From Drought to Determination: Adow’s New Start with AART in Wajid
In Buurdho Xunle on the outskirts of Wajid, 27-year-old Adow Isack Hassan balances two identities: a soft-spoken mobile-repair technician and a farmer holding on through the hardest seasons his community can remember.
“Before the AART project, life was at its lowest; now, it’s a little better,” Adow says. His words are careful, but they carry weight earned from years of drought that shrank harvests and felled animals. “The farms were hit by drought, and our livestock died of disease.”
Adow’s family tends a 7-hectare plot—large enough to feed a household in good years, yet lately unforgiving. “Nothing comes from the farm anymore,” he explains. The shortages have been relentless: food, water, even the sense of certainty that used to anchor the seasons. “We are suffering from food shortages, and there is also a lack of water—both for people and for animals.”
Adow Isack
“Now I have training and a plan. The hardship hasn’t ended—but I know what to do next.”
When the AART project came to Wajid and Elberde, it didn’t promise miracles—it offered training, practical steps, and a way to plan before the next shock. Adow signed up again and again for sessions on livestock care and climate-smart farming. “I have attended several trainings about livestock and farming,” he says. What stuck most was the idea that the community could organize around crops that fit the new climate reality: “I learned how our community can benefit from planting climate-suitable crops.”
Those may sound like small steps, but for a young farmer-technician who has watched the sky refuse to open, mindset and method are real milestones. Before AART, there was drought and a lack of guidance. Now, there’s at least a map: how to plan for dry spells, when to act early, and which practices might protect the little that remains.
The change is tangible in how Adow talks about the future. Even as he’s frank about the ongoing shortages—“We still face food shortages, water scarcity, and a lack of proper shelter”—he’s also thinking beyond survival. He wants job-creation programs, especially hands-on vocational tracks, to lift not just himself but the neighbors who rely on his repairs and his example. “I want access to job-creation programs, including vocational training, so that I can improve life for myself and my community.”
That ambition connects the two halves of his life. In drought years, his mobile-repair skills keep a trickle of income moving; in better seasons, the farm is meant to feed the family and—one day—sell a surplus. AART didn’t erase the drought, but it did sharpen his tools—knowledge, planning, and community ties—to navigate it.
““Now I have training and a plan. The hardship hasn’t ended—but I know what to do next.” ”
As the community along the Wajid corridors braces for another uncertain season, Adow stands in that space between setback and strategy. His story isn’t about a harvest celebration—not yet. It’s about early wins that matter in hard places: new practices learned, confidence to act sooner, and a practical vision for skills that create work close to home.
If the rains return, the 7 hectares will be ready. If they don’t, Adow won’t be caught waiting; he’ll be repairing phones, sharing what he learned from AART trainings, and pushing for the job-creation pathways that can turn resilience into real recovery—for himself and for Buurdho Xunle.