008.Dropped on Yemen's western shores by a wooden smuggler's boat originating in Djibouti, a small group young refugees arrive at Al-Kharaz after navigating their way through the desert. Walking the fifty kilometres from Dhubab, out of sight from the roads for fear they might be fleeced by bandits or soldiers, they have trekked overnight, reaching the camp in the heavy midday heat. Greeted by police at a small post located near the entrance, the exhausted, hungry group were invited to finish off the lunch of rice and fish that the officers had just tucked into. (KEYSTONE/NOOR/Alixandra Fazzina)

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BASATINE, YEMEN- FEBRUARY 2008.Waiting restlessly prior to their onward journey, a group of Somali women are watched over as they rest in a makeshift shack controlled by local trafficker Hussein . Rounding up destitute new arrivals and preying on the vulnerable, the allegedly Saudi controlled gang tempt the dispossessed with false promises of work, or else trap women and those without money into a life of slavery.Bribing local police and military, the smugglers move small groups of migrants and refugees in weekly clandestine operations along Yemen's Red Sea coast to the northern town of Harat Sharafija. From here they are guided across the border on foot- a dangerous desert journey that takes close to thirty hours. Approximately twenty or so middlemen such as Hussein work in the slums of Basatine, operating from four undercover bases concealed amid the ramshackle backstreets. With no friends or family, nowhere to sleep and no means to feed themselves, many Somali refugees can become trapped into debt with the gangs, quickly loosing control of their destinies. (KEYSTONE/NOOR/Alixandra Fazzina)

A MILLION SHILLINGS

BASATINE, YEMEN- FEBRUARY 2008.Waiting restlessly prior to their onward journey, a group of Somali women are watched over as they rest in a makeshift shack controlled by local trafficker Hussein . Rounding up destitute new arrivals and preying on the vulnerable, the allegedly Saudi controlled gang tempt the dispossessed with false promises of work, or else trap women and those without money into a life of slavery.Bribing local police and military, the smugglers move small groups of migrants and refugees in weekly clandestine operations along Yemen's Red Sea coast to the northern town of Harat Sharafija. From here they are guided across the border on foot- a dangerous desert journey that takes close to thirty hours. Approximately twenty or so middlemen such as Hussein work in the slums of Basatine, operating from four undercover bases concealed amid the ramshackle backstreets. With no friends or family, nowhere to sleep and no means to feed themselves, many Somali refugees can become trapped into debt with the gangs, quickly loosing control of their destinies. (KEYSTONE/NOOR/Alixandra Fazzina)

A MILLION SHILLINGS

BASATINE, YEMEN- MARCH 2008.At dusk, a bright strip light tied to a tree becomes a magnet for new arrivals. Each evening, the ÒLo JireÓ or cowboys meet together here. There is no particular attraction, only that the tree is located on Basatine's main junction and it has somehow become a known gathering point. Hanging around with a swagger, young men stand smoking and drinking sodas, people watching and chit chatting about the latest rumours, jobs and contacts. At times groups disappear off into nearby money transfer offices, internet cafes and call centres as they try to fix up their new lives. Before they find their feet however, for their first week or so, the cowboys have a focal point. (KEYSTONE/NOOR/Alixandra Fazzina)

A MILLION SHILLINGS

BASATINE, YEMEN- MARCH 2008.In the dark room of her surrogate family's house, a friend inspects the wounds on Mariam Mohamed Ibrahim's back.In her bid to escape war in Somalia, Mariam was left for dead. She is the sole survivor from a tragic journey in which the smuggler's boat she was traveling capsized. Along with the nearly one hundred and thirty dead, she was about to be buried in the sands of a remote beach in southeastern Yemen, when at the last minute somebody noticed she was breathing.Unconscious, Mariam had been struck by the side of the boat as it overturned. Smashing through he spine, shoulder and pelvis, she was almost completely crippled.Although her wounds have now healed, Mariam is unable to walk or move properly; even standing up, going to the bathroom or getting dressed requires assistance. Helped by elders of Basatine's Somali community, she has at least now found a place of refuge with a family that have been kind enough to take her in. They provide Mariam with support, food and shelter despite having almost nothing themselves. (KEYSTONE/NOOR/Alixandra Fazzina)

