MSF Somalia: Free healthcare offers a lifeline to mothers and children in Mudug Region

Mudug region has been battered by years of conflict and drought. Health services are limited; mothers and children often travel for hours on unsafe roads because nearby clinics cannot handle emergencies. Few women deliver with skilled health workers, and many do not complete recommended antenatal visits. Halima Abdi Adan walked for hours with her feverish two‑year‑old to reach the hospital, where MSF treated measles, pneumonia and acute malnutrition. “The people here saved his life,” she says.

Rising hunger and displacement are compounding these challenges. Somalia’s Post‑Gu analysis by authorities and United Nations agencies found that 3.4 million people- around 18 percent of the population- were facing crisis or worse levels of acute food insecurity between July and September 2025, and shows that 4.4 million people (23 percent) could face crisis or worse by the end of the year. About 1.85 million children under five are expected to suffer acute malnutrition between August 2025 and July 2026, including 421,000 likely to be severely malnourished. With funding shortfalls, food assistance is declining from around 1.3 million recipients to a planned 375,000 per month, leaving families hungrier and pushing more mothers and children to arrive at health facilities dangerously sick.

Amid these pressures, MSF supports the Ministry of Health in both Galkayo North and South to deliver free maternal and paediatric services. At Mudug Regional Hospital, teams run maternity, paediatric, neonatal unit, emergency and nutrition services and support a tuberculosis unit. Three mobile clinics take consultations, vaccination and nutrition screening to twenty‑three camps for displaced families. In the south, MSF supports Galkayo South Hospital and three clinics providing maternal health, neonatal unit, immunisation and emergency response.

Between January and June 2025, MSF assisted 3,076 births, up 3.6 percent from the same period in 2024. Antenatal consultations fell eight percent to 19,777, suggesting more women are missing preventive care and arriving later or in riskier condition. Malnutrition admissions rose by 49.6 percent, driven mainly by moderate acute malnutrition with complications requiring treatment; severe acute malnutrition admissions remained broadly in line with last year. Taken together, these trends show rising pressure on services even as other support shrinks.

“Mothers and children should not pay the price of remoteness and funding cuts,” says Mohammed, MSF’s Head of Programme in Somalia. “We need aid directed to maternal health, nutrition and vaccination so parents do not have to choose between transport and treatment.” Dr Jarmila Kliescikova MSF medical coordinator in Somalia also adds: “We ​ see patients arriving in critical condition after travelling for hours because nearby services are limited. Functioning health facilities will bring care closer, and it can be the difference between a manageable illness and a life‑threatening emergency.”

Hope and Healing: Voices from the MSF Supported hospitals in Somalia

Across the Border for a Lifesaving Birth – Fatima Abdi Ali’s Journey

Fatima Abdi Ali, 32, is a mother of seven from Bokh district in Ethiopia’s Somali Region. When she was six months pregnant with her seventh child, Fatima experienced a terrifying complication. She began bleeding heavily one afternoon while doing chores. The local clinic in her village had no doctor and limited supplies, so the nurses urged her to seek help elsewhere. Fearing for her baby’s life and her own, Fatima and her husband set out on a long journey to find proper care. They travelled over 125 kilometres by car, crossing the border into Somalia to reach Mudug Regional Hospital – a facility supported by MSF that they heard could handle obstetrical emergencies.

By the time Fatima arrived at the hospital, she was weak and very afraid. The medical team quickly examined her and discovered that her placenta was in a dangerous position. The doctors explained that she would need an urgent caesarean section to deliver the baby safely. It was Fatima’s first ever surgery, and she was frightened, but the staff took time to comfort her and her family. With her consent, a surgical team operated on Fatima that same day. The procedure went smoothly, and she gave birth to a tiny, yet healthy baby boy. “I was so relieved when I heard my baby cry,” Fatima says. “I knew we were both alive when I heard the baby cry; because of the doctors here.”

