In an era defined by escalating climate crises and ongoing conflicts, human displacement has become a pervasive and urgent global issue. Rising temperatures, prolonged droughts, resource depletion, and environmental degradation are driving complex migratory patterns that challenge existing frameworks of urbanism, governance, and community resilience. These phenomena are deeply interconnected: environmental stresses act as threat multipliers, intensifying vulnerabilities, fostering violence, and accelerating displacement—particularly in resource-scarce parts of the world, such as Africa’s biogeographical region, the Sahel. The Sahel is a region of extremes—climate variability, conflict and persecution, resource extraction, and colonial legacies. Because of this, local spatial practices across the region offer critical lessons on how to adapt to the vulnerabilities these conditions produce, and how to improve humanitarian and development strategies on the global level.
Neither existing urbanism frameworks nor the governance and spatial principles of humanitarian settlements are designed to tackle resource depletion and the environmental degradation that are fueling complex displacement and changing multi-species migratory patterns. This knowledge gap is tied to the values of the Western design canon, and in particular sedentarization as a spatial planning and design principle. Alternative spatial planning and design models can complement the valuable knowledge, networks, and logistics of established humanitarian response mechanisms and international development practices in contexts with multiple simultaneous crises. Architects and spatial designers, in this sense, are essential in developing adaptable short-, mid-, and long-term scenarios that draw on local knowledge, integrate ecological practices, and foster resilient living environments amid growing environmental and social stresses.
The future of human settlements in regions affected by climate change and conflict is inherently uncertain, requiring adaptable frameworks that can evolve in tandem with shifting environmental, social, and political landscapes. Mauritania is exemplary in this way, in how climate change and conflict intersect. This fluid condition contributes to unprecedented migration patterns but is also forging innovative responses to displacement. The country’s progressive open-border policy, first introduced as a decree by the government of Mauritania in 2005—granting refugees basic rights such as freedom of movement, work, and residence—is gradually transforming parts of the Sahara into a refuge amid escalating environmental scarcity, resource extraction, and multi-scale conflicts.1
Mauritania offers a critical lens into how a nation with a long history of pastoralism and nomadic traditions in the Sahel has continuously adapted to the realities of harsh climate, resource depletion, and socio-political crisis.2 These traditional ways of life—characterized by seasonal transhumance, flexible land use, and community-based resource governance—have sustained Sahelian communities for millennia and embody principles of resilience, ecological sustainability, and adaptability that are increasingly relevant in the face of environmental extremes. Understanding these practices offers vital lessons for designing adaptive, culturally grounded settlement and resource management models capable of supporting both mobile and sedentary populations in a future of heightened climate uncertainty.
Along the Eastern Border of Mauritania
Air travel between Mauritania’s capital, Nouakchott, and the country’s eastern border is infrequent, with flights often canceled due to sandstorms and severe weather. The UN’s Humanitarian Air Service (UNHAS), operated by the World Food Programme (WFP), transports aid workers and life-saving supplies to hard-to-reach areas of crisis and intervention, including in Mauritania. As guests of the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR), we were cleared to fly with UNHAS, but whether we would reach the borderlands remained uncertain until the day of departure in early January 2025, given the shifting weather conditions. Once aboard the Beechcraft 1900 twin-engine turboprop—with its two narrow rows of single passenger seats and the endless expanse of yellow and red terrain stretching beneath us—we gained a sense of the logistical challenges of operating in such volatile environments. Over the next ten days, we explored landscapes and settlements at the forefront of regional migration dynamics.
In the border regions, the situation on the ground remains highly unstable. As writer and literary scholar Peter Chilson has extensively documented, the borders drawn by European colonial powers in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries—primarily for political convenience—do not align with the ground realities or the territorial claims of Mali or Mauritania.3 The boundaries between the two nation states therefore often function more like “buffer zones”—areas tens of kilometers wide where violence, smuggling, and informal military activity are a daily occurrence, tolerated by local actors but unstable from a formal state perspective. These zones are hotspots of persistent insecurity, where armed groups, illicit trade, and cross-border alliances create a landscape marked by unpredictability.
