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The two songs included below (Apurate Jose and Los Inundados) ‘paint’ the pivotal moment when people have to make the decision to leave because the water is close and time run out.

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The two songs included below (Apurate Jose and Los Inundados) ‘paint’ the pivotal moment when people have to make the decision to leave because the water is close and time run out.

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This is how Jacinta spoke in my village, I heard her say

When the waters came

And they had to leave

Mixing good Spanish

With some Guarani

This is what she said

I'm going to repeat it

Hurry up José, it's coming again

The crescent again and I don't know why

This time the waters are scaring me more

All the bicherío is announcing it

As it never was... Hayé José!I've already gathered the kids and the bundle on the embankment

Doña Pancha came at dawn

And left with Fretes for the Batel

She took some shirts and some junk

In the car cué

Eulogia and Camba Maciel have already gone by

Bordering the town by the tapé

Hurry up I tell you that the river is coming

And I don't know why

The silence stuns scaring me

Never was the sunset so sad

The little virgin forgive me

But God has long forgotten

Of the islanders Jhei Chupe

Oh, how the poor people suffer!

Calamities I kept usually happen to the people, ¡Hayé José!

to the people, Hayé José!

Do you remember the other time, those who could not

Reach the road, no one else saw them.

Evarista Luján, the one from Ríos' place

She stayed alone waiting for López

At the ranch over there and never heard of again

Every Good Friday

I usually pray the rosary to her angá

Hurry up, I tell you! Look carefully

Jacinto Gómez also passed by

He went to the Chinaman's to look for him

To his guaina

I've already gathered the bundle and the curumis

And to my little virgin, the Virgin of Itatí

I asked her with prayers to help us get out of here

We have to go along the road like this

Hurry up, I tell you! Aña membi!

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El presente producto utilizado por este usuario de página web, carece de toda actividad de lucro como asimismo de toda intención de este tipo...

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I look at the rising water in front of me. I Breathe. Breathing is tiring. Inhaling polluted air, exhaling diluted rage. Time is ahead of us. Venice is flooding, and nobody else is left to witness. Evicted, betrayed, by the same water that kept us afloat all along. But the water remembers what humanity forgets. Water carries the memory and soul of the displaced. And we are all displaced by now, at least from our collective fate. We forgot how to hold each other together in our own ecosystems. We transformed them so much we blinded ourself not to see the damages endorsed while building walls and fortresses to feel safe at the expenses of whom had the courage to see and to resist the ongoing exile to which I am now part. Where to go from here? How to envision a future of restoration in a world of repressive extractions and extraditions? How to return to the mysterious water that connects us all and binds us to the missing indigenous ground under our feet? How to release our petrified selves from a cemented life?

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Around 10,000 people were displaced by tidal flooding in the Demak Regency, particularly affecting the coastal areas from Sayung to Bonang Districts. The issues in Sayung District trace back to the 1990s, marked by rising sea levels, industrial development, and mangrove land conversion, leading to the submersion of villages and rice fields. The community have to displaced for days, then the munacipalities decided to planned a relocation in the 2000s to, causing fishermen to lose their main source of livelihoods. Timbulsloko Village in Sayung faced severe conditions, with the community contending with seawater runoff during tidal waves, resulting in the loss of fishing and farming livelihoods. Limited education and employability posed challenges for villagers finding alternative work. Presently, the Demak Regency government is preparing relocation efforts, facing challenges related to ambiguous land ownership. Now the community has left on their own, some of them stayed in the sinking village and some with the capital -social, financial, etc- choose to move into more habitual environment around the area. Nevertheless, their fate remain uncertain, especially those who trapped without a choice to migrate into a better location. Thus, employing the comprehensive approach to this issue should be prioritise, this is just a start of various nightmare for vulnerable people exposed to climate change risk.

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This is the story of a group of individuals. 

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This is the story of a group of individuals. 

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They are very creative in their own local contexts bridging gaps between them and the local communities. To go abroad a on regular basis is of vital necessity for them: to find financial resources they cannot secure in their own context, to meet new colleagues, to collaborate, to share their knowledge and acquire some new one. that they can subsequently share again upon return. To go abroad, sometimes for a few days or a few months, is challenging. The world should belong to everyone but some are more equal than others. And many like them are more unequal than others. They got used to this process... It has always been challenging from visa to funding challenges, from leaving family behind, to being disconnected from one's community for a while that can be quite long. However they do it because 'mobility is also a way to remain at home' ***. The COVID-19 pandemic had put a halt to these trips and weakened an already fragile life-ecosystem. When the mobility flow and routes could re-open again, they were the last on the list to reach out some wealthier context.... and there is now and increasingly a new form of threat, climate change. Not the climate change they have seen at their doorsteps for so many years although they do not use what they do not possess, but the carbon impact of their travels that is seen as a new threat to their coming, to their welcoming. How to remain local when your local is weak or inexistent? How to act responsibly when you feel so unfair that a new form of argument is being used as a way not to host you anymore, for the sake of preserving our global living environment? How can we work towards new forms of solidarity based on interdependency

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In 1997, when my father-in-law bought the land, the official at the Municipalitie’s Department of Urban Planning assured him it was buildable. The Ministry of Natural Resources and Urban Planning and the local Municipality appointed a team of urban planners and officials to verify which places in the vicinity are buildable, and that place definitely placed in the category.

He grew up in the nearby village and knew the surrounding hills and valleys very well. There were meadows and streams with clear and crisp water that flew from the mountains not far from there. Forests promised some income, and the soil was apparently rich enough to yield a small amount of profitable crops. However, older people also thought that nature in that particular place could be dangerous. In the 1990s, after the independence, people started buying previously public land through privatisation, and soon, more and more smaller settlements grew on the more natural outskirts of long-standing villages and smaller towns. In a matter of 10-15 years, everything was happening very fast. New houses, roads, and infrastructures were being built. A decade later, when having a secure job didn’t mean more than moving into a town or a city anymore, the younger generation started looking back to nature and expressed wanting to remain in the countryside and develop the land with their own hands. Their parents were more than happy to see them remain closer to home. When we married, we expressed similar dreams and plans: an uncomplicated family life with a home near those beautiful meadows, our children playing in the nearby forest, a small garden and maybe a few farm animals. Having heard that, my father-in-law’s wish to have his son living close by came true, and he signed over the property soon after our wedding. That was ten years ago. He kept that dream for almost 30 years, always wanting to see his grandchildren grow up where he grew up.

We built our house close to a small stream, 5 km from the largest village in the county. As expected, our building permit was issued without question, and we had a house for less than a year. A narrow asphalt road winds towards our place, crossing two forests and a small marsh. There are three farms in the vicinity, but our plot is at the very end of the road, so it is quite closed and sometimes we feel we have the whole Earth to ourselves. I created a large vegetable garden and a flower garden attached to it, and we also have a small stable with a couple of goats. They are my hobby. I sell small batches of goat milk and cheese to friends and families in the village. Behind the house, the forest starts, leading into a steep hill. You can reach the top of the hill in 30 minutes, with a beautiful vista of the entire county and the nearby mountains. We walk up that hill almost every weekend. My two children love our place. They endure early morning drives to school every day but would not change where we live for the world. Except, now, they have to. After the floods last summer, everything vanished. Wiped out, as if someone used their finger on ink and smudged our paradise into oblivion.

