Image copyright AFP

In our series of letters from African journalists, novelist and writer Adaobi Tricia Nwaubani writes that many of the hopes Nigerians had at independence have been dashed.

Of all the stories I have heard of the day when Nigeria gained independence from Britain on 1 October 1960, the most memorable is the one told by my friend’s father, Onye Kamanu, who had spent the preceding night at Tafawa Balewa Square in the then capital, Lagos.

Sitting on the surrounding walls and bare ground were thousands of Nigerians, who, like him, could hardly wait to usher in the day that their country would finally be free from colonial rule.

‘Joy and pride’

With tears in his eyes, Mr Kamanu recalled the occasion, describing the deafening bellow of triumph that went up from the teeming crowd when the British Union Jack finally went down and the green-white-green Nigerian flag was hoisted.

Nigeria’s then Prime Minister Tafawa Balewa captured the mood of the entire nation during his Independence Day speech.

“This is a wonderful day and it is all the more wonderful because we have awaited it with increasing impatience. Words cannot adequately express my joy and pride at being the Nigerian citizen privileged to accept from Her Royal Highness these constitutional instruments which are the symbols of Nigeria’s independence,” he said.

“It is a unique privilege which I shall remember forever, and it gives me strength and courage as I dedicate my life to the service of our country,” he added.

Shortly after witnessing the historic event, Mr Kamanu received a scholarship to study at an American university. Throughout the journey by sea, he was fed little else but macaroni and cheese, hence his subsequent lifelong abhorrence of the meal.

‘Full splendour’

Once in the US, he boasted to his classmates about the future of Nigeria, Africa’s most populous state.

“Nigeria is going to be a world power in the next few years,” he said. “Oh, you just wait and see.”

Mr Kamanu was certain that, with the coloniser gone and with the advent of self-rule, Nigeria would soon bound forth like a racehorse released from its stall.

That same year, a total of 17 African states celebrated their independence from the UK, France and Belgium.

I understand that a cartoon at the time depicted the map of Africa as a growing giant bursting out of its chains.

Nigeria: Key facts

• 1960: Independence from Britain
• 1966: Prime Minister Tafawa Balewa (above, right) killed in a coup
• 1967: Civil war breaks out over secessionist attempt in south-east
• 1999: Military government hands over power after elections
• 2009: Militant Islamist group Boko Haram launches insurgency in north-east
• 2015: Muhammadu Buhari wins presidential election; first opposition candidate to do so

Clearly, Mr Kamanu was not the only one with high hopes. Others also expected that a continent, blessed with natural resources and hard-working people, would arise in her full splendour and shine.

About 40 years after independence, Mr Kamanu travelled from Nigeria to attend his college reunion in the US. His classmates remembered how loudly he had boasted.

“I thought you said Nigeria was going to be a world power?” they asked, giggling and nudging one another. “So, Onye, what happened?”

A lot happened.

Within six years of his emotional speech, Mr Balewa was assassinated in a coup.

About a year later, Nigeria plunged into a civil war after member of the Igbo ethnic group tried to secede and form the breakaway state of Biafra in the south-east.

Three years of war eventually ended and three decades of coups and dictatorships followed.

Human rights abuses and pillaging of the nation’s vast resources by those in power carried on with little restraint.

Adaobi Tricia Nwaubani:

Particularly alarming are the ethnic agitations sounding from almost all parts of the country

Nigeria finally found her way back on to her feet with the return to democracy in 1999.

The giant of Africa leaped several steps forward in March 2015 when the government of Goodluck Jonathan was voted out, the will of the people prevailing, for the first time, over the power of an incumbent.

That historic election of President Muhammadu Buhari led many Nigerians to be as optimistic as Mr Kamanu was in 1960 about the country’s future.

But barely two years later, some of the forces that derailed Nigeria then are once again flashing their sharp talons.

Particularly alarming are the ethnic agitations sounding from almost all parts of the country, especially from the south-east where clashes between the military and the separatist group, the Independent Peoples of Biafra (Ipob), have led to the loss of life and property.

In the media and in daily conversation, Nigerians continue to express their fears about how much more ferocious the crisis could become if not handled with immense care.

This is one déjà vu that Nigeria cannot afford. The giant of Africa has marched too far to be suddenly crippled by the same old mistakes.

As my country celebrates her 57th year of independence, my prayer is that the Nigerian government will handle these agitations with compassion and great wisdom.

