"Field Diary" Dated: February 23, 2006

Out of the blue, a phone call from John Ward at Unicef to say he’d finally met with ERRA (there’d been delays due to the fact General Zubair had left his post and the gap needed to be filled…). Good news! All five model structure designs (developed in collaboration with the Structures Sub-cluster group) that John Ward presented to ERRA were approved. But even better news—Ward wanted to proceed with building one of the model structures at Fatima Jinnah High School, (Khunbandi Village, Langapurra Union Council, Muzzafarabad) the school that I had recommended in a proposal to the Education Cluster. He said Unicef would figure out the funding for this project. Of course, until there’s an actual contract and all is signed and sealed, nothing is certain. But, for now at least, this is certainly heartening news.
The idea behind building this model structure is that it will serve as a sample for other schools that need to be rebuilt. John Ward thinks that this particular model structure will have an 80 percent steel frame, as timber is in short supply in the area due to an acute deforestation problem. The cluster members are emphatic about constructing model structures that promote safe building techniques along with the responsible use of materials that do not harm the environment. The five model structures will be built in five different earthquake affected zones and will promote safe building techniques that take into consideration the particular topographies of those areas.

"Field Diary" Dated: February 22, 2006

Today I drove to Peshawar to visit the Government Technical and Vocational Center in Gulbahar. I learned about it quite by chance, after an education cluster meeting in Islamabad. Lina Beltran of ISCOS said that Intersource had set up programs for Afghan refugees and vulnerable Pakistanis there as well as in a few tribal areas. As Sungi is planning its own vocational outreach program, I thought it would be a good idea to visit the center, see its facilities.
Zahid, a former employee of Intersource, arranged the visit. When I arrived, he led me to the principal’s office where Syed Halim Shah was sitting in darkness (the electricity was off due to maintenance by WAPDA), along with another colleague. The center was closed due to the ongoing protests against the publication of the blasphemous cartoons. They feared that their labs may be damaged if people entered the grounds. It wasn’t their own students they were worried about but the others from nearby schools, colleges and universities who tend to be destructive in such situations. Haleem Shah, the principal, is a proud administrator and educationist, his dedication to the cause immediately evident as he begins to tell me the history of the center and describes the programs offered.
The center, established between 1941 and 1942, is one of the oldest vocational institutes in the country. (I had been given the impression by Lina that Intersource had set up the facility and I had imagined a new building. But the grounds have a classic old world feel about them—offices and classrooms opening on to a courtyard boasting a centuries-old peepul tree). While the Second World War raged on, the center provided the army with skilled manpower. Once the war was over, army officers trained in various life skills at the center that would enable them to find work. After the partition of India and Pakistan, it became a resource for training new immigrants. Hence, over the years the vocational center has evolved to serve the specific needs and demands of the nation’s workforce.
Since 1962, the center has focused on industrial skills training, offering national level Grade 2 and Grade 3 courses in 11 trades, including refrigeration, TV/radio, plumbing, auto mechanic, carpentry, electricity, tailoring... Grade 2 courses are two years long, while Grade 3 courses are a year long. Classes are held 6 days a week, from 8 am to 1 pm. Computer studies are going to be introduced soon. Classes for women are held in the afternoon.
The center carries out programs under the sponsorship of various organizations. For instance, the Ministry of Religious Affairs has a Zakat Program that targets, primarily, men in rural areas, between the ages of 15 and 35, offering them short, skills- oriented specialized training at the center. The beneficiaries of this program also receive toolkits worth Rs. 5000 and monthly stipends of Rs. 1000. (Afghan refugees are not included in this program). Intersource and the Agha Khan Rural Support Program also sponsor programs at the center as does the International Labor Organisation which gives working children, below twelve years of age, pre-vocational training. From 1982 to 1996, 27000 men and women Afghan refuges were trained at the center under the auspices of a German program.
The trainers at the vocational center are either trained at the center itself or else at a polytechnic. The center also sends trainers out to field areas as needed. For instance, it is sending trainers to Balakot for four months (but possibly for as long as a year) to train both men and women. This project was initiated by a Turkish Organisation that approached the National Training Bureau in Islamabad which, in turn, recommended the Government Technical and Vocational Center in Gulbahar.
After a visit around the grounds I was further impressed by the genuine attempt of the center to live up to its mission (posted in the office, behind the principal’s desk): “ To produce skilled, devoted and disciplined manpower according to current requirements of market and become the best-rated center in the country”! The workshops are clean, airy and spacious, fully equipped with the necessary tools and machines of the various trades. For instance, the plumbing workshop actually had a series of booths, each one complete with a commode toilet, a local latrine, hot and cold faucets, and a shower so that the trainees had hands-on experience with problem-solving all the potential complications that they might face in their trade. In the auto workshop there was an old orange Volkswagon Beetle that had evidently been taken apart and would eventually be rehabilitated. The tailoring workshop had a series of black and gold Butterfly sewing machines placed side by side on a raised cement platform, replicating the work environment of this industry. There is no point having the trainees get used to working at sewing tables when they have to sit on a cement platform once they start working, explained Haleem Shah.
Back in his office, Haleem Shah said he would welcome the opportunity to collaborate with Sungi on projects. I had told him that the purpose of my visit was to see an up and running vocational center, to understand its successes and challenges, as Sungi was developing its own intervention in the non-formal education sector. The challenges he anticipated we might face included finding professionally trained staff, accessing training materials, and encountering management issues whereby the lead administrator in a vocational center may not understand the importance of also being a strong team leader. He was, ultimately, very encouraging of the idea of increasing opportunities in non-formal education. You see the government education system only addresses 10 percent of the population. 91 percent of boys drop out of school after nine years of schooling. These are the 95 percent who are on streets, striking and destroying…

