"How much suffering will we accept before we act?"

This article about the hunger crisis in East Africa was written by Ronan Scully, a native of Clara who works for Self Help Africa.

In East Africa, millions face hunger not yet called famine, but no less deadly. As climate, conflict and collapsing aid converge, we are being asked a question we cannot ignore: how much suffering will we accept before we act?

There are moments when suffering stops being something you read about and becomes something you carry. It is no longer a statistic. No longer a distant crisis. No longer someone else’s story. It becomes the face of a child too weak to cry.

It becomes the silence of a mother who has nothing left to give but her love. And once you have seen that, truly seen it, something inside you changes. I have spent much of my life working in Africa. I thought I understood hardship. I thought I had built a certain resilience to it. But nothing prepares you for the moment when you stand in a place where hunger is not an idea, it is a daily reality, and you realise how fragile life can be.

As a father of two daughters, both born in Ethiopia, that realisation cuts deeper than I ever imagined possible. Because suddenly, the distance disappears. You begin to see your own children in the eyes of others. And that is something you never unsee.

A Crisis Beyond Words — But Not Beyond Us

Across East Africa today, in places like Ethiopia, Kenya, Somalia and beyond, millions are living through a crisis that is classified as "food insecure" but not yet classified as "famine" - yet is no less devastating.

Nearly 26 million people are facing extreme hunger. More than 56 million people across the wider region are expected to need humanitarian assistance this year. In parts of Sudan, famine is already a reality. But definitions do little to capture the truth. Because hunger does not wait for a label.

A mother does not need to hear the phrase “Level 5 on the IPC scale” to know her child is starving. A father does not need a report to understand that the land he has farmed for generations can no longer sustain his family.

Across the Horn of Africa, four consecutive failed rainy seasons have devastated crops and killed livestock on a massive scale. In some regions, animals, the backbone of entire communities, have died in their millions. And when the rains do come, they come too hard, too fast, flooding fields, destroying homes, undoing what little hope had begun to return.

This is the brutal rhythm of climate change. Drought. Then flood. Loss. Then more loss. And, always, the poorest pay the highest price.

There is an injustice at the heart of this. Africa has contributed just a tiny fraction of global emissions, yet it is bearing some of the most severe consequences of a warming world. Families who have lived sustainably for generations, who have taken only what they need from the land, now find that land turning against them.

Water sources are drying up. Soil is losing its strength. Harvests are failing. Women and girls walk for hours, sometimes up to 10 kilometres in search of water that may not even be safe to drink.

In some areas, the cost of water has risen beyond what families can afford. Imagine that for a moment. Not being able to afford water. Not because it is unavailable, but because survival itself has become too expensive.

Lives Unravelling, Quietly

In northern Kenya, a woman who once owned 30 goats now has five. The rest have died. With them, her livelihood has disappeared. In parts of Somalia, families survive on one meal a day or less. Children show visible signs of malnutrition, their bodies weakening before they have had a chance to grow.

In Ethiopia, communities are receiving families who have walked for days, sometimes weeks, after losing everything to drought, conflicts and crop failure. This is what conflict and climate-driven displacement looks like. Not headlines. Not politics. Just people moving, searching, hoping for a place where life might still be possible.

And Yet — The World Steps Back

At precisely the moment when need is growing, global support is shrinking. Official Development Assistance fell by 6 percent in 2024. Then came a staggering 23 percent drop in 2025, the largest ever recorded. Another decline is expected again this year.

At the moment when millions are being pushed to the brink of survival, the resources meant to help them are being pulled away. This is not just a funding crisis. It is a crisis of solidarity.

And yet, even here, especially here, there is hope. Because I have seen what happens when people choose not to look away. Through the work of Self Help Africa, supported by the Irish Government through its Irish Aid programme and other partners, communities are not simply receiving aid, they are building resilience.

Farmers are being supported with drought-resistant seeds. Women are being given the tools, training and support to grow food and generate income.

Land is being restored. Water systems are being strengthened. Local knowledge is being respected, not replaced. Because the most powerful solutions are not imposed from outside. They are grown from within.

I have seen women’s groups decide where water points should be built. Communities mapping flood risks based on their own experience. Pastoral families working together to protect what remains of their livelihoods. This is not dependency. This is dignity. This is partnership. This is what real, lasting change looks like.

A Moment That Demands More of Us

Ireland understands hunger. It is written into our history. Perhaps that is why the Irish public and Irish Aid has so often responded with such generosity when others face unimaginable hardship. That compassion has helped save lives. It has helped families rebuild. It has brought hope to places where hope was fading. And for that, there is deep gratitude, to the Irish people, and to Irish Aid, whose continued leadership matters now more than ever.

Ireland has shown leadership through its commitment to overseas aid through its Irish Aid programmes led by the Minister for Overseas Aid, Neale Richmond, one of many Irish Aid ministers that have worn their heart on their sleeves in trying to make a difference for good in the world along with their amazing Irish Aid colleagues.

But now is not the time to stand still. It is the time to continue to lead, to defend aid, to increase it, to challenge others to do the same. Because compassion is not weakness. It is courage.

This moment asks something more of us. Not just generosity. But courage. Because it is easier to turn the page. Easier to look away. Easier to believe that these crises are too big, too complex, too far away. But they are not beyond us. They never were.

What is happening in East Africa is not only a humanitarian crisis. It is a test. A test of who we are. A test of what we value. A test of whether compassion is something we feel or something we do. How many children must go hungry before we act? How many families must lose everything before we respond? How much suffering will we accept, simply because it is happening somewhere else?

There is still time. Time to act. Time to care. Time to stand with those who are fighting every day just to survive. But time is running out. Because for a child weakened by hunger, time is not measured in months or years. It is measured in days. In hours. In moments.

A Final Appeal

Somewhere today, a mother will divide a small amount of food and hope it will be enough. Somewhere, a father will lie awake, knowing that tomorrow may bring nothing. Somewhere, a child will go to sleep hungry, not because the world lacks food, but because the world has failed to share it.

We cannot control the rain. But we can control how we respond when it fails. We can choose compassion over indifference. Action over silence. Justice over neglect. When the rains fail, everything fails. But when we act, truly act, everything can change. Stand with the poorest of the poor.

Support the work of Self Help Africa. Be part of the difference between despair and hope. Visit www.selfhelpafrica.org or call (01) 677 8880 or write to Self Help Africa, Westside Resource Centre, Westside, Galway.

Because somewhere tonight, someone is hoping the world has not forgotten them. Let us prove that it hasn’t.