Surely none of us wants to look back at this era of hope and struggle to answer the question: “What happened?”

More from Adaobi Tricia Nwaubani:

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In the early hours of the morning, while the sea is clear, smugglers in Libya send off boats full of migrants that reach international waters by about 08:00.

Photographer Marcus Drinkwater spent a month onboard the Golfo Azzurro, a vessel that intercepts these boats and takes their passengers safely on board.

Beginning with a desire to give a sense of individuality to these migrants, Drinkwater took a series of posed portraits of the men rescued by the Golfo Azzurro.

Image copyright Marcus Drinkwater

Image copyright Marcus Drinkwater

Image copyright Marcus Drinkwater

Inspired by the work of Malian photographer Seydou Keita, who would often photograph his subjects against heavily patterned backgrounds, Drinkwater gave his subjects a choice of backdrop to stand against.

The different patterns, which doubled up as blankets to keep the migrants warm at night, were then hung on a railing on the ship’s deck, with cable ties.

Image copyright Marcus Drinkwater

Image copyright Marcus Drinkwater

Image copyright Marcus Drinkwater

While music played, the men lined up and waited to have their portraits taken.

Each subject chose his own background and posed for the portrait as they wished.

Drinkwater said: “I was struck by the confidence and spirit of many of these men, many of whom have been refugees since 2003 as a result of the Darfur conflict.”

Image copyright Marcus Drinkwater

Image copyright Marcus Drinkwater

One 17-year-old Nigerian named Julias had travelled with a friend for more than six months to reach Sabratha on the Libyan Coast.

Both boys were beaten daily and forced into disused warehouses without sanitation or clean water until their time on a migrant boat had come.

Image copyright Marcus Drinkwater

Image copyright Marcus Drinkwater

“If you are unfortunate enough to not have enough money, smugglers would get you to call your parents to ask for more,” he said.

“During the phone call they would beat you so hard your parents would hear, then do anything to find the money to wire over.”

Image copyright Marcus Drinkwater

Photographs by Marcus Drinkwater.

Note: This story is auto-generated from ‘BBC News’ syndicated feed and has not been edited by Africa Prime News staff.

The Cinema Impero, completed in 1937, still holds screenings for thousands of Eritrean cinemagoers. The country’s representative to Unesco, Hanna Simon, said the announcement filled the city with “tremendous pride and joy but also with a profound sense of responsibility and duty”.

Note: This story is auto-generated from ‘BBC News’ syndicated feed and has not been edited by Africa Prime News staff.

Image copyright UBELONG/Raul Roman

Across Ghana, the irreversible effects of child malnutrition can be seen among thousands of children affected during their critical first 1,000 days of life.

This is the time in a child’s life that will determine their health as adults, their ability to learn in school and to perform in future jobs.

A group of photographers and researchers organised by UBELONG went to Ghana to uncover the complex stories behind this problem.

Nana Agya Kwao, 76

Image copyright UBELONG/ Nick Parisse

Nana has been the chief of the farming community of Bentum for 35 years, although two years ago he sold most of the farming land in the area to a developer.

As a result, most local villagers lost their livelihoods, and now struggle to feed their families.

The signs previously used to identify farm boundaries lie discarded by the road.

Image copyright UBELONG/Richard Lum

“I am very proud to be the chief,” he says. “It’s not easy. No-one will take my land. I know my people in Bentum cannot farm anymore.

“But whatever you do for food, is on you.”

Kate Afful, 40

Image copyright UBELONG/ Nick Parisse

While at home with her mother, Kate tells the story of how one of her daughters died aged two.

Ever since her husband died, a decade ago, she has struggled to find work and take care of her four children.

They are malnourished and often get sick as they eat only banku, a Ghanaian dish of fermented corn and cassava dough.

“God took my two-year old daughter. She was not feeling well, so I put her to bed. Later that evening, there was a bad storm,” she says.

“The sky was loud and angry. I heard an explosion in the clouds. When I went to check on my baby, she was dead. I believe the thunder killed my baby.”

Hannah Abekah, 23

Image copyright UBELONG/ Adam Walker

Hannah stands surrounded by the yellow buckets of rainwater she collected the night before.

She never attended school, and started working at a very early age as a fishmonger. She is married to a fisherman who is often away for weeks.