In this region, and in this particularly sensitive zone near the border, the presence of militant groups like the Islamic State has necessitated multiple security guarantees for travel and aid delivery. Movement by foreigners and national staff of international organizations is accompanied by Mauritanian military patrols, which not only secure the transit routes to refugee camps but also serve as a regular presence in local communities. Daily patrols and operations by the Mauritanian military, supported by international partners, reflect the layered security structure that underpins the area’s precarious stability. Furthermore, the region is deeply rooted in historical and religious ties that influence governance and social organization today. Traditional authority figures, religious leaders, and clan-based alliances continue to exert influence, shaping local consent and cooperation within these contested spaces.4 These longstanding relationships often serve as informal governance mechanisms—complementing or sometimes complicating state authority—and are central to successfully operating within the region’s social fabric. And despite the significant presence of the international community through humanitarian actors, peacekeeping, and development agencies, their footprint remains limited largely by the uncertain security environment.5 Their operations depend heavily on the acceptance of both local power structures and the fragile political systems that dominate the region.6
The travel between Nouakchott and the southeastern borders of Mauritania was both stark and awe-inspiring. It revealed endless stretches of arid desert, scattered oases, and the faint hum of life—resilient communities and ecosystems adapted to this extreme environment. It struck us how Mauritania remains, at its core, a fundamentally nomadic, pastoralist country. This vast, water-scarce terrain—dominated by expansive deserts and rugged plateaus—demands land use and spatial organization radically different from the models typically developed in Western urban planning or taught in architectural schools. Here, land is not conceived as fixed, bounded parcels to be urbanized or urbanized in conventional ways. Instead, it is a living, dynamic system anchored in seasonal movement, shared grazing rights, and communal resource management. These traditional practices, embedded in indigenous knowledge, continue to sustain communities and ecosystems in environments where resilience depends on mobility and ecological balance and capacity to support different forms of lives and livelihood. Designing in such environments therefore requires a fundamental rethinking of space—prioritizing flexibility, decentralization, and resource sharing over sedentarization and fixed infrastructure. It emphasizes a landscape approach that respects ecological rhythms and social networks, and challenges conventional planning paradigms rooted in enclosure, permanence, and dense urbanity. Understanding and integrating these traditional land-use systems is vital to develop spatial strategies that are truly resilient, ecologically sensitive, and culturally grounded for a future marked by increasing climate variability and resource scarcity.
Human settlements in the eastern regions of Mauritania are predominantly comprised of one-story huts and tents—structures deliberately designed for mobility and seasonal adaptation rather than permanence. Human mobility remains high, driven primarily by the needs of livestock—goats, sheep, donkeys, and camels—that form the backbone of livelihoods in this landscape. Over two million livestock are actively moving across Mauritania’s terrain, following time-honored routes that extend across vast territories, tirelessly seeking water and grazing land.7 What fundamentally determines the routes and the locations of human habitats in the region is the presence of water. Underneath the seemingly endless Sahara landscape lies a deep aquifer. However, accessing this water requires costly and technologically advanced drilling methods that are beyond the means of most local communities. Consequently, they continue to rely on seasonal migration, moving from the south to the north, and from east to west, following the pulse of water availability.
Nomadism, semi-nomadism, and pastoralism in Mauritania is a deeply ingrained socio-cultural system based on mutual aid, hospitality, and resource sharing. Every introduction, every exchange, is underpinned by a sense that the community’s survival hinges on collective efforts and generosity. It is a culture that not only sustains individual lives but also reinforces social bonds amid adversity. In this context, the Mauritanian government’s open-door policy appears both logical and humane. This generosity of local community leaders was evident in all our encounters and conversations—each expressing with pride that their communities welcomed their brothers and sisters from Mali and were glad to share their resources in this moment of crisis. As one community elder in Hodh Chargui explained: “We have always shared our water, our shade, and even our food with those in need. It is our tradition, and now more than ever, it is our duty to help each other.”