We have observed the changes in the weather in the last couple of years. We had heavy rains some years ago when the stream flooded and swallowed half of my garden. Then, there were a couple of hot summers when the leaves in the trees were yellowed already in the first half of September. Unusual, but we always tell ourselves that is the cost and exciting part of “living with nature”. This time, it was different. Since it was July, the national news only projected heavy rains, as the air was humid and heavy for about a week. But nobody could predict what would actually happen. It started raining very early in the morning, and both of our children were at home. There wasn’t much to do, so we mostly stayed at home. The rain was pounding heavily throughout the day and well into the night. We went to sleep that evening with only minor cares in our minds when, at four in the morning, my husband shook me from my sleep with a panic in his eyes. He hurriedly explained he heard some strange whirlpool noises from the outside, and basically, our basement and ground floor were flooded. Half-dressed, I looked out the window and saw that our stream was gone. Instead, a torrent body of murky water was hurrying past our house, the meadow across completely swamped, and our car about 50 meters down from where we parked it. We hurried downstairs to see the damage, and it was like submerging in a pool. the water was about 40 cm high already. I ran upstairs, waking the children, pulling out rain clothes and spare shoes because most of our belongings downstairs were already gone. In the last minute, I grabbed my phone and some documents, and we waded out, past our kitchen, my son in my husband's arms, me clutching my daughter’s hand. We managed to get some higher ground away from the flood, my husband hurrying to the stable to release the goats. When safe in the forest, we called my father-in-law. He was already awake, telling us the flood had reached the village 1 hour ago, and the houses near the water were experiencing the same fate. The flood took half of the road that led to our house, meaning we were cut out from the rest of the county.

I will never forget that night for the rest of my life. Freezing, trying to call the emergency number for help without getting a reply, hoping and praying this was just some horrible nightmare. And to see our beautiful place being shredded to wet pieces. We would probably be forced to stay in that forest for days since the water levels just grew and grew if it wasn’t for some of the villagers who sent the rescue helicopter our way. They took us to my in-laws’ place, and we stayed there for the next week. The rain and the flood went on for days. The news told us of similar floods in almost half of the county. 100-year floods, they described them. We watched more houses being flooded, more roads and bridges being pulled, and more people with panic and devastation in their eyes as they saw their world crumble before their eyes. Then the experts came on TV panels, geologists and geographers, talking about the dangers of building in such places. They would tell anyone listening that they should find a more secure place. Where were they when we got our building permit?! Wasn’t our place safe? They gave us the permit; the experts went to see the land; what went wrong? Apparently, the Ministry and the Municipality just went along with the building demands, never foreseeing such events would happen. How could they?

But we can manage. We will repair and rebuild. That is what we told ourselves. A week and a half after the flood, they managed to repair the road, and we borrowed a car and went to see the damage. The plot was unrecognizable. Mud and gravel were everywhere, and some of our belongings were on the way to the house. Our car vanished. We called the insurance company, claimed what happened, sent them photos, asking when we could expect the coverage for damages. Their response was that it would take some time and possibly be lower than expected. Why? For all these years, we paid one of the highest insurance premiums. They responded that, given new information from the experts, we never should have built in this place, which they understand as a hazardous building. We couldn’t believe what we were hearing. How could we possibly know?! They have given us the permit on the count of experts!

The damage repair team on the ground told us we might need to evacuate. Take what you can and find someplace to stay. Couldn’t we stay at our in-laws for the week and start with the repairs ourselves? Surely, in a year, we could go back to normal. The chief gently took us to the side, revealing the brutal truth: the sloped forest behind the house was a serious threat. One night of heavy rainfall, and a good part of it will slide directly into our house. Our home was not a haven anymore. It was a mortal danger. And as predicted, the very dreaded rain fell that very night. By the next evening, we received the news that a landslide of 20.000 cubic meters had buried our home, and everything was gone.

We are not homeless, but our home is lost. My husband’s selfless family more than helped us try to get on our feet, but it is still very hard. We are sharing the house with his parents, but it is still cramped. It has been over six months since the floods, and I can see the light in my husband’s eyes dwindling. My children still cry in their sleep. Displaced by a flood is how they call us now on the news. We are one of the almost 2000 families that lost their properties and all belongings because of that cursed week. We will never return and probably never experience such carefree happiness again. I cannot see the future, but I am now scared for my children. We don’t have the money to buy new property. And who can we trust that someplace new will also be safe? We all feel like we were lied to for decades by politicians, urbanists, and insurance companies.

I am heartbroken.

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Mr Khan and his family left their village in Sorkhrod district of Nangarhar province, Afghanistan, because of floods that had eroded their farmland. They went to the city of Jalalabad and lived in the outskirts of the city. This journey took him 2 hours by public transport. With the help of his friends in Jalalabad city, Mr Khan found work in the fruit market from early morning until late at night to make ends meet. Mr Khan barely earns 300 AFN a day, which is not enough to pay the rent for his house and cover his family's monthly expenses. There is no formal social protection policy in place, so he asks the provincial government for assistance. Mr Khan started contacting his relatives to support him financially, otherwise he would stop sending his children to school and send them to beg instead. After two months of struggle, his relative in Denmark agreed to send him USD 150 every month. This shows how informal social protection helps climate-induced migrants like Mr Khan to survive. After 5 years, his relative in Denmark stopped supporting him. Khan contacted another family member in the UK, but was unable to get any financial support. Khan then borrowed money from a friend and went to Iran to work. Unfortunately, he was deported from Iran after spending 3 months in Iran illegally. Khan returned to his family and started working in the fruit market again. This time he brought his children with him to help unload and load the produce from the lorry and earn a little more money to help them survive.

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According to the IDMC, flooding is a leading and recurrent driver of internal displacement in

Argentina, particularly in the provinces of Santa Fe, Chaco, Formosa, Entre Rios, Corrientes, and

Misiones.

But while statistics could give us the magnitude to the displacement, they cannot immediately

provide a sense of the impacts the recurrent flooding and displacement events have on the lives

of those more affected, who usually are also those with less resources.

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This is the story of Judith, an indigenous woman and mother of two children, who lives in the north of Argentina in a small community. Judith was born in a community that, neglected by the State, struggled many years to establish a permanent school and a health center. Initially located near the river, the majority of the population was dedicated to fishing and crafts. Despite experiencing several river floods in the past, one flood in 2018 surpassed normal levels. The local authorities took a while to arrive, but the community was warned by radio that the flood was going to be enormous, so they had to leave their homes as soon as possible. At first, Ms. Judith did not want to leave and abandon the home, the animals and the community that had cost them so much work. Where would her children sleep that night? What food would they have? They were thoughts that she had at that time. However, the water was rising too high and the predictions were not good so, following the rest of the community, she followed the instructions of the authorities and left. She spent a few weeks in a temporary camp, during which she still hoped to be able to return to her home at some point. However, as the days went by they saw that the flood had taken away all of their possessions and that returning made no sense since future forecasts predicted more intense floods in the coming years. Together with the other members of the community, she decided to settle in a new location, away from the river. They have chosen a place within their traditionally owned land. Although in this new place the risk of flooding is lower, the truth is that they do not have good quality houses, nor a health center, nor a school. The education of her children has also been disrupted. Furthermore, her husband can no longer dedicate himself to fishing. Sometimes he feels frustrated and drinks too much, even being more violent than he used to be. In five years, Judith has found a group of supporting woman and managed to get divorce. Meanwhile, her young children have migrated. They are currently employed in other villages where they engage in activities such as picking lemons and other fruits. Despite the challenges, Judith is determined to forge a new path for herself and her children, finding strength in the supportive community of women she has built around her.