“My kitchen is empty. I have no food,” she says. “My children don’t even eat the little food I give them. I don’t know about malnutrition. I just pray my children become great people”.

Rebecca, 17

Image copyright UBELONG/ Raul Roman

Rebecca’s children receive over-the-counter medical remedies from the local shop, instead of professional healthcare at the hospital.

Like many women in the village, Rebecca doesn’t receive much support from the father of her children. She feels she has nowhere to turn.

“Women don’t support each other here, it’s not something we do.”

Beatrice Amponfi (right) and Joy Glii (left)

Image copyright UBELONG/ Joey Rosa

Beatrice and Joy are in charge of the childcare and malnutrition unit at the Kasoa Clinic.

A few community nurses cover an area with more than 30,000 people, and Beatrice estimates only about 20% of the malnourished children are brought to this clinic.

Image copyright UBELONG/Nick Parisse

“Women with malnourished children have problems that they cannot openly discuss with friends or family. There is a stigma associated with having a malnourished child,” she says.

“So, we mostly identify malnutrition cases by talking to neighbours. Our most important job is to provide a safe environment to counsel them about their children, so that they don’t feel embarrassed about bringing them here.

“But our effort is just a drop in the ocean.”

Christy Ansah, 32

Image copyright UBELONG/ Nick Parisse

Christy stands with her youngest daughter besides the farm where she used to work in Bentum, a community plagued by poverty and child malnutrition.

When the village chief, Nana Agya Kwao, sold all the farming land in the community, it meant she could no longer work.

“No-one here can access their farms. I was able to feed my four children before, but there is no food anymore and no jobs in this village,” she says.

“I struggle to earn a quarter of what I made before.”

Mary Essil, 27

Image copyright UBELONG/ Nick Parisse

Mary holds a bottle of glucose that a nurse gave her at the clinic, to combat the malnutrition symptoms of her newborn baby.

She could not breastfeed her son, who was very small at birth.

Despite giving glucose to her baby, he died six weeks later, at just two months old.

Local tradition mandates that when a baby dies of malnutrition, the baby is taken away. Mary and her husband were not allowed to attend their son’s funeral.

This project was organised and produced by UBELONG, a social venture based in Washington DC in partnership with Newton Europe, a UK-based consulting company.

Note: This story is auto-generated from ‘BBC News’ syndicated feed and has not been edited by Africa Prime News staff.

Image copyright Olivia Acland

More than 3,000 people lost their homes in last week’s mudslide in Sierra Leone, which killed at least 499 people, with more than 600 still missing.

“It is difficult to know the precise number of victims,” says volunteer body collector Fessellie Marah, “because so many bodies were broken apart. We are still finding body parts in the rubble”.

The side of Sugar Loaf mountain collapsed onto a community called Regent at around 05:45 on Monday morning. It sent a torrent of water, mud and rocks hurtling down the valley, also crushing houses in two other areas: Kamayama and Kaningo.

Journalist Olivia Acland has spoken to some of the survivors.

‘I froze and watched as the whole hill came down’

At the bottom of the hill in Regent, a half-broken house hangs over the churned-up earth.

Alfred Johnny, the caretaker, moves aimlessly around the rubble smoking cigarettes and taking phone calls. He lost three friends, all of whom were trapped inside the house when the hillside collapsed.

Image copyright Olivia Acland

“I am living in the little house at the back,” he says, pointing to a small bungalow which is damaged, but still standing.

“The big house belongs to my brother. He lives in Australia. It was my job to look after the place. Two workers and an engineer were staying there, fixing the drive that leads to the house.

“I was standing on the veranda when the mudslide happened. I heard a cracking noise. It was so loud, it sounded like dynamite. Then rocks started coming down. One landed close to me and I fell down. My body was shaking uncontrollably.

“I tried to run and open the front door of the house and get the others out but more rocks kept coming. It was impossible to move anywhere.

“I froze and watched as the whole hill came down. Heavy stones were slapping the sides of the houses and they were falling. Everywhere people were screaming. I watched until every last house had collapsed,” Mr Johnny says.

He goes to show me the place where he had stood watching when his radio, one of the few items he was able to salvage from his flooded house, starts playing a song. “Oh God help Salone [Sierra Leone], oh father help Salone, save this land we love,” it sings.

Mr Johnny has managed to clean mud and water out of one room in his house and is still staying there. His mattress was ruined so he has flattened cardboard boxes onto his bed. His muddy possessions are piled up in the other room, where there is still a thick layer of slippery mud covering the floor.