After the surgery, Fatima spent several days in the maternity ward to recover. The care she received was holistic: the nurses monitored her incision, managed her pain, and helped her begin breastfeeding her newborn. They even provided nutritious meals so she could regain her strength. The entire treatment, including the operation and medicines, was provided at no cost to Fatima’s family. She still recalls her surprise that, even as a foreigner from across the border, she was welcomed with open arms and cared for just like any other mother in the hospital. “Not once did they ask us for money,” she says softly. “All they cared about was how I was feeling and what more they could do to help. They treated me with so much respect and dignity.” With her newborn son swaddled in her arms, Fatima reflects how critical this hospital was for her survival. In her home area of Bokh, such advanced care simply doesn’t exist – the nearest facility with surgical capability is far away, and many women cannot make that journey in time. “I know women back home who lost their babies, or even their own lives, because they couldn’t get help when complications happened,” she says quietly. Fatima hopes that one day there will be accessible maternal healthcare in her community. Her experience has turned her into an advocate for change: “We need clinics that can deliver babies safely and handle emergencies in Bokh,” she insists. “Until then, mothers will keep risking long journeys. I was lucky that my baby and I survived. Every mother deserves that same chance close to home.”

When Measles Meets Malnutrition – Halima Abdi Adan’s Ordeal

Halima Abdi Adan, 25, sits under the shade of an acacia tree, cradling her toddler in her lap. A mother of three from a drought-stricken rural area, Halima has faced a nightmare no parent wants: her two-year-old daughter, Ahlan, contracted measles while already weakened by malnutrition. In Halima’s village, vaccinations are scarce and food even scarcer. The family survives on meagre porridge since their goats died in the dry season, leaving Ahlan underweight. When a measles outbreak swept through the area, the little girl’s fragile body could not handle the illness. She developed a high fever and a revealing rash, then stopped eating. “I had heard measles could kill children, and I was so scared,” Halima says softly. “I’ve seen other mothers in our village lose their babies to it.”

As Ahlan’s condition worsened, Halima knew she had to find medical help or risk losing her. She wrapped her in a cloth and walked with her for hours until a passing truck driver gave them a ride to a town where MSF supports the paediatric unit at Mudug Regional Hospital. Upon arrival, the once-active toddler was limp in her mother’s arms. The medical team moved quickly to treat both measles and its complications. Ahlan was admitted and placed in an isolation area to prevent the spread of measles. She was severely dehydrated from diarrhoea (a common measles complication), so nurses started her on intravenous fluids. They gave her a dose of vitamin A to help her weakened immune system and began feeding her therapeutic milk to address her malnutrition. Halima watched anxiously as the doctors also treated her daughter’s pneumonia – another dangerous effect of the measles infection – with medication.

Throughout their stay, Halima was struck by the kindness surrounding her. She was provided with a clean cot next to her daughter’s bed and daily meals so she could stay by her side. Even though the ward was busy with many sick children, nurses regularly updated Halima on her girl’s progress, making sure she understood that the fever was coming down and Ahlan was responding to treatment. “One nurse showed me how to cool her forehead with a damp cloth and encouraged me to keep talking to her,” Halima recalls. “They cared for me too, not just my daughter. I needed that comfort.”

After a week of intensive care, little Ahlan’s condition turned a corner. Her rash faded, she started eating spoonful of porridge, and soon she managed to make a weak smile at her mother. Halima felt relief wash over her. “I cannot explain how happy I was the first time she stood up again,” she says, eyes welling with tears. “The people here saved her life.” Before discharging them, the MSF team made sure Ahlan received a measles vaccination (to protect her in the future) and vaccinated Halima’s older children who had come along by then. They sent Halima home with extra Plumpy’Nut nutritional paste and instructions on keeping Ahlan’s recovery on track.

Walking back to her village with a healthy child in her arms, Halima is determined to spread the message about healthcare and prevention. She reflects on how different things could have been if basic services were available in her area. “If we had a clinic nearby that provide vaccines, my daughter wouldn’t have gotten sick in the first place,” she says. Halima dreams of local health facilities stocked with medicines and staffed by nurses who can monitor children’s growth and vaccinate them. The ordeal has made her an advocate in her community: she now urges other mothers to seek medical help early and hopes that one day, no mother in her village will have to travel so far or fear losing a child to something as preventable as measles.