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Climate mobility for livelihood till where? 

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Climate mobility for livelihood till where? 

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Timtooni is a farmer from childhood to his third age. He has gone many changes of climate and its effects on farmers. The recent decade seems particular to him as he observes all events occurring simultaneously; extreme, drought, inundation thought rare precipitation in time, pest and disease outbreak, invasion of bird granivorous etc. the sky is vomiting its anger on his family and community. he struggles to get his children’s school fees, health services bills even clothing them during Damba festival, the highest traditional feast in the year following the traditional calendar. On the occasion, people meet, dance, pay visit to relatives etc. Desperately, one day he calls his elder son, Naba, and tell him that he would like to move to better place since farming is no longer a breadwinning. As saying from Mande goes on: What immobility fails to terminate, the mobility will do. Timtooni has decided to move to any place where he can meet the ends for his livelihood and family needs and desires. Timtooni: My son, I would like us to move to South. We have lost the clemence of the sky and the earth has been meaner and more selfish than ever. Let us move! Naba: The South suffers like us of climate change drawbacks. As we fail to plant trees, to stop hunting our rare species, to maintain sustainable agriculture, the Southern also has its set of failures. Deforestation, galamsey degrading the environment in front of the authorities, the highest profile people enjoying bush animal meat and the villagers the mediocre financial benefits of hunting. Fishers can no longer feed his family, hunting is no longer a job, not even small protein provider for the family; wild fruits are invisible since the trees are disappearing. Uncle Owusu has the same speech like you: shifting to better environment. Alas! Where to get that!? Father: Then let us move to town or close urban area, he says it desperately. Son: In the cities, with our mediocre resources, it will be “welcome starvation, exposition o various risks and dangers”. Inundations are killing hundreds every raining season, joblessness is dumping youth into illegal activities, drugs, theft, illegal traffic, prostitution, robbery etc. Last time uncle Owusu’s son ran to city, he was for the first time seen in TV with hand chain for robbery. His daughter came back with a child whose father is still unknown. Struggle added to struggle! Father: Let us go away anyway. Dyeing far from here is better that this silent killer of weather adversity. Son: Let us die fighting the threat than letting the threat kill us on exile! Father: How will you kill that monster of CC, bigger than you, bigger than the earth and bigger than mankind? Son: The paradise is on earth, the hell elsewhere. We made the CC a Monster, we feed It and dress It. Now the Giant is eating its Master! Your generation failure nursed the Monster and our generation is feeding It. Father: Stop blaming. If the Monster blows speedy wind or profusion of heat on us, neither innocent or protagonist will be asked; When It ejects its merciless saliva, causing floods, who will cry the lost; When it swallows our water, rivers, rains, groundwater etc., who will not suffer? Blame never brings back what is lost. Son: Very true! But lessons from your failures and inactions shall guide the next steps for our and future generations. Youth has power certes, but the elderly has brain. Share your experiences with us to avoid traps of laziness, ignorance, cupidity and selfishness. After heated debate on mutual accusations, loose justification and claims, the two decides to create a network where youth and elderly people meet and exchange ideas. The communities come together for climate actions without waiting for politics whose wordy speeches and laws are more populistic and paternalistic, followed with less actions. Trees were planted, development plan for the communities remade through participatory methods, locally-led approaches. All actors, producers, traders, buyers, women, youth, pupils and students got special sensitization, information sharing, awareness and training. Timtooni and his son remain in the village where they install big garden and now sell their products to the nearest big cities, Tamale metropolitan. Many communities imitate their integrated farming system. Now the vegetable of Tamale market is dominated by products of their communities which they proudly call “Eden of North” referring to the greenest party of the paradise, according to believes. Their example has been spread through local media, and other communities demand establishing the same network to help them unarm the Monster, the CC.

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As part of the HABITABLE research project we are developing scenario narratives for crisis and aspirational scenarios in Ghana, Kenya, Mali, Ethiopia, and Thailand relating to Human Mobility in the Context of Climate Change. We have finished the Ghana videos (links above) and will likely have two more videos (for Thailand and Ethiopia) done by the workshop. Happy to have them shared with the seminar and also to discuss them and our work if helpful/relevant.

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Migration, habitability and climate change in Ghana in 2050 – Issah’s story | HABITABLE

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“We are leaving,” Mom told me a week ago. “There's no money to repair the damages in our home.” It makes me incredibly sad. I don’t want to leave my family, my friends, my home. Where else could we go? I’ve never been outside of our district.

The water came silently and quickly, swallowing our belongings. Mud is now everywhere. My books, my toys, everything destroyed. This happened to us twice before. The first time, we moved to Grandma and Grandpa’s house for a couple of months while the floor was being replaced, and the windows were being repaired. The second time, we stayed in a shelter in the nearby village, just for a few days. But this time is different. Many have left in the past two years. Dad says, “The soil is too salty; nothing grows anymore.” My aunt and uncle left last spring. They moved to a big city in the north. The bakery closed in July, followed by the little repair shop down the street. Mom says, “It won’t be long until the school closes too. Many people are leaving.” It makes me so sad.

My first memories of the big city are its smells and noises. People hurry by, as if they are being chased. Our new home is a small shed located near a floodway. Mom tells me not to be afraid, but I can't help feeling scared. The water is dangerously close. Dad will search for work in the nearby industrial complex, and Mom will continue to sew, as she did back home.

The water returned, perilously close to our shed. I heard the water gargling and swishing at night. Dad says it's safe, but I am not convinced. School is challenging here, not because the courses are difficult, but because there are no tables, no chairs, or even chalk. Sometimes, I can't even hear what the teacher is saying. There are 50 children in our classroom with only one teacher. At home, we were only 15. Also, some children are mocking me because of my dialect.

Since we arrived, Dad has lost his job three times. Today, he brought home some rice balls and gave me a few, but I didn’t eat them because I knew it was the only meal we would have today. The water washed away some sheds next to us. Our neighbors are leaving. They are going back to their villages. “It was hard, but it was better there,” they say.

We are leaving again. We are going to my uncle’s place. He works as a carpenter and thinks Dad could learn too. The community is at a higher elevation, and the water is far away. Dad says, “We can rent a little plot there.” Mom and my aunt can grow some vegetables, and I can play with my cousins. The school is well-equipped, and there is a community council where my parents can share experiences, discuss new acquisitions for the community, and just chat with the neighbors.

In our new community I feel happier. Dad has found stable work as a carpenter, and Mom's sewing skills are in high demand. The community council has become a second family for us, offering support and guidance. After five years our shed has transformed into a home. I made many new friends and Mom and Dad seem happier too. Mom tends our little vegetable plot, and the community council has led to initiatives for sustainable living. The constant fear of losing everything has transformed into a sense of belonging. However, sometimes I still dream of our home near the river.