‘I saw the damage, I knew that my family was gone’

A little way up the hill a middle-aged man and woman are sitting on a pile of gravel. They are both silent, looking away into the distance.

The woman, Yatta Kamara, says: “I lost 14 members of my family. I had left the house that evening to go and collect rice from my aunt’s place because we didn’t have anything to eat and I needed to feed the children.

Image copyright Olivia Acland

“When I arrived at my aunt’s house, the rain was heavy so she told to stay the night and return in the morning.

“The next morning at 06:30 I was washing, preparing to go home. A neighbour came running to me saying: ‘The mountain has collapsed, your house and your family have been buried’.

“I ran home as fast as I could and saw big crowds of people and the whole area turned to mud. As soon as I saw the damage I knew that my family was gone,” Ms Kamara says.

She asks me to wait a minute and runs off to get photos of those she has lost, including her four children and baby grandson.

Image copyright Olivia Acland

“That’s my youngest daughter, Jeneba,” she says pointing at a six-year-old girl striking a pose while cradling her grandson.

Ms Kamara is now staying with her brother Mohammed, who lives in the east of Freetown. She has returned to Regent to receive emergency food supplies from Street Child, a non-governmental organisation.

She looks bleakly into the distance and says for the second time: “I lost everything.”

‘I escaped through a hole in the roof’

In Kaningo community, down by the river, Abdul Mansaray is trying to clean the mud out of his house.

Image copyright Olivia Acland

Along with his brother and two friends, he is shovelling mud into a pile and carrying it outside on a flattened canvas bag. There is a brown watermark just below the roof of his bungalow, showing how high the water came up. He is standing in a front room where there is a large hole in the ceiling.

He says: That’s the hole we used to escape. There was water in my room when I woke up so I went to wake my wife, children and brother.

“We tried to leave the house through the main door. By that time the water was getting higher, almost reaching my knee. We couldn’t open the front door because there was water on both sides.

“We went to the back door and couldn’t open it either. I looked around and saw a stick – the one we use for pounding spices.

“I broke the ceiling with that stick and with the help of my brother, pulled myself up onto the roof. Up on the roof I could see people’s properties floating past.

“There was a ladder floating, so I got down and reached it. I passed it through the hole in the roof so my wife, children, and brother could climb out.

“We stayed on my neighbour’s balcony watching the water get higher and higher. Thank God we all survived, though I lost my money and every possession”.

Image copyright Olivia Acland

Mr Mansaray is one of thousands to lose his life’s savings along with his house.

As his neighbour, Said, says: “Very few Sierra Leoneans have bank accounts, usually just office workers. Everyone else keeps their money at home.”

His wife and one of his sons have returned to their village in the north, but Mr Mansaray and his brother are staying with a neighbour who lives higher up the hill in the same community.

“We are trying to clean out the house so my family can return,” Mr Mansaray says.

I ask him about the risks of staying there, and the possibility of another mudslide or flood. He replies: “Where else can I go?”

‘How will my parents pay my school fees?’

Mbalu Bangura lives in the same community. She is 15 years old and is worried she will not be able to go to school again.

Image copyright Olivia Acland

“How will my parents manage to pay my fees?” she says. “We lost everything in that house; my books, my uniform, and all my family’s money.”

She is limping badly and has a thin bandage tied above her ankle. She says that a glass bottle shattered on her leg as she was running to safety.

“We were escaping out of a smashed window because the doors of the house wouldn’t open,” she says.

“I have four small siblings and I passed them each through the window to my parents. The water was rushing fast and it was almost up to my chest.

“We climbed through the water carrying the small children. Everyone survived. A bottle hit my leg as I was getting onto the bank and some glass got stuck under the skin. An emergency volunteer took me to hospital,” Ms Bangura says.

‘A huge rock crushed them both’

Kadiatu Bendu lives in Kamayama Pentagon, a settlement roughly two miles downstream from the mudslide site. She is waiting for supplies at another emergency response centre based out of a school.

Image copyright Olivia Acland

She is now staying nearby with a male cousin, who has a small house with three rooms. He has taken in eight others as well as Kadiatu and her daughter, meaning that 17 people are occupying his small house.

“It’s not easy at all – we are so many in that place,” Mrs Bendu says.