Hodh Chargui and the Mbera Camp
The Hodh Chargui region, covering approximately 80,000 square kilometers in southeastern Mauritania bordering Mali, is one of the largest and most geographically diverse regions of the country. Characterized by a mix of desert plains, semi-arid savannas, and sparse water sources, it forms a transitional zone between the Sahara and the more vegetated regions to the south.8 The population of Hodh Chargui is relatively sparse, with pastoralist communities and nomadic tribes primarily engaged in livestock herding and subsistence farming. Ethnic groups including the Fulani, Tuareg, and Arab-Berber have longstanding cultural and social ties to the land, maintaining traditional migratory routes that are vital for their livelihoods. Despite its vastness and remote location, Hodh Chargui’s strategic importance has increased due to ongoing conflict and environmental pressures. Although refugees are settled across various regions of Hodh Chargui and other parts of Mauritania, the Mbera camp is central to regional displacement dynamics.
In 2012, amid a period of escalating conflict and political upheaval, the creation of the Mbera camp forty kilometers from the Malian border coincided with the fall of Muammar Gaddafi in Libya, which ignited renewed Tuareg insurgencies and demands for self-determination across the Sahel. Additionally, the movement of the Islamic State from Afghanistan into the Sahara during the “War on Terror” added further instability.9 Today, the camp functions as an open settlement and a safe haven for displaced populations from diverse backgrounds: refugees fleeing violence, climate crises, and political conflicts. According to UNHCR figures, the demographic composition remains fluid, with ongoing movements and new arrivals, particularly after regional coups and uprisings. While the location of the camp can be described as remote, compared to regional urban centers and far from the capital, it is located along ancient nomadic routes that have traditionally traversed the Sahara, linking east to west—connecting cities like Timbuktu and Gao with the desert oasis of Chinguetti and extending further into the Sahara.
The town of Bassikounou, the closest settlement to Mbera, serves as a key logistical and social hub for UN agencies and their staff.10 Bassikounou is a modest town with a rich history rooted in trans-Saharan trade and pastoral life. It acts as a crossroads for various ethnic groups—Moor, Tuareg, Fula—each with their own distinctive traditions and livelihoods. Historically, the town has functioned as a trading post facilitating the movement of livestock, goods, and people along the desert routes. Its residents primarily engage in herding, small-scale trade, and seasonal migration—activities that sustain a livelihood deeply connected to the land and desert environment. Our guest house in Bassikounou was located within a small UNHCR compound near the town hall, police station, and mosque. The drive to the western borders of the Mbera camp takes about forty-five minutes, mostly along unpaved tracks crossing rugged desert terrain. Traveling involves frequent stops at checkpoints manned by military patrols, which are common in the border zone. Approaching the camp, each vehicle or pedestrian was greeted cautiously—stopping to exchange greetings or peaceful gestures—since encounters with militias and security forces can be unpredictable.
Before entering the camp, we paused at the open gate to observe daily life. Herds of camels and donkeys moved freely, herders tended their livestock, and children played and crossed the boundary, blending into a vibrant landscape. Nearby, a borehole—an essential resource installed by the UN in collaboration with the Mauritanian government—serves as a communal water point for both animals, refugees, and the host community. This borehole acts as a nexus for different population groups, and species, drawing life from the desert’s scarce water sources. Animals seem to instinctively navigate between the borehole and the camp. Within the camp, life revolves around makeshift shelters—constructed from tin sheets, canvas provided by UNHCR, and improvised combinations of old Tuareg tents and newer structures. Apart from the communal infrastructure made by more durable materials, many of the individual shelter solutions, based on visual appearance, have been constructed relatively recently before our visit. These dwellings feature modest decorations, crafts, and personal touches that reflect refugees’ cultural identities.
The camp covers roughly 415 hectares.11 While originally designed as a temporary settlement for 70,000 refugees in response to a sudden event, the thirteen years that have passed since its creation are visible through its communal structures and expanded footprint. From afar, the most striking material markers of time are the concrete water towers built on the periphery of the camp, as well as the altered landscapes beyond its borders, with planted vegetation and man-made depressions in the ground built as fire gaps. A recent UNHCR survey indicates that the camp’s population now exceeds 118,000—far beyond its original capacity.12 The camp continues to grow as new refugees arrive, driven mainly by ongoing instability and conflict in Mali. In addition to the official camp population, an estimated 154,000 refugees live outside the camp in the surrounding region.13 Among the more than 272,000 registered refugees in the region, both inside and outside the camp, approximately 55 percent are under eighteen years old, 47 percent are men, and 53 percent are women. Mali’s volatile security situation means that large-scale returns of refugees are currently not envisaged.