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Faruk is a young farmer in the Northern Region of Ghana. He decides to move to Accra after realizing that he has trouble growing his crops due to the lack of rain. Given that the farming has been his family activitiy for several generations Faruk does not want to leave. But the situation seems to be getting worse despite some respites now and then with good rain for a year. Once in Accra, he settles in Old Fadama an overcrowded settlement. After securing housing through a connection of his cousin he finds a job at Old Fadama's giant scrapyard. He is fascinated by the sheer size and amount of people and activity in Old Fadama. But he quickly realizes that he is not immune from climate risk. During the rainy season the river where Old Fadama seats gets overflowed. Faruk's structure gets flooded. He uses bricks to raise the bed so that the mattress does not get soaked. But even under these difficult conditions Faruk persists. He has a dream: to start a business in Fadama and eventually be able to visit his family back in the Northern region.

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It was a quiet evening in a small village in Bihar. Children were playing hopscotch by the river, and it was the turn of 12-year-old Rani to toss her pebble. And suddenly, the dark brown clouds started circling the playground, and a drop of water trickled on Rani’s face. She screamed in excitement – it was going to rain. And Rani, with her friends, rejoiced. Rani and her life in the village is full of excitement; she has a lot of friends, a caring mother and grandmother, and a loving father who occasionally visits Rani and brings her toys from the city where he lives. Rani loves it here except for the months of July, August and September when the rain god is sad, and he cries a lot. Since he cries, the river overflows and his dad can’t bring her toys for another three months; neither can she play as freely with her friends. Soon after playing in the rain, Rani returned home and asked her mom softly – Maa, is it July already? Is the rain god sad again? He was shedding big tears today. Rani’s mom chuckled at her innocence and answered yes, beta, it is July, and I think he will get angrier in the coming days. Now you have to be careful and not play along the river. Rani nodded, although the disappointment in her eyes could be seen from a distance. Soon, overcoming her disappointment, and with glittery eyes, she asks, Maa, why does Papa live far away? A slow tear rolled from the right eye of Rani’s mother; life has been challenging since Rani’s father migrated to the city after floods, looking for a job as the river floods their land for almost 6 months of the year. Now she has to take care of the household, Sati (their cow), Rani’s 80-year-old grandmother, and the farms. She feels like she hasn’t had a rest in the last 8 years, a long time, ah. Breaking her thought chains, she quickly turned to Rani and said because that's where the toys are – the word ‘toy’ sparkled Rain's eyes as if she understood the reason. Intrusion After having their food, Rani and her little family went to sleep with the melody of raindrops. It was 2 AM in the morning when she heard her mother rustling her precious little receptacle over the bed and shouting flood is coming; go on the roof – a small area on the hut which her father had made a few years back. Rani quickly turned to her grandmother and shouted – DADI, FLOOD IS HERE; LET US GO TO THE ROOF. Rani’s 80-year-old mother struggles to climb two steps to the home; how will she climb so many stairs? She was struggling, Rani was trying to help her, but only she could gather the strength of the Hindu god Hanuman to pick her up and take her to the roof. Only if she prayed to him to give her strength, but only if. She could see the water slowly taking over their home and touching the feet of her bed. She was numb until she could hear her mother shouting, “Rani, climb up; I will bring Grandma.” She did as her mother asked; Rani's mother realised it was too late to save all her precious belongings. She left it and rushed to Rani’s grandmother and lifted her. Rani's eyes sparkled as if Hanuman had given his strength to Rani's mother; she was thankful he listened to her. For her mother, it was the mix of ADRENALINE and THE FEAR. She managed to reach the roof with Rani's grandmother. Three people squeezed into a small space with food and water and slowly witnessed the water rise in their homes and drench everything they loved, even the stone she had earlier found at the riverbank, as if the river came to take what was hers originally. On the roof, Rani was cold. She could see her friends embracing their father’s arms. She missed him; a tear was about to roll from her eyes as she felt for wet arms with a few bangles around her.

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The coffee she grows and harvests is vulnerable, they told her, as she well knows. The rains are not as predictable, the dry season longer, stronger, dryer, hotter. Her coffee trees don't know when to flower, the coffee cherry ripens when it is not supposed to, but only a few do. Scientists have been working hard in faraway labs to develop better coffee varieties, they tell her that a new coffee variety will fare better in the future. If all else fails, they will grow coffee in California, they say. But the coffee supply chain must be protected. Everyone loves coffee. It's funny how much they invest in making sure that coffee continues to grow well, so that it can be shipped to Japan, Italy, the United States and be enjoyed by all. But what about the woman who is no longer able to subsist on coffee production. What is she to do when her debt continues to increase, and there is not more rain to grow beans and maize that feed her children. How easy it is to imagine the coffee bean traveling from one port to another, from ship, to warehouse, to coffee shop, to your cup. A long international journey that the grower of that bean is not permitted to take. May the bean be protected, but forget the people. The number of women who are traveling from Central America to the United States is increasing rapidly, where as in the past it was mostly men who took on the arduous trek up North, today, women and their children are joining these numbers. As small subsistence farmers are no longer able to subsist in their farms, especially along Central America's dry corridor, a strip of land connecting Nicaragua, Honduras, El Salvador, and Guatemala that is vulnerable to extreme climate risks, many are leaving in search of opportunities in the United States, among the women who embark on this journey, a staggering 50% of them, by some estimates, experience abuse. At the border, she says that she is coming to the United States because she needs to earn money to support her family. She is turned back. And so it is.

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In a quiet village, Ayatutu, where people lived for many years, something started changing. The sun felt hotter, and the rain came when it shouldn't. The plants and animals, the friends of the villagers, seemed confused. Meet , a young girl from Ayatutu. Her family loved their home, but the changes made it harder to grow food. The rivers, where Sewe used to play, became unpredictable, sometimes flooding the fields. One day, Sewe's family and others in the village gathered. The elders spoke about moving to a new place, a safer place. This was called "migration," a big word for moving to keep everyone safe. Sewe, though sad to leave her friends and the familiar hills, understood it was for the best. The village organized a special workshop to talk about these changes and share stories. They called it "Beyond Panic. The Others of the Climate Crisis." During the workshop, Sewe and her friends drew pictures and told stories. They talked about their village, the changes, and why they needed to leave. People from faraway places listened and shared their own stories. The seminar became a space for everyone to learn and understand. Sewe's story, simple but powerful, touched hearts. People realized that climate change affects us all, no matter where we live. As the workshop ended, Sewe felt proud. Her village might be moving, but their story would stay. Ayatutu became a part of a bigger story shared with the world. The seminar, “Beyond Panic. The Others of the Climate Crisis,” became a place where simple stories connected everyone, making the journey ahead a little less scary.

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In recent years, the world has witnessed a rise in environmental migration, as people are forced to leave their homes due to the adverse impacts of climate change and environmental degradation. This story sheds light on the journey of a community that had to abandon their ancestral land and seek refuge elsewhere, highlighting the harsh realities and challenges faced by environmental migrants.