Though she was able to save Edna, the four-month-old baby she cradles in her arms, she lost her husband and 16-year-old daughter.

“My husband woke me up as the water was filling the house. The roof was already broken from the heavy downpour. He helped me to climb out through the roof with Edna strapped to my back, and went back to wake up our other daughter.

“He was trying to help her climb up when a huge rock came through the side of the house and crushed them both. I saw it happen. The roof stayed on because our house is made from tin with a wooden frame,” Mrs Bendu says.

All photos: Olivia Acland

Note: This story is auto-generated from ‘BBC News’ syndicated feed and has not been edited by Africa Prime News staff.

[unable to retrieve full-text content]Note: This story is auto-generated from ‘BBC News’ syndicated feed and has not been edited by Africa Prime News staff.

One month ago, a mudslide devastated parts of Freetown, Sierra Leone. Estimates suggest about 800 people were killed and at least 7,000 are now displaced. After weeks of heavy rain, the top of Sugar Loaf Mountain collapsed and smothered the community below it. Water pushed mud and heavy boulders down the valley, sweeping away houses in two other areas, Kamayama and Kaningo.

Image copyright Olivia Acland

For the past month, thousands of displaced families have been sleeping in temporary refuges. While some people are staying with friends or relatives, others are on the floors of school classrooms, at a local chief’s house and in a church. More than 200 families are staying in a damp, half-built house opposite the mudslide site.

The government has now erected two official camps, in Juba and Hill Station, supported by UN agencies and non-governmental organisations. Those who have been verified as victims, and have nowhere else to go, are gradually being moved there. Low-cost houses are being built in Six Mile, a far suburb of Freetown. People from the affected communities are expected to move there within the next three to six months.

Though aid has flooded into the country and benefited many, some people say that they’ve been left out and are still lacking in food, medicine and adequate bedding.

Image copyright Olivia Acland

Since the mudslide, Kadi Kamara and her one-year-old daughter, Esme, have been sleeping in a windowless, half-built house without mattresses or bedding.

“I heard that they were going to move us out to one of the official camps,” says Kadi, “but we’re still here. I think they’ve forgotten about us. We haven’t had anything to eat since yesterday morning. Many people are getting sick.”

When asked if she has registered in order to receive help from the government, UN and NGOs, she says: “There are so many registrations from all the different organisations. In the morning, evening and night time, people are registering. I have registered a few times, but I don’t know if it was the right one. Getting help is chaotic. For example, some people have three mattresses and others – like us – have none.”

Image copyright Olivia Acland

Image copyright Olivia Acland

Image copyright Olivia Acland

At one of the official camps, in Juba, a woman worries that she will have to leave as she does not have the yellow card issued after the registration process.

Image copyright Olivia Acland

“I was with many others at a school that day, we were told to go there to receive food. When we came back to Kamayama, they said that people had been registering all day but we had missed it,” she says.

Image copyright Olivia Acland

Twelve-year-old Mariatu Bangura has packed her bag and is waiting to be transferred to the camp in Juba. She stands in the spot where her house once was, alongside her aunt. She was staying with her granny on the morning of the mudslide, but both her parents were killed.

“I am looking after seven children now,” says her aunt, Mariah. “It’s very hard because I can barely afford to feed my own family. I know that there are problems with fake victims signing up for aid, but we are the real victims and we need more help”.

Mariatu was not relocated that day, and returned to her aunt’s house in the evening.

Image copyright Olivia Acland

Esta and Ibrahim Kargbo live in the same area of Kamayama. Their parents were also killed.

Esta was staying with a relative at the time of the mudslide, but Ibrahim was in the house with his family. He got wedged under a collapsed tin roof and was rescued by a neighbour. Now, the children are living with their uncle, who has little money and is worried about supporting them. School has just reopened, so he needs to buy them books and provide money for their lunches.

Image copyright Olivia Acland

“Many of these women have lost their homes, husbands and children. Some of them have not passed the verification process because the chief and chairman in the area said they did not recognise them. This means they won’t be able to get help,” says pastor John.

When asked about moving to the relocation village in Six Mile, he says: “As long as they have schools, churches, mosques and livelihood options, then I think people will be happy to go”.

Image copyright Olivia Acland

Construction is under way at Six Mile.

