“Left at the mercy of chance”: Inside Mozambique’s seven-year insurgency.
- Since 2017, Cabo Delgado has been rocked by violence spurred by years of socioeconomic marginalisation and rising inequalities. Civilians in the area have learned that the only way to live is to flee fast, and hope they have somewhere to return to.
Image Description: This artwork shows a cracked, weathered Mozambican flag with the silhouette of the Cabo Delgado province cut out at the center. Inside the cut-out is a blazing fire with dark smoke rising, symbolising violence or destruction.
Editor’s Note: This story is published as part of the 2024/2025 Minority Africa Fellowship focusing on Communities in Limbo.
For 60-year-old João Manhique*, life is bleak. A schoolteacher in Macomia, a district in Mozambique’s Cabo Delgado province, he has watched loved ones make the heart-wrenching decision to leave after a fresh wave of attacks in December 2023.
“They won’t come back. It’s too dangerous. You never know when new attacks will happen again, even with the constant presence of Mozambican security forces,” he says quietly.
The violence, which began in 2017 with attacks on police stations in the port town of Mocímboa da Praia, marked the beginning of a seven-year insurgency that has left hundreds of thousands displaced, traumatised, and largely forgotten.
For Manhique’s family, the invasions have left deep scars.
“I had one of the worst moments of my life,” he says of the attacks. “They always come by surprise, and the last attack was no different. It’s sad because you only have a short time to grab the essentials and escape with your family. You try to lock the door or keep things safe, but when you come back, the house is often empty, ransacked by the attackers or left in ruins after the security forces drive them out.”
The 2023 attacks were the breaking point, forcing his family to relocate further inland in search of safety. Manhique stayed behind, committed to his work and the community. He visits his family occasionally. Others have been forced to flee, guided by community protection forces or, if they are lucky, security personnel, into refugee camps, secure areas, or the forests—places they hope to return from.
“We walked for days without food or water. We didn’t have the strength to continue; all we could do was stay hidden in the bush, surviving on whatever plants and animals we could find, drinking stagnant water from rocks and streams. There were many of us, and I believe some didn’t survive,” says Telma*, a 42-year-old mother of three and housewife who fled her home when terrorist attacks erupted in the region.
For many, including Telma, the psychological toll of such an existence lingers, leaving a heavy burden even when they return home. Now back in Macomia, Telma says her home doesn’t feel the same. Each night, she is startled awake by the echo of gunfire that exists only in her mind.
Despite this, the reality of delivering aid in northern Mozambique remains anything but simple. Humanitarian access is extremely challenging and often intermittent due to frequent clashes between Non-State Armed Groups (NSAGs) and the Armed Forces, leading to the temporary closure of roads and the suspension of relief efforts in some areas.
Despite the relentless efforts of organisations like IOM, OCHA and Caritas, many displaced people still lack access to basic resources, while sustainable livelihood opportunities remain scarce. This has forced many displaced families to make heartbreaking decisions to return to their homes before it’s truly safe to do so.
“Unfortunately, the flow of refugees doesn’t stop,” says Salimo Mazaza, one of the key coordinators of refugee reception and referral at a camp in Macomia. “In these camps, we have families who have been here for more than two years, and there’s no clear end in sight because it’s just not safe for them to return home.”
Beyond material support, the need for psychological assistance in the camps is urgent. Many residents exhibit signs of depression and anxiety, particularly families torn apart during the attacks, who remain uncertain about the fate of missing loved ones.
The camp itself is a sprawling collection of makeshift shelters—rough, sand-and-stone structures with shared toilets that pose serious health risks. The conditions increase the likelihood of outbreaks of diseases like cholera. Water points are often overcrowded, especially by women and children, and food supplies fall short of what is needed. The dense living arrangements heighten not only the risk of poor sanitation but also concerns about safety and privacy. For women and children, the threat of abuse and exploitation remains alarmingly high.
“We try to monitor those who arrive at and leave the camp,” says Mazaza. “But humanitarian assistance is limited, especially with the constant influx of new arrivals. As a result, people leave the temporary sites without notice. It’s even harder to keep track of the children, especially those who came alone, without any family. They’re left at the mercy of chance.”
The crisis is painfully visible in the streets of Macomia, where children, torn from their families and with no means of identification, rummage through trash, collecting plastic bottles to sell at recycling depots in exchange for a few pennies, often their only means of buying food. Others wander from shop to shop and between market stalls, begging for scraps or small amounts of money.
The few families able to find work labour for meagre wages or in exchange for goods. Agriculture, once Cabo Delgado’s primary source of income, has also been severely affected.
“Humanitarian support received for agriculture practices included essential seeds and tools for refugees and community members; however, agricultural productivity and food security in the region have not improved,” says Zeina*, a 48-year-old refugee.
Fishing, another crucial livelihood, has also suffered major disruptions. In districts like Quissanga and Ibo, limited access to rivers in Maconia has severely hampered efforts to rebuild lives. Despite vital aid from organisations like the IOM and Caritas, the absence of long-term strategies raises concerns about sustainability.
General Bertolino Capitine, Vice Chief of General Staff, criticised the government’s lack of a cohesive counterterrorism strategy in combating terrorism and accused officials of distorting the true extent of the crisis. “The government has been improvising interventions and has not shown seriousness in its seven-year counterterrorism campaign. There is also a discrepancy between reported territorial recoveries and the reality on the ground,” he said, remarks that led to his dismissal days later.
The complexity and rapidly shifting nature of the crisis make it difficult to accurately assess its full impact. There is limited, up-to-date data on the number of deaths and displacements in Cabo Delgado. Reports vary across different sources, with the government downplaying the scale of the crisis. The remoteness of certain areas, combined with a politically charged environment and restricted press freedom, complicates efforts to report accurately on casualties in the conflict zones.
The Cabo Delgado Reconstruction Plan (2021–2024), designed to rebuild areas devastated by terrorism, has fallen short of its goals. Although the official implementation period ended in 2024, many of its core objectives remain unfulfilled. Humanitarian aid continues to depend largely on NGOs, with little support from the state. In places like Quissanga and Ibo Island, government presence is virtually non-existent—many official buildings stand abandoned, and essential services like schools and healthcare remain unrestored. Economic recovery is slow, further hindered by ongoing attacks, poor infrastructure, and logistical challenges.
Cabo Delgado, once a province rich in natural gas and rubies, is now marked by mass graves, abandoned villages, and children growing up without homes or education. The ongoing violence and systemic neglect raise doubts about the possibility of lasting peace, especially if the root causes of suffering remain unaddressed.
Edited/Reviewed by Samuel Banjoko, PK Cross, Caleb Okereke, Awom Kenneth, and Uzoma Ihejirika
Illustrated by Rex Opara.