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It was called ‘forest protection’, the reason why we had to leave our home I am remembering from the outskirts of são paolo, surrounded by the fogg and trash of the city. Our lives where calm in the middle of the forest. We weren’t cut off but had a different live from the hectic one which one had in the towns. We were around 230 and lived in harmony with our surrounding. The ancestor’s understanding of us and our environment was passed down for generations so that we had profound knowledge on how to care instead of destroy the trees, the mountains, the animals. We hunted but never too much. We farmed but so that the soil could create and regenerate again. However the looming threat of climate change created by what you call “progressive” life forced a paradox and unforeseen change upon my family and the others. The government responding to the call for environmental preservation, called out for our land to be protected. Yet, what do you want to protect it from? Deforestation, destruction or occupation - that is not our doing. That are the forms in which you contribute. Yet, we have to go. We have to give up our home, our life and our traditions. The once-thriving sounds of the forest were replaced by the silence of ‘conservation’. We found ourselves displaced, here in the outskirts of the big city - not only from the land but from ourselves. Carrying yeh echoes of a time when our existence melded seamlessly with the rythems of the fainforst, now silenced by the winds of change.

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5 years ago they left everything and moved, the 10 years before they had to move also because of drought, flooding and unlivable conditions yet this was still within their own countries borders. Five years ago they had to give up their country. Today they have to move again, another border to cross, another procedure to follow. With all the stress and worriedness of not being accepted to stay and having to be sent back to their country of origin. There was nothing left there. A barren body of sand and salt water was left in their home territory. When 20 years ago someone would have asked if they were willing to accept strangers in the house near them, they were reluctant. Strangers are not welcome, they are not fitting in our society and they prey on our limited resources. Now they had to accept they themselves were the strangers living next to people they did not really understand, who’s customs they did not really know in a surrounding completely different from theirs. It felt as if they were second in line of everything. 5 years ago they were happy to be welcomed, open armed, by their neighboring countries after disaster struck so hard on their land it became uninhabitable. There was understanding, there was help and for all there was a place they could start to rebuild their society. Yet after a few months, when the first horrors of disaster faded to the background because of other more horrifying events, they felt left alone. Even worse, the people first willing to help them seemed to think first about their own needs before thinking about them. Outrage on multiple events where the, once so open and friendly inhabitants of the neighboring countries, showed their discontent with those ‘newcomers’ praying on the limited resources. The inhabitants of those previously friendly countries started to dislike the attitude of the ‘newcomers’, they felt their worldviews and opinions had nothing to do with adapting to their living environment. “Those people are stuck on their old traditions” and, even worse, “they did not fit” in the society of the host country. Even the quote; “They were not welcoming to others in need in past times, so why should we help them now!”, was heard. They felt unheard and when drought and flooding occurred even in the new surroundings they were the blame for the harsh conditions. Although they might have contributed in the past to this global change, this time they were at the mercy of the host country they looked and found asylum in. Things were changing again; they were the ones who had to leave, despite their knowledge on water management. They felt unheard. So they moved again, more east, to higher and more fertile land to face the same process of being the stranger again. Those poor people, if they only had looked beyond their own bubbles, their own economic prosperity and beyond their own fears. They might have been better adapted to change instead of becoming vulnerable climate refugees. If they only had shown mercy on others seeking refuge in their country while it still existed, less busy with their own fears and safe keeping, they might have been less deprived in their own odyssey. The Dutch, who could still help them?

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"It didn't rain today", Juan thought it was going to rain according to the weather forecast it was supposed to rain… But it didn’t rain today, it didn’t rain last week, it didn’t rain in the last couple months at all… Juan looked at the olive trees before him and he thought, “next year we are going to have a bad olive harvest, once again”. He walked among the trees, they brought so many memories: running from one tree to another when he was little, taking care of them throughout his life. He stopped; he felt a little dizzy. He knew, he shouldn’t be outside when it is so hot. The doctor told him to cool off during warm weather. A memory kept coming back, when he turned 65, his daughter told him “Dad, you need to take it easy if you want to meet your grand daughter”. He looked at the watch, it was almost 7 pm. Perfect time to go back to the town and get a beer with his mates. When he got there, Paco, María y Antonio were there. They first went through what has now become their opening conversation ritual: “It is too hot”; “Yes, the heat is unbearable”; “and it still doesn’t rain”… etc. Juan felt extra hopeless today, so he decided to vent with his friends. “And my daughter, my daughter wants me to move to the city with her, she says I can’t be here alone. But I am not alone here, I feel alive here”. Paco and María shook their heads. “Who is going to take care of the crops in your field if you go? No, no, you can’t go”. Juan agreed: “Yes, I said that to her, you know what she said: those crops are dying anyway, the heat is killing them, and working on the heat is going to kill you too…”. Antonio smiled: “Sure, sure… the city is what will kill you, all that pollution, all that busy people… I could not do it, being inside with those big A/C machines, far from my town, my land… how sad!”. Juan nodded with a sad smile. He thought of all the young people who left the town looking for work opportunities, looking for schools and universities, and technology and shopping centers… He knew it is not just the heat that kill the crops that made them leave, but feeling so warm makes everything worse, it is like having fever. He realized he needed to calm down. He finished up his beer, said goodbye to his friends and headed the highest point of the town near the church. He arrived just in time for the sunrise, that always cheered him up.

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I am a poor farmer in a distant country. I recently talked to a friend who'd talked to a friend who talked to a friend who'd traveled to a rich country. And the word is that people in rich countries think that they are going to be invaded by hordes of poor people pushed because of climate change. The rich countries are adding fences and police to their borders to keep the expected hordes away. We laugh about that waste of time and money on their part: keeping poor people away who aren't coming. I would love to travel great distances to get into a rich country. But I can't. I don't have the money. I don't have the strength. I don't know anyone there. All the people I know who have migrated from my small village have either gone to the capital. Or if they go overseas they have connections. And money. Poor farmers like me are stuck. We're suffering in place not only from climate change, but also bad government policy and corruption. We're here. Rather than being scared of people moving because of climate change, it would be better for people in rich countries to stop causing climate change and help adapt and repair the world.

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At Danmadami village they experience a severe drought in the community all there means of livelihood were affected by the negative effects of climate change Mr. Buba they find it difficult to adapt the way means of adaptation is to migrate to city the destination is Lagos in Southeast they bus as a means of transportation with the hope they secure better means of livelihood but they end up doing petty trading which is difficult to feed on after five years they are still struggling to survive as living in the city is not easy to survive

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This is the story of Afar Pastorals. Even though they are mobile herders in search of feed and water for their livestock, climate change induced mobility increased in frequency and mobility direction. These pictures have taken in 2016 while am traveling from Chifra to Bati. These Afar herders came from Eua district in zone Four of Afar region. We asked the guy where they are going?. He replied as they were going to Dewe districts in zone Five of Afar region.Which is about 200kms long. We continued our question, why you move?. He replied because of drought, look our cattle, he said. He continued, drought occurs in every year. So we move to distant areas, even if far from our locality to save our livestock and in turn our life. This story clearly describes the effect of climate change on peoples mobility.

