At the Nakivale Refugee Welcome Centre in South West Uganda, conditions are dire. Families sleep on concrete floors in overcrowded, unsanitary spaces. One mother from the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC), who I met last year during a visit with War Child, had fled with her eight children after enduring horrific trauma. Her children, aged from toddler to teen, were totally silent. None were playing. That’s what hits me every time. In war, children are not allowed to be children.
Their right to a childhood, to safety, health, education, and play, had been stripped away. They had none of the agency that comes with adulthood so instead, they waited.
A child-friendly space at the Centre, somewhere clean and safe area where children can play, learn, and be themselves, would have transformed everything for that family. It’s a simple concept with a profound impact: it gives children a voice and a degree of normality and it gives their parents critical time to rest, ask for help and start the process of rebuilding their lives.
The families I met while visiting Uganda made abundantly clear how urgent the need is to protect refugee young people. Through educational programmes, trauma therapy, and the stark realities of camp life, War Child’s projects showed the challenges and resilience of these displaced children, and the teams supporting them. Uganda takes in thousands of refugees every week from countries including the DRC, South Sudan, and Burundi. Many arrive as families, others as unaccompanied minors.
In the face of such overwhelming need, organisations like War Child are working to restore the safety, dignity, education, and play that every child is entitled to. One of the most impactful initiatives I witnessed was Can’t Wait to Learn, a digital learning programme delivered by War Child to national and refugee children around the world. Students engage with tablets tailored to their literacy and numeracy levels. The result? Children were so engrossed in their lessons that they barely noticed when we came in to watch. Teachers report significant improvements in both attendance and performance.
Children are excited to learn. Education is vital, but it is more than just numbers and letters. The communities which are developed in the process of educating refugee children, as well as the creativity nurtured, and the safe environments they provide, are equally essential. As I watched children unwittingly receive trauma therapy while learning adjectives, I got a powerful reminder of how specialist organisations understand the needs of such vulnerable children.
The recovery continued with Team Up, a group programme using movement, music, and play to engage with trauma therapy. Children can release their fear and tension through expression and teamwork. The transformation of one set of twin brothers from silent and disengaged to smiling and letting out the odd shout of joy, was a clear example of recovery being possible. These are not just educational tools and play structures but lifelines.
And yet many children fall through the cracks. On a hillside above the Welcome Centre, I met three orphaned sisters aged 18 and under, who had been left to survive alone. After their tarp shelter was stolen, the eldest was raped. For eight months, they lived exposed on the hilltop. Hearing their story, I felt helpless. How did they slip through the system to such a horrendous end?
I was told that major donors are shifting their focus, and government aid is chasing headlines while the most vulnerable are missed. But when their story reached War Child, action followed. Within a day, the girls received medical care and began the process of being moved to safety and psychosocial support. My horror remained, but the helplessness didn’t.
We can feel devastated – and then we can do something. These stories are heartbreaking – but motivating. They reveal the power of compassionate and effective action.
Yet, while needs are growing, governments are turning their backs. From Uganda to Gaza, Sudan to Ukraine, children continue to suffer displacement and trauma. The international response is increasingly one of restriction. Families fleeing unimaginable violence are being met with razor wire, closed borders, and criminalisation. Refugee children are paying the price of a global failure of empathy. On this World Refugee Day, we must find our action and our compassion. Only the lottery of birth separates the children in our lives from the estimated 115,000 refugee Gazans who have crossed the border to Cairo from Gaza with no legal status, education or psychosocial support.
Every child refugee has the right to safety, education, play, and hope. They are not just numbers in a crisis. They are children: full of potential, laughter and joy. They are waiting to thrive, not just survive. It is their right.
This story has been produced as part of The Independent’s Rethinking Global Aid series
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