“I knew we were both alive when I heard the baby cry”: Lifesaving care for mother and child in Somalia

“Not once did they ask us for money,” she says. “They treated me with so much respect and dignity.”

The Mudug region of Somalia has been battered by years of conflict and drought. Health services are limited, and 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 prenatal visits. 

MSF works with the Ministry of Health in Galkayo North and South to help provide hope and healing to people living amid rising hunger and displacement. At Mudug Regional Hospital, teams offer maternity, pediatric, neonatal, emergency, and nutrition services as well as support for a tuberculosis (TB) unit. 

Food security crisis in Somalia

A recent analysis by authorities and United Nations agencies found that 3.4 million people in Somalia—around 18 percent of the population—were facing crisis or worse levels of acute food insecurity between July and September 2025, and that 4.4 million people (23 percent) could face crisis levels or worse by the end of the year. 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.

“Mothers and children should not pay the price of remoteness and funding cuts,” says Mohammed Ali Omer, MSF’s head of programs 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, adds: “We see patients arriving in critical condition after traveling 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.”

Accessible health facilities are a matter of survival

When Fatima had arrived at Mudug Regional Hospital, she was weak and afraid. The medical team examined her and discovered that her placenta was in a dangerous position, requiring an urgent cesarean 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 as she underwent the operation the 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. There, nurses monitored her incision, managed her pain, and helped her begin breastfeeding her newborn. They also 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. “All they cared about was how I was feeling and what more they could do to help,” she says. “They treated me with so much respect and dignity.” 

In Fatima's 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. Fatima hopes that one day there will be accessible maternal health care in her community.

“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.”

Malnutrition and measles: A dangerous combination

Halima Abdi Adan, a mother of three from a drought-stricken rural area, sits under the shade of an acacia tree as she cradles her toddler in her lap. Halima has faced every parent’s nightmare: Her 2-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 meager porridge because their goats died during 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, and she developed a high fever and a rash, then stopped eating. “I had heard measles could kill children, and I was so scared,” Halima says. “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 child. She wrapped her in a cloth and walked for hours until a passing truck driver gave them a ride to 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, where she started receiving fluids to combat dehydration caused by diarrhea, a common complication of measles. Hospital staff gave her a dose of vitamin A to help her weakened immune system and fed her therapeutic milk to address her malnutrition. Halima watched anxiously as the doctors also administered medication to treat her daughter’s pneumonia—another dangerous effect of the measles infection.

Throughout their stay, Halima recalled 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. While the ward was busy with many sick children, nurses regularly updated Halima on Ahlan’s progress. “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, Ahlan started eating spoonfuls of porridge, and managed to give her mother a weak smile. Halima felt relief wash over her: "I cannot explain how happy I was the first time she stood up again. The people here saved her life.” 

Before discharging them, the MSF team made sure Ahlan and her older siblings were vaccinated to protect them from measles in the future.

“If we had a clinic nearby that provided vaccines, my daughter wouldn’t have gotten sick in the first place,” says Halima. She is determined to spread the message about health care and prevention.

Halima dreams of local health facilities stocked with medicines and staffed by nurses who can monitor children’s growth and provide vaccinations. She 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.

Nursing another woman’s child back to health

Ubah Mohamed Said never expected to be caring for a newborn again. 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 honor of her sister’s memory. “I promised my sister I would take care of her baby,” Ubah says. “It was very hard. I had no milk to give him and no money for formula.”

In the weeks that followed, baby Mahad struggled. Ubah tried feeding him watered-down cow’s or goat’s 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 diarrhea, and his tiny body began to show his ribs. Ubah was terrified that she would lose him, too. 

Ubah traveled to Mudug Regional Hospital after hearing that they provide care for malnourished children. “I wasn’t sure they would even treat a baby whose mother was gone,” Ubah says, “but I had to try. He was fading away in my arms.”

At the hospital, the medical team assessed Mahad and found him to be severely malnourished and suffering from a respiratory infection. Staff placed Mahad in an incubator to keep him warm and gave him oxygen to help with his breathing. They started feeding him therapeutic milk formula through a tiny tube, as 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.”

In the days that followed, Mahad received round-the-clock care. The medical team treated his infection with medications and carefully increased his milk as he tolerated it. Ubah stayed by his side, learning how to keep him clean and provide “kangaroo care”—holding him skin-to-skin against her chest to provide warmth and comfort. 

Ubah was also provided with emotional support: A counselor at the hospital sat with her several times to talk about her sister’s death and her 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 therapeutic milk from a cup. 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.”

Anemia: A dangerous condition for pregnant women

Mu’mino Abdillahi has always been a bit afraid of hospitals. In her rural area, access to health care 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, while eight months' pregnant, she began feeling unusually weak and dizzy. Simple chores left her gasping for breath, and her family noticed she looked 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 neighbors were fanning me, trying to wake me.” The local health worker suspected severe anemia, 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 Mudug Regional Hospital, where tests confirmed her blood hemoglobin levels were 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 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 answered every question. They reassured her that the blood was safe and had been screened, and that it was the best way to make her feel better quickly. Trusting the confidence of the staff, Mu’mino agreed.

The hospital’s on-site blood bank had units ready and within an hour, Mu’mino was undergoing the blood transfusion. While the new blood flowed into her body, she remembers feeling a strange warmth as clarity returned 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. 

“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.”

During her stay, Mu’mino also connected with the hospital’s maternal health educator, who taught her some warning signs to watch out for, like severe headaches or swelling that could indicate pre-eclampsia. The educator emphasized the importance of delivering in a health facility, given Mu’mino’s complications. 

“I used to think you only go to the hospital to give birth if something is wrong,” Mu’mino says. “Now I see that going there first might prevent something from going wrong.”