The Somalia Humanitarian Fund (SHF) is a multi-donor country-based pooled mechanism created in 2010 to allocate funding for the most urgent life-saving interventions in Somalia. Combining flexibility and strategic focus, the Fund ensures timely allocation and disbursement of resources, enables effective humanitarian action and strengthens coordination. With the SHF, governments and private donors can channel their contributions into a common, unearmarked fund to deliver life-saving assistance to people who need it most. SHF funds are prioritized and managed locally.

Getting Closer With The Somalia Humanitarian Fund

About The Somalia HF

The Fund supports the highest-priority projects of the best-placed responders – mainly international and national NGOs and some UN agencies – through an inclusive and transparent process that meets priorities set out in the Humanitarian Response Plan (HRP). This ensures that funding is available and prioritized locally by those closest to people in need. The Humanitarian Coordinator for Somalia decides on SHF allocations based on strategic prioritization led by the inter-cluster coordination structure and upon the endorsement of the SHF Advisory Board. On a day-to-day basis, the SHF is managed by the UN Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (OCHA). In 2018, the SHF will continue to focus on famine prevention response, support for NGOs, particularly local partners, and promotion of integrated response. 5. Continue supporting integration of response across clusters and complementarity with other funding sources in support of a stronger collective response.

Meanwhile, Sheikh Sharif’s army and the Islamists are still of roughly equal strength. Although AMISOM is protecting Sheikh Sharif, it is not allowed to take back his country for him. No one can win in this stalemate situation, and the bloodshed will only continue. Doctors and officers estimate that about 1,000 people die each month in the struggle for Mogadishu. Most are civilians, including old men, women and children who become caught up in the fighting among the ruins, or are ripped apart by mortar shells. A visit to Madina Hospital in Mogadishu reveals what the stalemate really means. It is a beautiful complex of barracks and flat-roofed buildings in a park behind an old gate, where large trees provide shade. The temperature there is 35 degrees Celsius (95 degrees Fahrenheit) in the shade. The bandaged wounded lie underneath the trees, because even the hallways are full inside the buildings.

Mohammed Yusuf Hassan, the chief physician, holds a chest X-ray up against the light and searches for the bullet. He is constantly looking for bullets behind ribs. He is a powerfully built man, but when he puts down the X-ray and takes a seat behind his desk, his body seems to collapse. Hassan is 51, but he looks 15 years older and is clearly exhausted. He says that he shouldn’t talk about the people who commit the violence. Sheikh Sharif, he says, is none of his business, nor is al-Shabab, and certainly not al-Qaida. This is the pact without which his hospital would have been reduced to rubble long ago: The hospital is the only neutral location in Mogadishu. Hassan and his eight surgeons operate on civilians and soldiers alike. Bearded members of the al-Shabab militia lie moaning next to dying government militia men. Hassan. Everyone needs him and his hospital, which is why no one attacks it. He is permitted to talk about the victims.

In fact, he can’t stop talking about them. Hassan, who studied in Milan. And then he talks about bullets in bodies. The problem is the same, he says, with the war in people’s heads. Hassan points out that an entire generation has grown up in this war, and that several generations will never get it out of their heads. This too explains why there is no end to the suffering, he says. Hassan has two operating rooms, one for infected and one for clean patients. Without the separation, many more would die of septicemia. A young man with a shattered leg is writhing in pain on the ramp. They have stuffed a rag into his mouth to keep him from screaming. A 10-year-old boy named Shuaib is lying in the next room. He was shot in the stomach while playing soccer. On one of the operating tables, doctors cut a bullet out of a man’s knee and toss it into a metal bowl. There’s probably another bullet below the knee. Hassan operates on these same men, again and again, and eventually many end up dead.

After major battles, Hassan and his staff can admit 300 patients at a time. They have enough medication, and even an X-ray machine, thanks to the generosity of the International Red Cross and the Red Crescent. But there is a severe shortage of surgeons. In December, a suicide bomber blew up about 18 medical school graduates in the city, as well as four of Sheikh Sharif’s ministers attending a ceremony in honor of doctors trained in Somalia. If this is a normal day at Madina Hospital, how can a man like Hassan keep his sanity? He is about to amputate the feet of a 23-year-old woman. She manages to say her name before the anesthetic takes effect: Fatma Erden Mursal. The sedative means that she is not inhibited by the sudden appearance of strangers in the operating room, and she tells them that she was four months’ pregnant — before it happened. She looks dazed as she stares at the flies on her two thick, yellow bandages. It was a mortar shell that hit her.

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