A MILLION SHILLINGS

BASATINE, YEMEN- MARCH 2008.Eleven year old Fatma plays amid a pile of dirty mattresses in the squalid shack that is shared by three families in Basatine's back streets. As her mother disappears each morning to go begging on the streets, Fatma must cook, clothe and care for her little brother and sister. Many of the war widows in Aden leave behind their children each day as they try to scavenge whatever money they can to survive. (KEYSTONE/NOOR/Alixandra Fazzina)

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BASATINE, YEMEN- MARCH 2008. Surrounded by some of the friends he made on the long journey from Somalia, seventeen year old Abdi Ali sits slumped on the floor of a dirty halfway house in the slums of Basatine. It has taken him two months to make it to Aden, working his way along the Mogadishu Road taking badly paid jobs, including a stint as a pot washer at the ÒKismayo RestaurantÓ.Abdi Ali made the decision to leave Mogadishu the day he saw his father's dead body. Hearing the explosive sound of a Hound rocket strike his neighbourhood of Kasa Balbalaare, Abdi ran home as fast he could. The roof of his house was shattered and the walls full of holes. His father had been killed outright and his younger brothers injured by shrapnel. As his mother set off for the wells of Afgooye, they parted ways.Abdi Ali feels exhausted and seems unable to focus properly. He witnessed seven other tahrib die after smugglers dropped them off in deep water and lost all his possessions to the sea. With no one to send him money, he has spent the last two weeks in Yemen surviving without proper food. Feeling hungry and dizzy, Abdi passed out yesterday; he just wants to rest.His dream now is to make it to Europe so that he can help his mother, ÒShe is in great difficulty and has nothing to eatÓ. (KEYSTONE/NOOR/Alixandra Fazzina)

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HAZYEZ, YEMEN- MAY 2008.Having fled Mogadishu at the outbreak of civil war in 1991, Hawa holds up a portrait that she had taken on the day she arrived in Yemen. Looking decades younger and wearing her gold wedding jewellery, the day after she posed for the photograph, Hawa and her husband were forced to sell everything they had brought with them on their journey by ship. Settling in Yemen's first refugee camp for Somalis at Al-Sha'b, Hawa has spent the last seventeen years living in utter poverty. Following the premature death of her husband, she now lives with her two daughters on the outskirts of Sana'a. The picture is all she has left to remind her of the fleeting dreams she once had. (KEYSTONE/NOOR/Alixandra Fazzina)

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SANA'A, YEMEN- MAY 2008.Struggling to cope with looking after her two month old son Jamal, twenty four year old Abshiro Mohamed Mahmoud has become painfully thin and sick after contracting tuberculosis. Since arriving in Yemen from Baidoa, Somalia, she has been staying with her mother-in-law Shukria and the eight children she looks after in a sparse room on Sana'a's Haile Street. Sheets are tacked to the windows where there should be glass, the cooking is done on a communal gas burner in the hallway surrounded by rubbish that keeps piling up in the stairwells, and five families share just one bathroom. The damp environment makes Abshiro feel worse but she has so far been unable to seek medical treatment. Her mother-in-law has taken her refugee card and sought help from a local NGO on her behalf but for now, Abshiro spends most of her days propped up against the wall in a semi-conscious state. Even if they could afford to pay for transport to a clinic or hospital, they would have nothing left with which to buy medicines. (KEYSTONE/NOOR/Alixandra Fazzina)