A Mother’s Devotion – Ubah Mohamed Said and Her Nephew’s Survival

Ubah Mohamed Said, 34, never expected to be caring for a newborn at this stage in her life. But when her sister Asha died from childbirth complications, Ubah became the only hope for the tiny baby boy her sister left behind. In their traditional community, an infant without a mother faces slim chances of survival, especially during a drought. Ubah, already a mother of three herself, embraced her nephew as one of her own despite the strain on her family’s limited resources. She named him Mahad, meaning “thanks”, in honour of her sister’s memory. “I promised my sister I would take care of her baby,” Ubah says, her voice heavy with emotion. “It was very hard. I had no milk to give him and no money for formula milk.”

In the weeks that followed, baby Mahad struggled. Ubah tried feeding him watered-down cow milk and goat milk when she could get it, but it wasn’t enough. The infant became quiet and weak – signs of severe malnutrition in a baby so young. He developed a cough and frequent diarrhoea, and his tiny body began to show ribs. Ubah was terrified that she would lose him too. In a desperate bid, she travelled to MSF supported Mudug regional hospital she’d heard about in a nearby town, known for helping malnourished children. “I wasn’t sure they would even treat a baby whose mother was gone,” Ubah admits, “but I had to try. He was fading away in my arms.”

At the hospital, the medical team quickly assessed that Mahad was severely malnourished and also suffering from a respiratory infection. They assured Ubah they would do everything they could for Mahad. The baby was placed in an incubator to keep him warm and given oxygen to help with his breathing. They started feeding him therapeutic milk formula through a tiny tube, because he was too weak to consume it. Ubah watched anxiously, but for the first time in weeks, she felt like Mahad had a fighting chance. “I saw the nurses checking him all through the night, never leaving him,” she says. “It was the first time I could actually sleep a little, knowing he was in safe hands.”

Over the next days, Mahad received round-the-clock care. The medical team treated his infection with medications and carefully increased his milk feeds as he tolerated them. Ubah stayed by his side, learning how to keep him clean and how to do “kangaroo care” – holding him skin-to-skin against her chest to provide warmth and comfort. Ubah was also provided with emotional support: a counsellor at the hospital sat with Ubah several times to talk about her sister’s death and Ubah’s new responsibilities, helping her process her grief and exhaustion. “Those talks healed my heart a little,” Ubah recalls. “They reminded me I wasn’t alone in this.”

Little by little, Mahad grew stronger. After a week, he no longer needed the feeding tube and could drink the special milk from a cup Ubah gently poured. He started to gain weight – a few hundred grams that felt to Ubah like a great victory. His cough subsided and his eyes, once dull, now followed Ubah when she moved. ​ The day he wrapped his tiny fingers around Ubah’s hand was the day the nurses declared he was out of immediate danger. Ubah’s relief was so overwhelming that she wept tears of joy. “I wish my sister could see him now,” she says, smiling through tears. “He’s alive, and he’s going to be okay.”

Saved in Time – Mu’mino Abdillahi’s Brush with Ma ternal anaemia

Mu’mino Abdillahi, 22, is in her eighth month of pregnancy and is already the mother of a little boy. With a shy smile, she admits she has always been a bit afraid of hospitals. ​ In her rural area, access to healthcare is often limited, and expectant mothers usually seek care only when complications arise. Unfortunately, that’s exactly what happened to Mu’mino. A few weeks ago, she began feeling unusually weak and dizzy. Simple chores left her gasping for breath, and her family noticed she was looking extremely pale. One afternoon, Mu’mino collapsed while fetching water. “I felt everything go dark,” she recalls. “When I woke up, my mother was crying and my neighbours were fanning me, trying to wake me.” The local health worker suspected severe anaemia, a dangerous condition for a pregnant woman, and urged Mu’mino’s family to get her to a hospital immediately.

They brought Mu’mino to MSF-Mudug Regional hospital, where tests confirmed her blood haemoglobin level was perilously low. Essentially, she didn’t have enough blood to carry oxygen for her or her baby. This explained her extreme fatigue and fainting. It was a critical situation – without prompt treatment, both Mu’mino and her unborn child were at risk. The doctor calmly explained to her that she would need a blood transfusion to safely recover and protect her pregnancy. Mu’mino was terrified at the idea at first. “I had never heard of giving blood to someone,” she says. “I wondered, whose blood would it be? Would it hurt?” Sensing her fear, a nurse sat with Mu’mino, and answering every question. They reassured her that the blood was screened and safe, and that this was the best way to make her feel better quickly. Trusting the gentle confidence of the staff, Mu’mino agreed.

