SAHRAWIS: 50 Years of Exile in the Desert by Pepe Alvarez-Rogel
(A journey into the Dakhla refugee camp. Part 1)
Setting the scene
Following Spain's withdrawal from Western Sahara in 1975 and the subsequent invasion by Mauritania and Morocco, part of the Sahrawi population fled to refugee camps near the Algerian city of Tindouf. There, the Polisario Front established the government-in-exile of the Sahrawi Arab Democratic Republic (SADR). The camps, known as wilayas, number five in total: El Aaiún, Aousserd, Smara, Boujdour, and Dakhla. The first four are located close to Tindouf, while Dakhla lies deep in the desert, approximately 200 kilometers to the southeast. Nowadays, about 19,500 people live in Dakhla. Each wilaya is subdivided into municipalities, or dairas, and further into neighborhoods. Community organization in the camps is structured through various committees at the local neighborhoods (so-called dairas), focusing on areas such as Health, Education, Supplies, Economic Development, and Social Affairs. While participation is voluntary and varies by individual, women play a central role in leading and managing these committees within their communities. Despite UN Security Council Resolution 690 (1991), which established the United Nations Mission for the Referendum in Western Sahara (MINURSO), and more than 40 resolutions since, the Sahrawi remain in exile, still awaiting a promised self-determination referendum.
How we reached Dakhla
A group of 20 people, members of an NGO dedicated to child sponsorship, landed in Tindouf, Algeria, in the early hours of December 3, 2008. ¡That same night, I discovered that pulling out a camera at the airport was not among the things the Algerian military finds charming...! After a long negotiation over transportation, we finally boarded a convoy of SUVs (mostly battered old Land Rovers driven by Sahrawis) and squeezed, quite literally, into the vehicles that would take us to Dakhla. We reached our destination after several hours crossing the Sahara Desert, following roads and tracks that seemed visible only to the drivers. Along the way, we passed through multiple checkpoints manned by armed soldiers. It was overwhelming. The desert was pitch black, and we had only the Land Rovers’ headlights (and they weren’t exactly cutting-edge halogens). After splitting into groups and settling into jaimas (traditional desert tents shared with local families) we went to bed. Fatigue soon overtook our excitement, and we slept through the night.
To Live in Dakhla
That morning, we were quickly faced with the reality of the camp: a seemingly endless sprawl of tents and adobe houses scattered across the desert sands. It was my first visit to the camps, but one adapts quickly if willing to accept the conditions and the limitations of the place as normal. And making things easier for us were the Sahrawis themselves, always friendly, always ready to help with whatever we needed. During our stay, we toured the camp (the hospital, a school, the market, a few precarious community gardens), and, of course, the seven dairas of Dakhla, where the supplies we brought were distributed to families across the entire camp. What struck me most was how people managed without proper infrastructure. There, summer temperatures soar above 55°C in the shade, and drop below 0°C in winter. Without electricity or running water, daily life was extremely harsh.
In 2008, electricity came almost exclusively from small solar panels used to charge batteries. Power was rationed to a few hours at night, just enough to light a bulb or run an old TV. There were no streetlights. We also came across a few so-called “gas stations”, essentially just spots where fuel was kept in plastic jerrycans and poured by hand into the vehicles. When I visited, there was only one phone booth to connect with Spain via satellite. Fortunately, limited internet access and WhatsApp had just become available, a small but crucial shift after years of isolation.
Water (brackish and drawn from several wells) was distributed to barrels or tanks placed next to the adobe houses or jaimas. Piping was virtually nonexistent, or consisted of badly worn hoses that leaked water everywhere. The closest thing to a bathroom was an adobe hut with a basin of water and a hole in the ground as the only toilet. Bottled water was reserved for visitors, Sahrawis often lacked it, and digestive issues were common, mainly among children.
The hospital was extremely basic, more like a bare shelter than a proper medical facility. The delivery room was the only relatively equipped area, and even that was thanks to international aid and UNHCR initiatives. In 2008, Dakhla’s school, staffed by Sahrawi teachers, was a basic adobe and zinc structure, serving hundreds of students with minimal resources. The building’s structural fragility (vulnerable to heat, wind, and occasional storms) reflected the broader precariousness of life in the camp. Today, though challenges persist, international cooperation has helped reinforce the school’s infrastructure, offering Sahrawi children a more stable learning environment.
Dakhla’s market was limited but real, a few modest shops where donated goods and supplies brought from outside were sold. It provided some economic activity, though small in scale. Agriculture was similarly basic: precarious family gardens that barely supplemented food aid. As in every aspect of life in the camp, people depended almost entirely on international assistance. Despite the arid conditions, livestock (mostly goats, sheep, and a few camels) plays an important role in the life of the camp. Families keep small herds in designated areas on the outskirts of Dakhla, providing milk, meat, and a sense of continuity with nomadic traditions. Though limited by drought and scarce grazing land, animal husbandry remains a source of resilience, pride, and cultural identity for many Sahrawis.
Security and human connection
When it came to security in the region — something I initially thought might be a concern — I never once felt the slightest threat during my stay in 2008. The only serious incident occurred in 2011, when three European aid workers were kidnapped by an armed group linked to Al-Qaeda. They were released nine months later, and security was tightened afterward. Still, day-to-day life in Dakhla remains peaceful. While international travel advisories continue to highlight regional risks, most visitors and residents describe a stable and safe environment.
I wandered the camp with my camera in 2008, and not only did no one object — several families invited me into their jaimas to share tea, rest, and talk. I moved freely through the camp, often joined by curious children who asked questions, laughed, and pulled me into improvised games. But that part — the most human part — in which the families of Dakhla showed me what I can only describe as the dignity and hope of the Sahrawi people, will be the second and deepest chapter of this story.
Steps Forward, Still Dependent
Recent updates from Dakhla suggest gradual improvements from 2008. Most homes are now connected to Algeria’s national grid, with solar panels and generators as backup. The camp has water treatment systems, partial plumbing, and managed waste sites. Toilets are available in most homes, and the road to the hospital has been paved. An emergency field hospital is now operating, and a permanent one is under construction, with most medical care still provided free through international support. A modest local economy is emerging (small shops, kitchen gardens, Moringa and tilapia farming) but Dakhla continues to depend heavily on humanitarian aid.
These photos were made possible thanks to the warmth and generosity of the Sahrawi men, women, and children of Dakhla camp. I am deeply grateful to all of them.
Pepe Álvarez is Puerto Rican interdisciplinary artist and scholar working across the disciplines of dance, theatre, and performance art. His performance works have been presented in Chile, Mexico, Argentina, Colombia, Puerto Rico, and the United States. He also developed an artistic pedagogy under the concept of entremedios/in-betweenness that follows a transdisciplinary methodology with which he developed courses and artistic workshops in both academic and communitarian settings. His creative and scholarly work follows a practice-based research methodology to establish links between art practice, critical theory and cultural history.
He is currently a PhD candidate in the Department of Performance Studies at Northwestern University. He holds a BA in Interdisciplinary Studies from the University of Puerto Rico and an MA in Theatre and Live Arts from the National University of Colombia. His doctoral research project examines Puerto Rico’s experimental dance history, particularly the practices, aesthetics and socio-political frameworks of dance improvisation in the context of Puerto Rico’s four-decades-long economic crisis. Along with his ongoing examination and compilation of Puerto Rico’s experimental dance, theatre and performance art history, he is actively working as one of the co-principal investigators in Northwestern University’s Puerto Rican Arts Development Initiative PRAI (2018-2020) sponsored by the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation.
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