"Field Diary" Dated: February 7, 2006

The last week has been all about education! Not only is the education cluster meeting steadily making headway in education planning, but a Structures Sub-cluster group has been formed, of which I am a member. Despite the sense of achievement and progress that keeps us all going, there’s still a lot of murky ground. The mystery of ERRA has yet to be fully solved. A consultant from ERRA attends our meetings now and then and sheds pinpricks of light for us on the government’s plans regarding rebuilding schools, but his remarks are tentative rather than definitive and programmatic.
The idea of the Structure Sub-cluster is to design structures that will be sent off to ERRA as recommended models. Nespak, it appears, will be rebuilding for the government. But, as of yesterday’s meeting even that wasn’t clear. I can’t help but wonder if the exercise of this sub cluster group isn’t merely idealistic and overly optimistic. Is ERRA really willing to take our suggestions into consideration? Are they merely making a gesture towards open-mindedness, entertaining a democracy of choices when they send their consultant to our meetings, but secretly already having made up their mind as to how they will proceed? It all appears quite dubious at the moment. But, perhaps, I’m not the only cynic going by the drastic and sudden drop in the number of attendees at the meeting …
John Ward, a consultant with Unicef, leads the sub-cluster. He requested the members to send in their recommendations for sites for building model schools. Out of this list 5 will be selected. The criteria for the selection are that the school that existed previously on this site should have completely collapsed and that there is no issue of land tenure. In addition, the school should be easily accessible, as the structure will serve as a model to be replicated elsewhere. Zeba Bukhari at Unicef suggested that we send a mix of public and private school recommendations.
Based on several visits to Langapurra Union Council in Muzzafarabad, I decided to recommend Fatima Jinnah High School, a private school in Khunbandi village. Before the earthquake it had a student body of 205 that has since grown to 284, drawing pupils from the many schools that collapsed and are still not functioning, even as open air classes. I have attached my recommendation proposal below…