A MILLION SHILLINGS

SANA'A, YEMEN- MAY 2008.Struggling to cope with looking after her two month old son Jamal, twenty four year old Abshiro Mohamed Mahmoud has become painfully thin and sick after contracting tuberculosis. Since arriving in Yemen from Baidoa, Somalia, she has been staying with her mother-in-law Shukria and the eight children she looks after in a sparse room on Sana'a's Haile Street. Sheets are tacked to the windows where there should be glass, the cooking is done on a communal gas burner in the hallway surrounded by rubbish that keeps piling up in the stairwells, and five families share just one bathroom. The damp environment makes Abshiro feel worse but she has so far been unable to seek medical treatment. Her mother-in-law has taken her refugee card and sought help from a local NGO on her behalf but for now, Abshiro spends most of her days propped up against the wall in a semi-conscious state. Even if they could afford to pay for transport to a clinic or hospital, they would have nothing left with which to buy medicines. (KEYSTONE/NOOR/Alixandra Fazzina)

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BASATINE, YEMEN- MARCH 2008.At Basatine's bus station, two newly arrived Somali refugees hold hands as they take their first steps in a slum area that is often referred to as ÒLittle MogadishuÓ. (KEYSTONE/NOOR/Alixandra Fazzina)

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ADEN, YEMEN- FEBRUARY 2008.Twenty year old resident of Basatine Fatima holds her eleven month old baby Dardoun as she begs for small change from commuters in the Sheikh Otman bus terminal in Aden's Crater district.In downtown Aden, Somali refugees can regularly be seen begging around the bazaars and transport hubs. Often women with young children, the elderly or disabled, these impoverished refugees have no other option than to hold out their hands on the streets. To most passersby, it is as if the Somalis were invisible. Collecting enough money just to cover the fares from Basatine can be a gamble; vulnerable women must sometimes stay out late into the night facing the choice between buying something to eat or making it home... (KEYSTONE/NOOR/Alixandra Fazzina)

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MORERO, SOMALIA- NOVEMBER 2007 .Having filled their jerry cans with fresh water from a nearby well, a groupof sixty male migrants and refugees carrying tiny bundles of possessionswrapped in plastic bags, crouch tightly together on the pebbly shore atMarero. Receiving instructions from members of a smuggling gang, theyhave been told to line up in tens as they prepare to depart on boats that willtake them on a two day voyage to Yemen. Sitting at some distance alongthe beach, women, children and the elderly will be boarded separately, andif lucky receive assistance, as they are marched into the water. Waiting asthe crew load final supplies onto a boat moored some distance out in theshallow low tide, spots of rain fall from the heavy clouds. There is a stormbrewing out at sea but the smugglers seem determined to leave before badweather delays this shipment of human cargo. As volleys of gunfire ringout from the nearby cliffs, the tahrib are reminded that despite the risksahead, there is no going back now. (KEYSTONE/NOOR/Alixandra Fazzina)

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BOSASSO, SOMALIA- NOVEMBER 2007 .Expectant mother Fehir has spent nearly a month sleeping on the floor of a straw-coveredhut in the courtyard of Elias's house. She has just less than a million shillings, and badlywants to take a boat to Yemen before the baby is born. It is due any day now and if shedelivers she will have to pay more. (KEYSTONE/NOOR/Alixandra Fazzina)

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BOSASSO, SOMALIA- DECEMBER 2007 .Confined to a small dark shelter at the back of a halfway house in one of Bossaso's coastal camps,Fatima rests with her three day old baby son. Despite the risks that came with being heavilypregnant, Fatima and her husband decided to set out in search of a better life in Yemen rather thanstay on and raise their child amid the bloodshed they witnessed in Mogadishu. For now, Fatima'shusband is picking up sporadic casual work as a labourer in the port, as they save up the money to pay smugglers for their onward sea crossing. It could take him months to earn enough. (KEYSTONE/NOOR/Alixandra Fazzina)

