Since 2017, Cabo Delgado in northern Mozambique has been a place of unimaginable violence.

The region has been repeatedly attacked by militants from al-Shabab, also known as the Islamic State Mozambique (ISM). The brutality has been intense, with beheadings, forced conversions, and entire villages burned to the ground. Thousands have fled their homes, seeking refuge in neighboring Tanzania and other parts of Mozambique. 

On the evening of Oct. 9, a small Christian village called Napala, nestled deep in the heart of Cabo Delgado, was plunged into chaos. Without warning, the quiet night was shattered by the deafening sound of gunfire. Militants stormed the village, setting homes and churches ablaze. In the face of overwhelming violence, the people of Napala fled into the dense forests, desperate to escape.  

“We didn’t know where to go,” said one woman who fled with her two young children. “We heard gunshots and saw the smoke rising. I grabbed my children and fled as fast as I could. I haven’t seen my husband since.” 

By Oct. 12, the situation had become desperate. More than 1,300 homes had been reduced to ashes, and two churches, symbols of faith and resilience, lay in ruins.  

“It was like our world crumbled in an instant,” one survivor said. “Parents lost their children, children lost their parents, and families were torn apart in front of our eyes. The shock and grief … it was overwhelming. One moment, we had a life, and the next, everything was gone.” 

For many, the pain didn’t end when they ran. The fires had left nothing behind.  

“All we have are the clothes on our backs,” another survivor said, his voice heavy with sorrow. “We lost everything, our memories, our homes, and belongings.” 

As the violence spread across northern Mozambique, nearly 93,000 people were displaced, forced to abandon their homes and seek refuge in makeshift camps. These camps, thrown together with little more than scraps of fabric and wood, quickly became overcrowded and desperate. Basic needs, such as food, water, and medical care, were in short supply.  

As the militants continued their attacks, the trauma extended far beyond the burning of homes. Children became specific targets. More than 120 children have been abducted, torn from their families, and forced to carry looted goods, to work as laborers, or to fight in the conflict.  

The pain of those who were left behind was intense.  

“My daughter … I haven’t seen her since they took her,” one mother said. “I pray every day that she is alive. But the waiting … the not knowing … it’s unbearable.” 

The abduction of these children left parents consumed by the uncertainty of their children’s fate. Those who returned were often scarred, bearing invisible wounds that no one knew how to heal. The waiting, the not knowing, remains a constant pain that feels endless. 

The strength of the people of Cabo Delgado was evident in every corner of their struggle. And though their homes were destroyed, their lives torn apart, one thing remained untouched: their spirit, their faith. 

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