The hospital staff moved swiftly. They found that Mu’mino’s blood type was common, and the on-site blood bank (maintained by MSF’s support) had units ready. Within an hour, Mu’mino was receiving the blood transfusion. As the new blood flowed into her body, she remembers feeling a strange warmth and then a clarity returning to her mind – a stark contrast to the haze and weakness she’d been living with. Alongside the transfusion, she was given high-dose iron supplements and folic acid to help rebuild her blood supply. The doctors also treated her for hookworms after a test showed she had a parasite, which could have contributed to her anaemia. Over the next 48 hours, Mu’mino remained in the hospital for observation. “Each day I felt a little stronger,” she says. “I could stand up without fainting. I could walk to the bathroom with just a little help. It was like coming back to life.”

While Mu’mino recovered, the healthcare team didn’t just stop at treating the immediate problem. They knew that anaemia could recur if its causes aren’t addressed. A nutritionist spoke with Mu’mino about her diet and found that she relied on simple meals like bread and tea, with very little iron-rich food. This wasn’t by choice – her family simply couldn’t afford much meat or vegetables. The MSF team provided Mu’mino with nutrient supplements to her family, enough to last through her pregnancy. Additionally, they gave her deworming medicine to clear any remaining parasites and instructed her on how to avoid re-infection, like wearing shoes in the fields and boiling drinking water.

During her stay, Mu’mino also connected with the hospital’s maternal health educator. For the first time, she learned about what to expect in her remaining weeks of pregnancy. The educator taught her some warning signs to watch out for (like severe headaches or swelling that could indicate pre-eclampsia) and emphasized the importance of delivering in a health facility given her recent complications. Mu’mino took all this information. “I used to think you only go to the hospital to give birth if something is wrong,” she says. “Now I see that going there first might prevent something from going wrong.”

Life in void – Ambaro Abdi Muudey and Her Daughter in Displacement

Ambaro Abdi Muudey, 35, and her 12-year-old daughter, Rahma, have been living under a makeshift tarpaulin shelter in an internally displaced persons (IDP) camp for the past six months. Their journey to this crowded camp was one of desperation. Ambaro’s family fled their hometown in southern Somalia when violence and drought converged into a crisis. First, local violence drove them from their farm, and then, as they tried to resettle in a safer area, a severe drought robbed them of any means to survive. By the time they arrived at this improvised camp on the outskirts of Galkayo city, they had nothing left but clothes on their backs and each other. “It’s just me and my daughter now,” Ambaro says, adjusting the frayed cloth that serves as their tent door. “We left everything else behind to save our lives.”

Within a few weeks of arriving, Rahma fell ill. She started having bouts of diarrhoea and vomiting, likely from the unsafe water or simply the stress on her body. In the past, Ambaro would have relied on traditional remedies or a distant clinic, but here in the camp, MSF was running a small mobile clinic on-site, providing basic healthcare to displaced families. “When Rahma got sick, I panicked,” Ambaro admits. “But then I heard from other women that doctors were treating children for free right here in the camp.”

At the MSF mobile clinic, Nurses examined Rahma and determined she was dehydrated and likely suffering from a bacterial infection. They immediately gave the girl oral rehydration of salts to drink and medication to tackle the infection. They also treated her for intestinal parasites, a common ailment among children in the camp. As Rahma rested on a cot, the staff invited Ambaro to sit and learn how to mix a home-made rehydration solution (clean water, salt, and sugar) to use if diarrhoea struck again. They emphasized the importance of boiling water and washing hands, even in these tough conditions. Ambaro listened carefully, grateful for the knowledge. Boiling water was difficult given the limited firewood, but she vowed to do it whenever possible for her daughter’s sake.

Over the next few days, Rahma recovered well. In the next round of the mobile clinic, the team noticed that Ambaro’s daughter had missed some routine vaccinations due to their displacement. With Ambaro’s consent, they provided Rahma with vaccines for measles and polio, as there had been recent outbreaks in similar camps. Ambaro herself received a tetanus booster, knowing that living in the camp exposed them to all sorts of risks. “They thought about things I didn’t even know we needed,” Ambaro says, recalling how the health workers organized a small vaccination day for several children and women in the camp. “It made me feel safer to know Rahma was protected from those diseases.”