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Marques Joao steps uneasily over the pile of plastic which sits like a glacier in front of his work building. Searching for little brown bottles, he picks them out of the pile and fills his bucket. He works for ASMOG, a community organisation operating in Cabo Delgado province, northern Mozambique, whose mission is to gather plastic waste and sell it to recycling companies.
“The government doesn’t recycle or sell plastics,” says Eugidio Gobo, who leads ASMOG in the Pemba municipality, which generates around 130 tonnes of plastic each month. Ten tonnes of which is collected by ASMOG, mostly off beaches. It is a local organisation seeking to create something positive for the community. But the world in which it works is becoming increasingly challenging.
Located 1,500 miles north of Maputo, Cabo Delgado is one of Mozambique’s poorest regions. Cyclones, intensified by climate change, batter the province annually. And an Isis-linked insurgency has torn it apart, displacing 700,000 people since 2017. As needs grow, aid is shrinking. In this environment, community groups are vital, but they are also feeling the strain.
“I feel like our feet are being cut off,” says Abdul Tavares, who works for CDD, a democracy and rights-focused organisation currently being squeezed by the slashing of international aid by countries like the US and UK. “We were funding business cooperatives, legal assistance and advocacy on public policy. Without resources, none of these activities are possible,” he says. CDD recently downsized to a smaller office in Pemba.
Globally, Mozambique is one of the countries most affected by international aid cuts. US funding alone is believed to have been slashed from $820 million (£680m) in 2024 to $240m last year, with Donald Trump having essentially shut down the United States Agency for International Development (USAID).
“USAID was providing a lot of support to 25 de Junho,” says Bashiruna Bakar, referring to his village in Cabo Delgado. “The assistance was focused on healthcare, farming and food,” he adds. “But that was before. Now, this aid has gone. ‘The farmers are crying… There is no food.”
Pemba, Mozambique (Getty Images/iStockphoto)
However, walking towards the edge of his village, Bakar finds cause for optimism. He points to a solid grey house made of breeze blocks. “This is a sign of development”, he says. The house is owned by one of the 9,000 Internally Displaced People (IDPs) who have settled in this village. It is evidence of both inclusion and prosperity.
“Three months after the displaced people arrived, the farmers gave them land,” says Bakar – a decision made through the 25 de Junho Village Development Organisation (VDO). “We discussed not identifying people on religious or political grounds. Just on our common humanity,” Bakar says.
In an old school building, there is what Bakar calls the village’s “dream map”, It illustrates the village, with public goods they have (for example, a mosque) and what they would like (for example, a bridge). The VDO identifies what the village needs. And through a series of letters, they lobby local government to direct funds towards that.
Cabo Delgado in Mozambique (Getty Images/iStockphoto)
Since 2000, the Aga Khan Foundation has helped more than 100 communities establish their own VDOs across northern Mozambique, covering Cabo Delgado, Nampula and Niassa provinces. Starting with a grant of 38,000 Meticals (£430), these bodies thereafter seek to sustain themselves. Some lack capacity or commitment. But many flourish.
Another community organisation in Mozambique called MASC adopts the same approach. It supports 30 VDOs. “There’s a magic to these groups,” says MASC’s representative in Cabo Delgado, Návia Glória. “They differ in age, culture and geographic area, but they work.” Manuel Teodoro, a district official, says: “The VDOs are the right hand of the local government.”
Lisa Kurbiel, director of the UN’s Joint Sustainable Development Goals Fund says. “It is often [these organisations] who are closest to communities, who understand the nuances of poverty, exclusion, and opportunity, and who remain when projects end and headlines fade.”
This article has been produced as part of The Independent’s Rethinking Global Aid project