The camp’s overpopulation intensifies the challenge for humanitarian organizations like UNHCR, which must continually adapt to meet the increasing needs of both the camp and the surrounding host communities. This overcapacity results in significant logistical and resource-based challenges, including inadequate access to sufficient food, clean water, healthcare, and sanitation facilities. During our visit to the camp, we observed plans to expand and densify the camp especially along the perimeter. However, these plans do not consider the population’s use of space and cultural factors. Instead, they are pragmatic, institutional solutions to a situation of extreme scarcity, including limited resources of the organization itself. Land allocation is determined by the Mauritanian government, and UNHCR must comply with both government decisions and the ongoing reduction of their operational budget in its management of the camp. In this context, there is a risk of conflicts emerging within the camp between long-standing and newly arrived refugees. Densifying the camp and straining its resources could exacerbate existing tensions driven by existing hierarchies.
Grid and Circles: Institutional Infrastructure Meets Nomadic Culture
Aerial views of the camp reveal its institutional organization along grid-like infrastructural lines of water pipes, sewage, latrines, and all sorts of shared programs like the market and schools. In Mbera, this grid is filled by patterns of irregular elliptical shapes enclosing smaller rectangles. When moving through the camp on foot, however, the grid appear modest, overpowered by the nomadic shelter. The circular shapes seen from above are not walls but grey wooden sticks with bare branches, set up as boundary markers. They provide little visual privacy, serving mainly to signal that an area is occupied. Their primary purpose is to enclose animals and allow families to care for their livestock. Nuclear family units are part of larger clusters composed of extended families, former neighbors, and community members that share a common origin. For example, a large cluster from a specific area in Timbuktu congregates together in the camp, sharing water and latrines. Many of these clusters gather around a religious leader and mosque, of which there are about fifty in the camp.
This cluster-based organization is constantly shifting and expanding. A UNHCR staff member explained that the camp is always in movement: shelters are relocated overnight, areas designated as roads and pathways can become occupied, and space usage changes from evening to morning. Walking through the camp, one observes many animals roaming freely and numerous temporary structures added to the original layout—whether for animals, new tents for women, shelters for children, or other family needs. This dynamic arrangement makes space difficult to control and challenging to align with institutional guidelines and protocols. Such a family-based, decentralized organization conflicts with plans for a more space-efficient expansion of the camp. The present-day organization and spatial layout of the camp, however—characterized by modular shelters, communal spaces, and adaptable infrastructure mixed with ancestral nomadic cultural practices—may serve as a model for understanding how temporary or semi-permanent settlements can evolve into sustainable and resilient communities over time.14
The camp’s infrastructure encompasses several essential services, including eight primary schools, two secondary schools, many mosques, and two banks. Additionally, it hosts a vibrant market economy, where weekly trade turnover often amounts to several million USD.15 This thriving commercial activity is primarily driven by the skills of nomadic traders who move goods, crafts, and livestock across the Sahara. Languages spoken within the camp are diverse, representing many dialects of Saharan tribes—chiefly Tamashek, the language of the Tuareg—and the community boasts a rich artisanal culture. Artisans produce clothing, tent decor, weavings, woodwork, metal crafts, and beads that serve as living expressions of Sahara’s enduring cultural heritage. NGOs operated largely by Tuareg men and women actively teach traditional skills such as tent-making. They organize cultural activities like traditional games, sign writing, and beadwork. And women play a crucial role in transmitting techniques of weaving, beading, and storytelling.
At the edge of the camp, there is a large area where Malian refugees collaborated with a Mauritanian NGO established by the host community to experiment with food production and tree planting around the camp. These green patches initially appeared promising, offering hope for local food security and ecological revitalization. However, making them productive requires significant labor and potentially exacerbates sedentarization processes. Ancient regional traditions like herding and livestock, conversely, serve as sustainable livelihoods. When livestock can move freely, it contributes to ecological balance through grazing, fertilization, and land cultivation. Climate change, however, forces herders to shift routes further south into the savannas, sometimes fueling conflicts over increasingly strained resources. And while current water wells are drying out—a prevalent concern among refugee populations and host communities alike—drilling new ones ever deeper into the aquifer requires expensive machinery and threatens to deplete groundwater without sufficient monitoring. Instead, water resources could be distributed in a more balanced manner across the territory through the development of a regional water governance plan, continuously monitoring water usage, and taking a holistic approach to capturing water—whether from flash floods or harvesting it from the air—as well as exploring ways to replenish the aquifer.