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The data were produced from household survey conducted in the rural Gambia in 2021. Subsequently, about 69.42 percent of migrants moved due to changes in rainfall pattern in rural Gambia. If rainfall changes, they migrate elsewhere to have income and send the remittances for households' use. Majority of people in the countryside in the Gambia migrated not due to rainfall changes but due to personal, diplomatic, psychological reasons, neighbours' influence, environment set-up, conflicts, education, employment, union, networking, invitation, peers or friend influences, and other related circumstances that frequently happen in the rural Gambia. However, natural disaster such as rapid and slow onsets climate changes increases migration but poor individual or communities are less likely to migrates aftermath of the natural disaster. This is due to the fact that they have nobody left to take up the journey of migration. Climate drivers such as climate processes and events are likely to permanently displace or migrate many more people (Gray, C., & Wise, E. (2016).In addition, non-climate drivers such as natural disasters might displace many people for a short period (Drabo, A., & Mbaye, L. M, 2015). Migration can also be forced in that, for example, the USA dustbowl years in the 1930s suggest that being migrant due to severe climate conditions such as prolonged drought will cause people to migrate to an area to have support networks, social, financial (Massey et al.,1993). Non-climate-driven effects marginalize people, and that causes them to migrate to a better environment. Furthermore, environmental change such as flooding drives migration, and climate conflict drives migration (Zimmerer et al.,2022). In addition, the environmental drivers of migration can be either slow onset such as land degradation, changing rainfall and temperature patterns, desertification, food insecurity, or drought and can also be rapid onset climate change such as floods, hurricanes,

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In a small coastal village, nestled between the azure sea and lush greenery, lived the Tutu’s family. For generations, they had thrived on the bounties of the ocean, their livelihood intertwined with the rhythm of the tides. However, as the impacts of climate change intensified, the once tranquil village faced the wrath of nature. Rising sea levels and increasingly severe storms eroded the coastline, swallowing homes and livelihoods. Amidst this turmoil, the Tutu’s family made the heart-wrenching decision to leave their ancestral home. With heavy hearts, they embarked on a journey of uncertainty, seeking refuge from the encroaching waters. They traveled by boat, navigating through perilous waters, carrying with them the weight of their memories and the hope for a new beginning. Their journey led them to a bustling city, far from the familiar embrace of the sea. Here, amidst towering buildings and bustling streets, they found a new home. The Tutu’s family, resilient and determined, worked tirelessly to rebuild their lives. They found solace in a community of fellow migrants, each with their own stories of displacement and resilience. Five years later, the Tutu’s family had not only adapted to their new surroundings but had become advocates for climate action. They worked with local organizations to raise awareness about the plight of coastal communities and the urgent need for sustainable solutions. Their journey, marked by loss and upheaval, had transformed into a beacon of hope and resilience, inspiring others to stand against the tide of climate change.

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Amidst the rising tides and changing landscapes wrought by climate upheaval, the tale of Aria emerges—a resilient soul etched into the chronicles of environmental migration. Aria, a botanist from a coastal village, witnessed the encroaching sea swallow her community, forcing its inhabitants to seek new shores. With her family, Aria embarked on a harrowing journey, navigating turbulent waters aboard a makeshift raft fashioned from remnants of their former lives. They sailed through uncharted waters, chased by the echoes of their submerged past, seeking refuge in a distant land rumored to offer sanctuary. After days adrift, they arrived at an unfamiliar coastline, greeted by a community grappling with similar tales of loss. Aria, driven by her passion for botanical conservation, collaborated with locals to cultivate resilient crops amidst the changing climate, fostering a sustainable oasis in this new homeland. Five years hence, Aria and her family have become an integral part of this resilient community. They've nurtured a vibrant garden, fostering hope and adaptation amid the ever-evolving environmental challenges. Their journey, a testament to the human spirit's ability to adapt and thrive amidst adversity, echoes through the annals of climate-induced mobilities.

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Everything is less than what is was last year and last season. Where do we go from here?

Who will hold forth when the ancestors come greeting?

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The environment has, through generations, been oppressed with mankind, as the tool of oppression and destruction of the human race. Through recklessness of mankind the environment has been oppressed leading to mass graves, poor sanitation, natural upheavals and harsh climate change. Everyday mankind suffocates herself through clearing the medium that cleanses oxygen of greenhouse gases. When mankind; who can communicate by speech encounters oppression, the fear of the oppressor keep many in silence, and exploitation is heightened until some die and live depressed lives, but when God raises the understanding and boldness of the oppressed through those who become a voice, quickly oppressors find ways to silence them. This is for human beings who can speak. Imagine the environment which can't make an audible sound to its oppressors - the human race? It has been bleeding huge un imaginable rivers of its own blood. Since the fall of man every micro second of everyday because of our oppression unto it. Who cares?, Not even the most elite of this world? We are controlled by a ticking clock of more money which is created out of thin air and given value through our enslaving labours that are reckless and inconsiderate to the environment. No one cares about conserving or adding life unto the diminishing environment. You may say, "but the governments care" No! not until trouble arises. We only appreciate good times when they are gone, trouble opens our eyes to the right thing to do, and sometimes when it's too late. We witness floods, devastating hurricanes, landslides droughts, among others that lead to great displacements and unprecedented suffering.

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Climate change in Nigeria manifests itself in extreme weather and environmental conditions such as excessive rainfall, which often result in flooding in many parts of the country. The incessant flooding has led to internal displacement, destroyed livelihoods, and posed a threat to food security and public health in Nigeria. It is a matter of concern that inadequate recordkeeping and reporting the scale and nature of the flooding in Nigeria make it impossible to accurately determine the number of displaced people, financial damages, and fatalities. However, most of the displaced persons in the riverine areas relocates to the highlands and to the suburbs of the of city centres with little or no access to the basic needs of life including shelter, food and clothing. Most of the people on the move are mostly young and energetic people (including men and women). some people of concern children and the aged are immobile which put them in precarious situations during the flooding disaster.

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It's Wednesday. I'm in Rome. It's 30 degrees at 8 pm. And I have Covid. Air conditioners are respirators that allow those who can afford to survive this umpteenth heatwave. The wind blows, and the hill behind my house catches on fire. The smoke invades the rooms in ten minutes, and I understand I have to evacuate immediately. I am exhausted because of Covid; I see I can't breathe, and I struggle to get out of my apartment. Luckily, I met my neighbors. They helped me get out, and we found all displaced on the street. The fire destroyed my apartment and my shoe store just around the corner. Rescue comes after a few hours, and we find shelter for the night in a gym. I have some relatives in Switzerland, so I moved there after recovering from Covid. After five years, my apartment and store are still destroyed as my insurance does not cover the impacts of climate change, and I can't afford renovation costs. Currently, I live in a rented accommodation in Switzerland as I work here in my brother's restaurant.