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BOSASSO, SOMALIA- DECEMBER 2007.Clouded by the fumes of burning plastic, two women wearing abayas walk past a muddy patch of wasteland on the Mogadishu Road; the main dropping off point for passengers arriving from Somalia's south. Trucks and small busesconverge on the site located a few kilometres outside Bossaso town. From here, the only routesahead are the small stony tracks that hug Puntland's coast.As they climb down from overloaded trucks, many of the travellers are met by smugglerswho quickly whisk them away to hidden halfway houses dotting the slums and camps of thissupposed coastal haven. Disorientated after such a long journey, others easily fall prey to theexploitative middlemen of gangs, or thieves offering would-be advice, only to rob the newarrivals of the little money or possessions they have on their way into town. (KEYSTONE/NOOR/Alixandra Fazzina)

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BOSASSO, SOMALIA- DECEMBER 2007 .Clouded by the fumes of burning plastic, a muddy patch of wasteland on the Mogadishu Road is the main dropping off for passengers arriving from Somalia's south. Trucks and small buses converge on the site located a few kilometres outside Bosasso town. From here, the only routes ahead are the small stony tracks that hug Puntland's coast; this is literally the end of the road.For the passengers en-route to Yemen, the edgy atmosphere at the rubbish-strewn truck stop is a sharp reminder that they have yet to leave this lawless country. As they climb down from overloaded trucks, many of the refugees are met by smugglers who quickly whisk them away to the hidden halfway houses dotting the slums and camps of this supposed coastal haven. Disorientated after such a long journey, others easily fall prey to the exploitative middlemen of gangs, or thieves offering would be advice only to rob the new arrivals of the little they have on their way into town. (KEYSTONE/NOOR/Alixandra Fazzina)

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BOSASSO, SOMALIA- DECEMBER 2007.Clouded by the fumes of burning plastic, a muddy patch of wasteland on the Mogadishu Road isthe main dropping off point for passengers arriving from Somalia's south. Trucks and small busesconverge on the site located a few kilometres outside Bossaso town. From here, the only routesahead are the small stony tracks that hug Puntland's coast.As they climb down from overloaded trucks, many of the travellers are met by smugglerswho quickly whisk them away to hidden halfway houses dotting the slums and camps of thissupposed coastal haven. Disorientated after such a long journey, others easily fall prey to theexploitative middlemen of gangs, or thieves offering would-be advice, only to rob the newarrivals of the little money or possessions they have on their way into town. (KEYSTONE/NOOR/Alixandra Fazzina)

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BOSASSO, SOMALIA- DECEMBER 2007.Clouded by the fumes of burning plastic, a muddy patch of wasteland on the Mogadishu Road isthe main dropping off point for passengers arriving from Somalia's south. Trucks and small busesconverge on the site located a few kilometres outside Bossaso town. From here, the only routesahead are the small stony tracks that hug Puntland's coast.As they climb down from overloaded trucks, many of the travellers are met by smugglerswho quickly whisk them away to hidden halfway houses dotting the slums and camps of thissupposed coastal haven. Disorientated after such a long journey, others easily fall prey to theexploitative middlemen of gangs, or thieves offering would-be advice, only to rob the newarrivals of the little money or possessions they have on their way into town. (KEYSTONE/NOOR/Alixandra Fazzina)

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SHIMBIRO, SOMALIA- DECEMBER 2007 .Carrying a few meagre possessions, some dried food and a jerry can of watereach for the journey, a line of ten male and female tahrib walk out into theblue waters of the Gulf of Aden. Heading for one of three waiting smugglingboats moored in neck-deep water, they will have to be hauled on board oneby one by the crew. Coordinating such big numbers can be a headache forthe smugglers but the crews prefer to make the journey in groups of twoor three boats in case they encounter problems en-route. Carrying GPSnavigation devices and satellite phones, should one of the vessels experienceengine trouble or take on water, the crews can at least save themselves.For the one hundred plus migrants and refugees they leave out in the sharkinfestedhigh seas, it's another story. (KEYSTONE/NOOR/Alixandra Fazzina)