We had multiple conversations in the camp, speaking with women leaders, herders, religious leaders, and others who had left Mali to seek refuge across the border. We also witnessed the transformed landscapes shaped by a locally initiated firefighting program.16 The camp’s governance system appears robust, with well-established lines of communication between inhabitants, local authorities, and UN agencies, working together not only to sustain daily life but also to plan for the camp’s future development and its relationship with the surrounding area. However, and despite these various efforts, the camp’s primary focus on providing immediate shelter and saving lives has inadvertently contributed to the erosion of traditional skills and knowledge systems. As one observer lamented, the focus on survival has overshadowed the preservation of people’s longstanding crafts and ways of life. While figuring out solutions to sustain life in this era of climate emergency, one of the key challenges is to find the right balance between preserving life, culture, and ecology, and ensuring equitable resource distribution so that cultures can endure and peaceful coexistence can continue.
Breaking Free from the Humanitarian Camp-Logic
Climate models predict rising temperatures, increased drought, dust storms, and desertification threatening to render many parts of Hodh Chargui uninhabitable. According to the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC), the Sahara and Sahel are expected to experience heightened environmental stress, with some areas reaching tipping points where traditional livelihoods—such as pastoralism—may no longer be sustainable, leading to larger-scale displacements.17 In this context, integrating climate resilience into architecture and urban planning—such as scalable shelters, renewable water harvesting systems, and eco-sensitive infrastructure—is critical. Clues for developing alternative approaches based on nomadic and pastoralist cultures, seasonal cohabitation of different communities as well as people and herds, and flexible resource management are already present within this remote desert space. These approaches involve, among others, using materials such as textiles, leather, wood, clay, and adobe. These can be combined with advanced technologies to improve quality of life while preserving cultural heritage rather than the sedentarization of ancient nomadic cultures. Such strategies are not only possible and necessary, but also inspired by the region’s ecological and cultural context. These sustainable practices—often low-tech, resource-efficient, and producing minimal waste—strengthen community bonds, foster a sense of belonging, and nurture resilience amid displacement and crisis. By prioritizing indigenous skills—such as tent-making, soil-based construction, and natural resource management—humanitarian efforts can be transformed into empowerment initiatives.18
The spatial organization and architecture of the Mbera refugee camp and surrounding villages illustrate a shifting paradigm where immediate humanitarian responses must align with long-term resilience strategies. Climate change continues to reshape the environment and displacement patterns in Hodh Chargui—and globally—necessitating a concerted effort from architects, planners, and policymakers to bridge the gap between urgent relief and sustainable adaptation, ensuring displaced populations can survive, adapt, and thrive in an increasingly unpredictable landscape. Architecture and urban design have the potential to support both refugees and host communities by improving living conditions and fostering resilience over the long term. Incorporating local materials and traditional construction techniques, for instance, such as mud bricks and semi-permanent shelters, could enhance ecological resilience and community ownership. Additionally, designing multi-functional public spaces could bolster social bonds and cultural expression, transforming emergency camps into more integrated, sustainable communities.
Mauritania’s open-door policy exemplifies a humanitarian ethic rooted in solidarity, mutual aid, and cultural exchange, and presents a compelling case for how displacement can also be an act of adaptation and cultural persistence. At the same time, the international response framework, including the evolving protocols of organizations like the UN, is gradually shifting away from reactive emergency interventions towards long-term development models. However, there remains a significant systemic gap: the current global supply chain and response mechanisms are not equipped to respond meaningfully to the cultural and ecological specificities of these communities. They cannot respond to or replicate the millennia-old practices that foster shared spaces, resource sharing, collective resilience, and social solidarity. With the ambition of turning these reflections into action, what follows are eight points intended as avenues for further engagement.