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I am an island, crafted over eons by the tireless collaboration of the wind and the sea, a masterpiece formed from their graceful dance. Year after year, the wind and the sea came together, bringing grains of sand to create me, their humble creation. Born from the depths of the vast ocean, I emerged as a testament to their artistry, cradled by their gentle embrace for centuries. My existence has been a tale of tranquility and harmony with the elements, a timeless presence amidst the ever-changing tides. But now, the world around me is shifting, and I feel the tremors of a changing climate. As time passed, year after year, the stormy seasons grew fiercer and more relentless. Their fury carved away at my shores, taking vital parts of me with each tempestuous assault. The sea that once lapped at my shores with a tender touch now tore at my very foundations, carrying away the essence of what made me whole. It began with whispers - tales from the mainland, where humans roamed. They spoke of rising temperatures, melting ice, and shifting weather patterns. I, an island, could only listen, unable to fully comprehend the magnitude of their words. But as the years passed, those whispers became roars of urgency. The climate was changing, and I could feel it in my very core. The seasons no longer danced in harmony. My once-lush forests began to wither, as if their very souls were drying up. The vibrant coral reefs that adorned my underwater realm faded into ghostly remnants of their former glory. My inhabitants, the birds and creatures that had called me home for generations, started to vanish, fleeing in search of a more hospitable habitat. The rising sea levels were the cruelest blow. With each passing year, the water encroached further upon my shores, devouring the land I cherished. I watched helplessly as families were uprooted, their homes and livelihoods swallowed by the relentless waves. The heart-wrenching cries of those displaced by climate change echoed in my very soul. As the island, I bore witness to the heartbreak and desperation of my people. They were forced to abandon their homes, their traditions, and their roots, driven to seek refuge on distant shores. The once-thriving communities that had formed the tapestry of my existence were torn apart, scattered like leaves in the wind. I yearned to shelter them, to protect them from the turmoil that now defined their lives. But I was powerless, a silent observer of their suffering. I had become a symbol of their loss, a testament to the devastating impact of climate change. In the twilight of my existence, I realized that I too was a victim of this changing world. I could no longer deny the reality of climate displacement. Year after year, the storms had taken away vital parts of me, eroding the very essence of my being. The whispers of the waves and the howls of the tempests had become a deafening roar, a mournful lament for what was lost. As I stand here today, battered and diminished, I hope that my story serves as a warning to those who still have the power to change the course of history. The island may crumble, but the spirit of resilience lives on in the hearts of its people. It is my fervent wish that they find solace and a new home, one where they can rebuild their lives and preserve the memories of the island that once was. For now, I shall remain an island in the vast ocean, a silent sentinel to the climate displacement that reshaped my world. The waves may wash over me, but the stories of my people will endure, etched into the annals of time as a testament to the enduring human spirit in the face of adversity.

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The link above is to the exceptionally moving poem and statement performed by Marshallese Island poet Kathy Jetnil Kijiner at the UN Climate Summit in 2014. Here we are, a decade on, and Pasifika people are still at the table, making moving pleas for change, whilst we watch COP28 be stage-managed by the CEO of an oil company from an OPEC nation. The time for changing the imagination, the narratives and the actions on a planetary scale is here.

dear matafele peinam,

you are a seven month old sunrise of gummy smiles

you are bald as an egg and bald as the buddha

you are thighs that are thunder and shrieks that are lightning

so excited for bananas, hugs and

our morning walks past the lagoon

dear matafele peinam,

i want to tell you about that lagoon

that lucid, sleepy lagoon lounging against the sunrise

men say that one day

that lagoon will devour you

they say it will gnaw at the shoreline

chew at the roots of your breadfruit trees

gulp down rows of your seawalls

and crunch your island’s shattered bones

they say you, your daughter

and your granddaughter, too

will wander rootless

with only a passport to call home

dear matafele peinam,

don’t cry

mommy promises you

no one

will come and devour you

no greedy whale of a company sharking through political seas

no backwater bullying of businesses with broken morals

no blindfolded bureaucracies gonna push

this mother ocean over

the edge

no one’s drowning, baby

no one’s moving

no one’s losing

their homeland

no one’s gonna become

a climate change refugee

or should i say

no one else

to the carteret islanders of papua new guinea

and to the taro islanders of the solomon islands

i take this moment

to apologize to you

we are drawing the line here

because baby we are going to fight

your mommy daddy

bubu jimma your country and president too

we will all fight

and even though there are those

hidden behind platinum titles

who like to pretend

that we don’t exist

that the marshall islands

tuvalu

kiribati

maldives

and typhoon haiyan in the philippines

and floods of pakistan, algeria, colombia

and all the hurricanes, earthquakes, and tidalwaves

didn’t exist

still

there are those

who see us

hands reaching out

fists raising up

banners unfurling

megaphones booming

and we are

canoes blocking coal ships

we are

the radiance of solar villages

we are

the rich clean soil of the farmer’s past

we are

petitions blooming from teenage fingertips

we are

families biking, recycling, reusing,

engineers dreaming, designing, building,

artists painting, dancing, writing

and we are spreading the word

and there are thousands out on the street

marching with signs

hand in hand

chanting for change NOW

and they’re marching for you, baby

they’re marching for us

because we deserve to do more than just

survive

we deserve

to thrive

dear matafele peinam,

you are eyes heavy

with drowsy weight

so just close those eyes, baby

and sleep in peace

because we won’t let you down

you’ll see

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On 23 September 2014, I addressed the Opening Ceremony of the UN Secretary-General's Climate Summit. I performed my new poem entitled "Dear Matafele Peinem" written to my daughter. My full statement, along with a live performance of the poem, can be viewed below, followed by the studio version, and the full text of the poem itself:

The clip below is a studio version which was recorded before the actual performance.

[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DJuRjy9k7GA?rel=0&w=853&h=480]

dear matafele peinam,

you are a seven month old sunrise of gummy smiles

you are bald as an egg and bald as the buddha

you are thighs that are thunder and shrieks that are lightning

so excited for bananas, hugs and

our morning walks past the lagoon

dear matafele peinam,

i want to tell you about that lagoon

that lucid, sleepy lagoon lounging against the sunrise

men say that one day

that lagoon will devour you

they say it will gnaw at the shoreline

chew at the roots of your breadfruit trees

gulp down rows of your seawalls

and crunch your island's shattered bones

they say you, your daughter

and your granddaughter, too

will wander rootless

with only a passport to call home

dear matafele peinam,

don't cry

mommy promises you

no one

will come and devour you

no greedy whale of a company sharking through political seas

no backwater bullying of businesses with broken morals

no blindfolded bureaucracies gonna push

this mother ocean over

the edge

no one's drowning, baby

no one's moving

no one's losing

their homeland

no one's gonna become

a climate change refugee

or should i say

no one else

to the carteret islanders of papua new guinea

and to the taro islanders of the solomon islands

i take this moment

to apologize to you

we are drawing the line here

because baby we are going to fight

your mommy daddy

bubu jimma your country and president too

we will all fight

and even though there are those

hidden behind platinum titles

who like to pretend

that we don't exist

that the marshall islands

tuvalu

kiribati

maldives

and typhoon haiyan in the philippines

and floods of pakistan, algeria, colombia

and all the hurricanes, earthquakes, and tidalwaves

didn't exist

still

there are those

who see us

hands reaching out

fists raising up

banners unfurling

megaphones booming

and we are

canoes blocking coal ships

we are

the radiance of solar villages

we are

the rich clean soil of the farmer's past

we are

petitions blooming from teenage fingertips

we are

families biking, recycling, reusing,

engineers dreaming, designing, building,

artists painting, dancing, writing

and we are spreading the word

and there are thousands out on the street

marching with signs

hand in hand

chanting for change NOW

and they're marching for you, baby

they're marching for us

because we deserve to do more than just

survive

we deserve

to thrive

dear matafele peinam,

you are eyes heavy

with drowsy weight

so just close those eyes, baby

and sleep in peace

because we won't let you down

you'll see

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United Nations Climate Summit Opening Ceremony - A poem to my Daughter