Presidential spokesman Abdulai Baytayray says: “In the first phase of building, we are creating 53 houses. We will also build an orphanage, clinic and school. We have set aside a further 200 acres (0.8 sq km) in this area to build on so we can relocate not only those affected by the mudslide, but all those living in dangerous parts of Freetown”.

Image copyright Olivia Acland

All photographs by Olivia Acland.

Note: This story is auto-generated from ‘BBC News’ syndicated feed and has not been edited by Africa Prime News staff.

Image copyright Chris de Bode

In sub-Saharan Africa, conflict and climate change have had a major impact on food security. Communities in Niger, Burundi and Central African Republic are experiencing dangerous levels of hunger and malnutrition.

Chris de Bode visited these places, bringing a backdrop to create photographs that blend studio portraits with documentary.

As well as exploring how political and environmental instability can reduce people’s ability to grow or buy food, de Bode also shows how charitable interventions can help.

Image copyright Chris de Bode

Twenty-eight year-old Daniel Nsabiyaremye had the skills to be a carpenter but lacked the tools. After a series of loans that he spent on a hammer, spanners, saw, plane and a square set, he was able to launch his now thriving business.

“I bought the tools, one by one, from the money transfers I received,” he says.

“Now, I don’t lack the means to put food on the table. Before the programme, we used to eat once a day – and often it was a poor meal, consisting of cassava leaves and green bananas. Now we eat twice a day. It has meant a positive change in the health of my children and me.”

Image copyright Chris de Bode

Image copyright Chris de Bode

Joseph and Nyambaronziza are both members of the marginalised Batwa community. The Batwa are pygmies, well known for their height – or rather lack of it.

They both struggle to provide for their families living in dilapidated homes on the remote forest hillside in Kabere, Uganda. They earn money from occasional labour, cultivating land or looking for gold in the nearby river.

Image copyright Chris de Bode

Image copyright Chris de Bode

Image copyright Chris de Bode

Denise Nyamwiza, 20, is responsible for her younger siblings after their parents died of malaria two years ago.

She searches for casual labour and sometime makes money from selling avocados and ground sunflower seeds that she grows on her small plot of land.

Solange Wanibilo stands with her extended family, outside their home in the village of Bomandoro, Central African Republic. Solange’s youngest child Arthur and her grandchild Frank are both malnourished.

Image copyright Chris de Bode

Image copyright Chris de Bode

Image copyright Chris de Bode

Golden Marlenue stands outside her home with her four young children.

Her two youngest children Naomi, two and Athanase, 12 months, are both malnourished. However, three weeks ago the nearby Ndanga Health Post was reopened so that the children can now get the treatment and support they need.

Image copyright Chris de Bode

Image copyright Chris de Bode

Image copyright Chris de Bode

In Boganando, Central African Republic, Josephine Zawele stands in a farmer’s field school alongside other members of her community. This field school is used by local farmers to learn new agricultural techniques that they can then replicate on their own land.

Hadijatou Cheihou, 15, lives in the Nigerien village of Gao Moussa, which has become well known locally as a fine producer of groundnut oil. Hadijatou is an original member of a group of 30 women who were trained in the production of the oil.

Now more than 90 women in the village are involved. The oil is so sought after that people travel from more than 45 km (28 miles) to purchase it.

Image copyright Chris de Bode

Image copyright Chris de Bode

Image copyright Chris de Bode

In Kosama, Niger, Hassana Abdourahamane smiles alongside other members of a community farming group.

On land loaned to the women, they grow vegetables including onions, tomatoes, potatoes, carrots, cabbage and aubergines. Initial seeds and training were provided by a charity called Concern, but the women are now self-sufficient because they are able to sell some of what they grow.

Image copyright Chris de Bode

Image copyright Chris de Bode

Image copyright Chris de Bode

Salifou Ahment, a 70-year-old farmer, used to struggle to feed his livestock during the dry season when grassland becomes scarce.

Now, instead of having to travel miles to buy food, there is an animal feed bank a short walk from his home. The bank, run by the community, keeps animal feed in stock all year round and sells to local farmers at a fair and affordable price.

Image copyright Chris de Bode

The photographs can be viewed in the courtyard of St Martin-in-the-Fields near Trafalgar Square, London from 19 September.

The exhibition has been produced by overseas aid agency Concern Worldwide and Panos Pictures and is part of the Food in a Fragile World appeal.

Note: This story is auto-generated from ‘BBC News’ syndicated feed and has not been edited by Africa Prime News staff.