Kakuma, Kenya – Hundreds of thousands of refugees in Kenya’s Kakuma camp are facing severe hunger after drastic cuts to US-funded food aid left rations at their lowest levels ever, a UN official has warned.
At Amusait Hospital in the sprawling Kakuma camp—home to some 300,000 refugees fleeing conflict across Africa and the Middle East—the crisis is stark. Emaciated children pack a 30-bed malnutrition ward, their hollow eyes fixed blankly on visitors. Among them is baby Hellen, her skin peeling and inflamed from severe malnutrition. Nearby lies nine-month-old James, the eighth child of Agnes Awila, a refugee from northern Uganda.
“The food is not enough. My children eat only once a day. If there’s no food, what do you feed them?” Awila asks desperately.
A Lifeline Cut
The UN’s World Food Programme (WFP), which provides essential sustenance to Kakuma’s refugees, has slashed rations to just 30% of the minimum recommended intake after the US—previously supplying 70% of WFP’s Kenya budget—dramatically reduced foreign aid under President Donald Trump’s “America First” policy.
“If this continues, we have a slowly starving population,” says Felix Okech, WFP’s head of refugee operations in Kenya.
A Broken System
At Kakuma’s food distribution center, refugees line up under the scorching sun. Mukuniwa Bililo Mami, a 51-year-old Congolese mother of two, collects meager portions of lentils, rice, and oil—now expected to last two months instead of one.
“I am grateful, but it’s not enough,” she says. Before the cuts, refugees received three meals a day. Now, many survive on a single afternoon meal.
The crisis has also crippled Kakuma’s economy. Earlier this year, the UN halted $4 million in monthly cash transfers—known locally as bamba chakula—which allowed refugees to buy fresh food and supplies. Mami, who is diabetic, once used the cash to grow vegetables and raise poultry. Now, she eats whatever is available.
Local markets are collapsing. Badaba Ibrahim, a Sudanese shopkeeper, says refugees now beg outside his store: “They tell me, ‘My children haven’t eaten all day.’”
No End in Sight
For families like Agnes Livio’s—South Sudanese refugees living in a cramped 2m x 2m shelter—the cuts mean skipping breakfast entirely. Her five sons share a single plate of food at 2 p.m., their first meal of the day.
Back at Amusait Hospital, malnourished infants are fed through tubes. Some are discharged back into the camp, where conditions worsen daily.
With no major funding restoration in sight, Okech warns: “The prospects are not good.” Unless aid rebounds by August, starvation looms for Kakuma’s refugees.
“It is a really dire situation,” he admits.
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