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BOSASSO, SOMALIA- NOVEMBER 2007.Two youths rest-up in a flimsy coastal doss house run by a notorious, plump, qat-chewing mama. Renowned as Somalia's only female smuggler, she wins over new arrivals withher hospitality, but plays a level game with the men when it comes to coordinating the movementof the tahrib she collects. With thirty-five migrants and refugees currently hiding out in the shelter, it will take her another week to boost numbers, before she escorts them along with her militia to a remote stretch of coast, from where they will continue on their dangerous voyage to Yemen. (KEYSTONE/NOOR/Alixandra Fazzina)

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BOSASSO, SOMALIA- NOVEMBER 2007 .People pick their way through the muddy, dimly lit streets around Bossaso town at night after heavy rains. (KEYSTONE/NOOR/Alixandra Fazzina)

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BOSASSO, SOMALIA- NOVEMBER 2007 .People pick their way through the muddy, dimly lit streets around Bossaso town at night after heavy rains. (KEYSTONE/NOOR/Alixandra Fazzina)

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BOSASSO, SOMALIA- NOVEMBER 2007 .People pick their way through the muddy, dimly lit streets around Bossaso town at night after heavy rains. (KEYSTONE/NOOR/Alixandra Fazzina)

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BOSASSO, SOMALIA- NOVEMBER 2007 .Testament to the hundreds of Tahrib that have passed through this clandestine smuggler's house before, an Ethiopian refugee chewing a siwak stick looks after an unaccompanied minor in front of a backdrop of scrawled Amharic graffiti. (KEYSTONE/NOOR/Alixandra Fazzina)

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BOSASSO, SOMALIA- NOVEMBER 2007 .After dark, herds of goats pass by destroyed buildings at an intersection outside Bossaso's portgates. For the thousands of migrants and refugees passing through this transit hub on their wayto Yemen each year, approaching the town's seafront is a sign that they have finally reached theend point of their journey in Somalia. (KEYSTONE/NOOR/Alixandra Fazzina)

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BOSASSO, SOMALIA- DECEMBER 2007 .The rusting shells of abandoned cars line the roadside in Bosasso. (KEYSTONE/NOOR/Alixandra Fazzina)

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BOSASSO, SOMALIA- NOVEMBER 2007 .Travelling for seemingly endless miles through the featureless stony plains that typify the landscape north of Galkayo, distant hazy mountains and rows of shacks signify the beginnings of Bossaso and that the end of the Mogadishu road is finally in sight. (KEYSTONE/NOOR/Alixandra Fazzina)

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BOSASSO, SOMALIA- DECEMBER 2007 .A worker helps to turn out molds of fibreglass hulls at the Hiddig boatbuilding factory, located in the old industrial port area of Soweto on Bossaso's outskirts.With Somalia's traditional dhow building industry long in decline, fishermen and smugglers have had to look to the Arabian Peninsula to buy new lighter, faster fibreglass vessels. Now with the stolen molds, the Hiddig factory can produce the same small fishing boats for just a third of the price. Since the yard opened, affordable output means that more and more people are investing in a boat and joining the smuggling racket, and now even Yemenis are starting to come and buy on this side of the gulf. The owners of course have no interest in what the boats they turn out are used for, but they know that their best business comes from the pirates and human traffickers who fuel the economy across this lawless peninsula. (KEYSTONE/NOOR/Alixandra Fazzina)

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BOSASSO, SOMALIA- DECEMBER 2007 .A worker helps to turn out molds of fibreglass hulls at the Hiddig boatbuilding factory, located in the old industrial port area of Soweto on Bossaso's outskirts.With Somalia's traditional dhow building industry long in decline, fishermen and smugglers have had to look to the Arabian Peninsula to buy new lighter, faster fibreglass vessels. Now with the stolen molds, the Hiddig factory can produce the same small fishing boats for just a third of the price. Since the yard opened, affordable output means that more and more people are investing in a boat and joining the smuggling racket, and now even Yemenis are starting to come and buy on this side of the gulf. The owners of course have no interest in what the boats they turn out are used for, but they know that their best business comes from the pirates and human traffickers who fuel the economy across this lawless peninsula. (KEYSTONE/NOOR/Alixandra Fazzina)