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On 23 September 2014, I addressed the Opening Ceremony of the UN Secretary-General's Climate Summit. I performed my new poem entitled "Dear Matafele Peinem" written to my daughter. My full statement, along with a live

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What I have seen in my research so far is that displacement tends to be temporary and that the majority of people want to return home as soon as possible. What I have also seen is that displaced people tend to also often be exposed to extreme climatic conditions at the new location where they have been displaced to. That does not meen that displaced people are vicitims. They are still agentes of change as well as extremely resilient, like displayed in the following: Empowering Entrepreneurial Ventures: Displaced communities often exhibit remarkable resilience by establishing small businesses or initiatives in their host countries, showcasing their agency and contributing to local economies.Cultural Resilience and Exchange: Despite displacement, communities bring diverse cultural perspectives, fostering positive outcomes through cultural exchange, enhancing understanding, and enriching the social fabric of host societies.Educational Persistence: Displaced individuals often overcome challenges to pursue education in new environments, contributing positively by sharing acquired knowledge and skills, potentially breaking cycles of poverty and promoting social integration.Advocacy for Change: Displacement can amplify voices, inspiring individuals to become advocates for change. Activism by displaced persons raises awareness, influencing policy changes and making a positive impact on their situations and similar cases.Innovative Solutions: Necessity-driven displacement often leads to innovative solutions, particularly in technology. Displaced individuals create advancements or applications that address challenges, contributing to positive change in their communities.Community-Led Development: Displaced communities initiate and lead development projects within their settlements, ranging from infrastructure improvements to community gardens. These projects empower residents, fostering a sense of agency and well-being.Skill Transfer and Mutual Empowerment: Displaced individuals may share their skills with host communities, contributing to capacity building. This skill exchange empowers both displaced and local populations, fostering more integrated and mutually supportive societies.Social Innovation and Technology: Displacement can stimulate social innovation, with displaced individuals developing technological solutions to address challenges faced by themselves and others, showcasing resilience and contributing to positive societal change.

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EMigra - Energia Migrant pel Clima | Mohamed Lamine | V3

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EMigra - Energia Migrant pel Clima | Mamadou Kadame | V3

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EMigra - Energia Migrant pel Clima | Papa Demba Cissé | V3

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Carmen wakes in the middle of the night, she was dreaming again with the big fields where she grew up. Sometimes she remembers when her grandma was bedridden, when the sun came down in the evenings she used to tell everyone to go and put the animals back in their corrals, "put the sheeps in the corrals! and don't forget the chickens! call the kids because we will eat now!" But there were no animals, the kids she talked about were 50 years old now, and there was no farm, she was living in the city now. Carmen felt like her grandma, going crazy and dreaming of things no longer exist. Carmen came to the city running after her husband, they wanted to start a family and the countryside only promised famine and drought to them and their future children. The area where she was born and raised is dry now, all the water in the main river belongs to a mining company and no one can grow anything anymore. She hopes that in the city they can start a new life, get better opportunities for the child she's carrying now, but every night she wakes up missing the mountains that took care of her all her life. It's hard to envision her life in five years from now, the city is safe for now, there´s water, food, and jobs for everyone, but the frustration of leaving her place and the water theft doesn't let her sleep.

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Mama Kara has seen several displacements in her 50 years stay at her husbands village in the Upper West region of Ghana. She and her household have experienced several temporarily relocations to the relatively higher grounds away from the sudden and relentless floods. Ten years ago, her household moved permanently away from the banks of the River that once provided a haven from droughts in the 2970s and 80s. With increasing rainfall and associated heavy rains and overflows from the River, they faced two possible sources of flooding. But the higher grounds provides protection for just their new home but not the crops on the fields. Faced with this new situation, Mama Kara's last hope lies in her 52 year old son who like many young men in the village, migrated many years ago when the 'honey moons' with the River began to turn into a 'dark moons'.

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Senegal: a small fishing community close to Dakar. Ravaged by sea level rise for decades. Droughts causing increased movement of people from agricultural work to fishing industry. All is not as ‘natural’ as it seems: droughts and sea level rise caused by GHG emissions from global north decades ago. Colonial policies meant farmers dependent upon drought-sensitive crops. Fish stocks are depleting due to changing ocean currents, pollution, but predominantly, larger fishing trawlers taking fish under agreements with Senegalese government. Fishing communities increasingly struggle to make a livelihood, good jobs for young people are scarce. The way out is tricky, visas are very difficult to come by, prohibitively expensive and involve many bureaucratic hurdles. The EU has reduced legal channels for Senegalese to reach it. One way is to take the pirogue across the Atlantic ocean to reach Europe, where there is a chance of finding work. To risk death in order to have a life.

Environmental migration? Or a manifestation of global inequalities? After five years of irregular stay and work, the climate crisis is impacting most vulnerable also in Europe. The young man who made it across the ocean is exposed to increased heat and wildfires in Spain. Living conditions are harsh. Those who are marginalised and racialised are most exposed to the impacts of the climate crisis across the globe. Yet people fight back: not drowning but fighting. The young man connects with migrant rights organisations, to push for justice, to call for the fishing agreements (which also damage biodiversity in Senegalese waters) to be overturned, to reduce global warming and to enhance global mobility through legal channels for those who wish to move.

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I am a human geographer by training, currently working at Maastricht University as an Assistant Professor. Previously I worked in several universities and international organisations in Germany, UK and Bangladesh. My key interests revolve around environmental changes, peoples mundane experiences with them and knowledge politics around those changes. Over the last two decades, I was involved with research and development projects on climate change adaptation, environmental degradation, migration, climate change and health and so on. I am also building an academic portfolio connecting people with research, policy and development interventions together.

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Climate change is a major driver of displacement, particularly in countries of the Global South. Afghanistan, India and Pakistan are among the top 10 climate-affected countries in the world. I will talk about climate-induced migrants in the context of Afghanistan. There were many IDPs who migrated to Kabul city because of the conflict, but now many of them do not want to return to their places of origin because of climate change issues.

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After three years of floods John's family had enough. Insurance covered the first two times but they had a sneaky clause that officially left John's house uninsured. The flood destroyed everything on the bottom floor, besides leaving two scared children, two angry parents and an entire community tired of trying to be resilient. They did not believe in resilience and safety plan preparation with the government and they did not know how to organise as a social movement. John and his family left with the furniture they could savage and moved to his mother's place. It meant his children had a new school, the parents had to look for new jobs and their sense of stability was gone. From that moment on they would be always feel robbed of the life they were building, a bit more scared of life, a bit more vulnerable and a little more lonely.

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Because of climate change, I want to migrate away from England to a live a more natural life, in a society that hasn't been created around carbon consumption, or consumption in general. Does such a place still exist? And would they have me there?