1. Shift from Emergency to Long-term Development
Align international and national policies with a transition from reactive crisis response toward sustained development strategies. Recognize displacement as an ongoing process rooted in environmental, social, and political vulnerabilities that require adaptive, culturally sensitive planning.
2. Center Cultural Heritage and Local and Ancient Knowledge
Prioritize the preservation and integration of local and ancient traditions, practices, and wisdom—particularly those of nomadic and pastoralist communities—in spatial planning and development policies. Support community-led initiatives that reinforce cultural resilience and transmit traditional ecological and social practices.
3. Adopt Inclusive and Flexible Spatial Design
Develop adaptable, mobility-friendly, and ecologically sensitive infrastructures that respect traditional land use, seasonal migration patterns, and shared resource management. Emphasize decentralization, resource sharing, and low-tech, sustainable building practices rooted in local materials.
4. Strengthen Local and Community-led Governance
Support local community institutions, religious leaders, and traditional authorities to participate in decision-making processes. Recognize their role in resource governance, social cohesion, and development pathways aligned with local models of resilience.
5. Integrate Climate Adaptation into Development Planning
Incorporate climate risk assessments and future environmental scenarios into spatial design and land-use policies. Promote eco-centric approaches that enhance water harvesting, pasture management, and ecological restoration, geared toward ensuring long-term sustainability.
6. Leverage Local and Ancient Practices for Resilience Building
Support capacity-building programs that restore and elevate traditional skills such as tent-making, soil-based construction, and resource sharing. Use these practices as foundations for scalable, sustainable settlement models and disaster risk reduction.
7. Foster International and Regional Collaboration
Align policies with international frameworks like the UN’s evolving protocols, ensuring consistent support for long-term development schemes rather than short-term aid. Facilitate regional cooperation on transboundary resource management and migration patterns.
8. Promote Cultural and Ecological Preservation as Policy Objectives
Recognize cultural heritage and ecological sustainability as integral to resilience policies, ensuring they are embedded within funding, project evaluation criteria, and development priorities.
“Mauritania," UNHCR, ➝.
The UN Peacebuilding Fund has advised and supported FAST on the choice of case studies. Two compelling case studies where the intersecting forces of climate and conflict are driving unprecedented migration patterns followed by innovative responses to displacement were identified in this process: Mauritania and Haiti. While Haiti presents a scenario of internal urban-to-rural migration driven by violence, socio-economic upheaval overlapping with continued extreme climate events, Mauritania exemplifies a markedly different trajectory rooted in its unique geopolitical, cultural, and ecological context. The focus of this study is on Mauritania.
Peter Chilson, We Never Knew Exactly Where: Dispatches from the Lost Country of Mali (Foreign Policy, 2013).
George Lutz and Wolf Linder, “Traditional Authorities and Local Governance,” University of Berne, Switzerland, Institute of Political Science.
Lila Pieters Yahia, “What Does Prevention Look Like in Mauritania?” UN Peacebuilding, ➝.
Transhumance Tracking Tool Dashboard, International Organization for Migration (IOM), ➝.
UNHCR Environment and Climate Action in Hodh Chargui, South-East Mauritania, UNHCR, May 2025, ➝.
UNHCR Environment and Climate Action in Hodh Chargui; Malkit Shoshan, BLUE: The Architecture of UN Peacekeeping Missions (New York: Actar, 2024).
Pieters Yahia, What does Prevention Look Like in Mauritania?”
According to ReliefWeb, a humanitarian information portal and UNHCR’s Annual Results Report, 2024: Mauritania, ➝.
Annual Results Report, 2024: Mauritania.
CERF Allocation. Mauritania. Refugees, 08 February 2025, Central Emergecy Response fund (CERF), ➝.
As noted by UNHCR at the time of construction.
Known as the Mbera Fire Brigade, this all-volunteer group has extinguished more than a hundred bushfires and planted thousands of trees over the past decade. For their courage and tenacity in protecting lives, livelihoods, and a fragile environment increasingly threatened by climate change, they were recognized as the Africa Regional Winner of the 2022 Nansen Refugee Award.
Climate Change 2021: The Physical Science Basis, Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC), ➝.
For example, training programs could focus on restoring traditional building techniques using locally available materials, reinforcing cultural identity and resilience.