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BOSASSO, SOMALIA- NOVEMBER 2007 .A model of a Somali boat in a broken box sits beside a locked telephone in an office at Bosasso Port.. (KEYSTONE/NOOR/Alixandra Fazzina)

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BOSASSO, SOMALIA- NOVEMBER 2207 .Groups of young male Somali and Ethiopian tahrib spend their days in Mohamed Wardhi's makeshift cafŽ that he runs just outside Bossaso's port gates (KEYSTONE/NOOR/Alixandra Fazzina)

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BOSASSO, SOMALIA- NOVEMBER 2207 .Groups of young male Somali and Ethiopian tahrib spend their days in Mohamed Wardhi's makeshift cafŽ that he runs just outside Bossaso's port gates (KEYSTONE/NOOR/Alixandra Fazzina)

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BOSASSO, SOMALIA- NOVEMBER 2207 .Groups of young male Somali and Ethiopian tahrib spend their days in Mohamed Wardhi's makeshift cafŽ that he runs just outside Bossaso's port gates (KEYSTONE/NOOR/Alixandra Fazzina)

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BOSASSO, SOMALIA- DECEMBER 2007 .Wearing a thick overcoat, a tahrib makes his way through one of Bosasso's coastal IDP camps at dusk. (KEYSTONE/NOOR/Alixandra Fazzina)

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BOSASSO, SOMALIA- NOVEMBER 2007 .From the stony approaches to the coastal desert, camps sprawl across the forsaken landscapearound Bossaso town. Some have been there for nearly twenty years since the outbreak ofcivil war in Somalia; only the residents continue to change as the exodus of people continues.Named informally after different regions of the country, or simply referred to by numbers,Bush Camp #1 is just one of these squalid settlements. Shelters are crudely constructed ofanything found - torn clothes and sheets, sticks, cardboard boxes, sacks and the shells of oildrums. Rain often soaks the residents through their flimsy weatherproofing, as plastic sheetingis hard to come by. Few have anything to sleep on or cover them at night to protect them fromthe strong winds. Few have anything to sleep on or cover them at night to protect them from thestrong winds. . Distributions by aid agencies are not enough, and cannot reach everyone. (KEYSTONE/NOOR/Alixandra Fazzina)

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BOSASSO, SOMALIA- DECEMBER 2007 .Having spent the last week waiting to hear news about the boat he hopes to take to Yemen, Said wakes up late in the morning in a daze, having spent the night sleeping on a straw mat at the Oromo Hotel. (KEYSTONE/NOOR/Alixandra Fazzina)

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BOSASSO, SOMALIA- NOVEMBER 2007 .From the stony approaches to the coastal desert, camps sprawl across the forsaken landscapearound Bossaso town. Some have been there for nearly twenty years since the outbreak ofcivil war in Somalia; only the residents continue to change as the exodus of people continues.Named informally after different regions of the country, or simply referred to by numbers,Bush Camp #1 is just one of these squalid settlements. Shelters are crudely constructed ofanything found - torn clothes and sheets, sticks, cardboard boxes, sacks and the shells of oildrums. Rain often soaks the residents through their flimsy weatherproofing, as plastic sheetingis hard to come by. Few have anything to sleep on or cover them at night to protect them fromthe strong winds. Few have anything to sleep on or cover them at night to protect them from thestrong winds. . Distributions by aid agencies are not enough, and cannot reach everyone. (KEYSTONE/NOOR/Alixandra Fazzina)

