In late 2016, soon after I arrived at Uganda’s Rhino Camp Refugee Settlement, a friend of mine was charged 200,000 Ugandan shillings ($55) to regain access to a phone he’d been locked out of. It was more than he could afford, and the technician refused to explain how the repair was carried out.
That moment was a turning point for me. For refugees and migrants like myself, phones and other digital technologies are an invaluable lifeline; they’re vital for staying in touch with loved ones left behind, for learning, job opportunities, social cohesion, and healing. Yet repair and maintenance services remain largely overlooked in humanitarian aid – and replacing a broken phone isn’t a realistic option for many refugees.
Broken devices are often discarded prematurely or carried long distances to cities in the hopes of finding someone to fix them at a somewhat affordable price, worsening refugees’ digital exclusion, financial strain and data loss. As Peter Gift, a member of the Refugee Welfare Council, said: “A damaged phone means no contact with loved ones, lost memories. A faulty solar lamp means a child studies in the dark.”