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BOSASSO, SOMALIA- NOVEMBER 2007 .Pregnant and tired, Fatima sits next to smuggler Elias. She has been helping to make tea and cook lately as she tries to make a few shillings.ÒIn our village, my husband talked with some people who had been deported from Saudi Arabia. They were richer than us and lived in better houses. They told us that there were plenty of jobs in Saudi Arabia and that we should try our luck too. I traveled with my husband as we were supposed to go together to Yemen but once we reached Bossaso, he told me he couldn't afford the crossing for the two of us and he went alone, abandoning me. That's when I found out I was pregnant. Now I feel sick and I can't find work because people won't hire a woman in my condition who is not healthy. I spend my day in Ethiopian cafŽs hoping to receive help. I don't want to cross to Yemen anymore, I just want to go home but I have no money to pay for the return trip. Now I don't know what to do.Ó (KEYSTONE/NOOR/Alixandra Fazzina)

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BOSASSO, SOMALIA- NOVEMBER 2007 .Pregnant and tired, Fatima sits next to smuggler Elias. She has been helping to make tea and cook lately as she tries to make a few shillings.ÒIn our village, my husband talked with some people who had been deported from Saudi Arabia. They were richer than us and lived in better houses. They told us that there were plenty of jobs in Saudi Arabia and that we should try our luck too. I traveled with my husband as we were supposed to go together to Yemen but once we reached Bossaso, he told me he couldn't afford the crossing for the two of us and he went alone, abandoning me. That's when I found out I was pregnant. Now I feel sick and I can't find work because people won't hire a woman in my condition who is not healthy. I spend my day in Ethiopian cafŽs hoping to receive help. I don't want to cross to Yemen anymore, I just want to go home but I have no money to pay for the return trip. Now I don't know what to do.Ó (KEYSTONE/NOOR/Alixandra Fazzina)

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BOSASSO, SOMALIA- NOVEMBER 2007 .For this group of Somali and Ethiopian tahrib, the days of waiting nervously for their passage arelong. There is little to do in the back alleys of Bossaso, and the smugglers are keen that their human cargo don't stray too far. In the heat of the afternoon, the group sits around smoking water pipes and sharing bags of the narcotic qat, that they chew and wash down with 7-Up and green tea. Most keep close their plastic bag of possessions - a spare T-shirt, a mobile phone, a shawl and maybe a radio and some cigarettes. They have brough little with them on their journey. In less than two hours, station wagons will come and collect batches of ten passengers at a time.Transporting them to waiting trucks at the edge of one of the town's camps, armed gangs willthen escort them to the Horn's remote beaches. Here they will spend their last nights at the tip oftheir home continent. (KEYSTONE/NOOR/Alixandra Fazzina)

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BOSASSO, SOMALIA- NOVEMBER 2007 .This is how it works hereÉ Elias sends out his boys to pick up new arrivals as they come intotown. Tired and disorientated, they are offered a place to sleep and often their first meal ofspaghetti or rice on the house. Until they can pay Elias a million shillings, workers in the housemake a little money selling cooked food and tea to the tahrib as they spend days or weekswaiting for their chance to go to sea. Once a group of around thirty or forty have paid-up, theboat owners are then informed and the onward journey is arranged. The majority of the moneyis paid to the heads of the smuggling gangs, but of course Elias takes his cut. He took over theabandoned fisherman's cafŽ two or three years ago, and he's doing good business. (KEYSTONE/NOOR/Alixandra Fazzina)

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BOSASSO, SOMALIA- NOVEMBER 2007 .A crudely constructed wooden box in the corner of Òthe officeÓ houses an old television.Powered by a car battery, the box is also the only place where mobile phones can be charged, andwith just a couple of power points it can be a scramble to get to.Illuminated as pop videos play on the screen, smuggler Elias uses his phone to make contact witha truck driver as he coordinates the collection of some of his resident charges. (KEYSTONE/NOOR/Alixandra Fazzina)

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BOSASSO, SOMALIA- DECEMBER 2007 .Travelling for seemingly endless miles through the featureless stony plains that typify thelandscape north of Galkayo, distant hazy mountains and rows of shacks signify the beginningsof Bossaso, and the end of the Mogadishu road.. (KEYSTONE/NOOR/Alixandra Fazzina)