Model School Recommendation

On behalf of Sungi Development Foundation, I recommend Fatima Jinnah High School, a private school, in Khunbandi Village, Union Council Langarpurra, District Muzaffarabad, as a site for the reconstruction of a model school. Despite the name, Fatimah Jinnah High School actually begins with a pre-primary group and covers the entire spectrum—primary, middle and high school classes for both boys and girls.
My reasons for recommending this school are as follows:
• There is a dire lack of secondary school options for girls in the entire union council of Langapurra. Not a single high school for girls exists in Langapurra, apart from this private school. If this school is not rebuilt, a disturbing number of girls will be deprived of the chance to complete their education. The nearest alternative high schools are in Muzzafarabad or Gharri Dopatta, 10 km and 8km away, respectively. Because of the distances involved and the cost of travel, many girls from the villages in Langapurra cannot attend high school. Sadly, this lack of opportunity afflicts a community that is otherwise keenly interested in education and whose high school age girls are enthusiastic about learning. On my last visit to Langarpurra on January 25, 2006, when I visited this school, I was surprised, and more than a little disturbed, to learn that three girls in class 9 had just been married off (three girls in one class indicates that it is not just the rare case, but rather, a choice that is gaining currency) The reason? The parents feel they are securing their daughters’ future in a time of intense uncertainty. I can’t help but feel if the educational prospects for these young women were secured, their parents would be less inclined to marry them off in haste, as a desperate measure of security. In addition, if the girls’ education enabled eventual access to opportunities to generate income, the parents, again, would think twice before ‘unburdening’ themselves of their school-going daughters in a time of crisis.
• While the cluster’s target is to focus on building model primary schools, I strongly feel that rebuilding Fatima Jinnah will fulfill not just that criterion, due to the fact that it has a primary section, but, in addition, will actually enhance educational opportunities for this community across a spectrum of ages (thereby becoming a ‘model’ in every sense of the word, as it will cover a school comprehensively from primary to secondary sections). Additionally, because this is a private school with a principal who is progressive, extremely aware of her community’s needs, and dedicated to serving them, this school could eventually also evolve into a vocational center for adult women and men, in the afternoons and/or weekends . The idea, I strongly feel, should be not just to restore what existed before but rather to enhance the long term opportunities and facilities for the community (thus going beyond enhancing just the school structure) in which the model is implemented.
• Khunbandi village is a mere 20 minute drive from Muzzafarabad and is easily accessible to visitors. Hence, it is an ideal location for a model school. In addition, within the Union Council of Langapurra, it is easily accessible to all villages, making it convenient for the community it serves.
• Questions of possible land issues will be eliminated in this case as the school is private and located on private property.
• As there appears to be continuing vacillation (that will most likely continue for a while longer) on policy regarding who exactly is going to rebuild government schools in AJK— whether the sole responsibility will lie with Asian Development Bank and the government, whether NGOs can play a role in this sector—it would behoove the cluster to press forward with its plan for model schools by focusing (for now at least) on private schools, thereby circumventing delays and inevitable bureaucracy. (Of course, ideally, it would be wonderful to have a model government school in the mix as well, so that one could use this opportunity to educate, influence and inflect future government school building designs and ensure that the government does not feel it is exempt or above the exercise of the lessons learned from this model building design).
• Finally, Sungi has an established village and area coordinating council in Langarpurra. The precedent of community participation and involvement already exists and is in place . This will facilitate the cluster’s objective of ensuring community responsibility for and participation in the project.

"Field Diary" Dated: February 1, 2006

Today I am working out of the business center at the Serena Hotel which is buzzing with security personnel in preparation for the arrival of Sheikh Abdullah’s delegation. I look up from my laptop momentarily. I hear that gold settees are being ensconced in the suites of the delegates; earlier I saw trolleys filled with intricate chocolate sculptures; a hotel trainee staff member whispers, Crores have been spent just for this two day visit…
There is a surreal disconnect between this world in Islamabad, a mere twenty minute helicopter ride away from that other world to which I now return in my mind’s eye—Badadi Village, Mansehra, where on Sunday, January 29, I visited a small spontaneous settlement with Drs. Nuzhat Ahmad and Iqbal Nayyar from Philadelphia who had set up a medical camp there. This community of fewer than 50 households, primarily from the Allai valley and Battgram, are eking out lives in ‘shelters’ that can hardly be called that—sloping roofs of thin-gauge corrugated metal sheets, many of which are exposed to the elements on two sides. Surely, tents would be better than these CGI sheets that lack the fortification of stones and wood and are bereft of insulation? A strong gust of wind and they’d collapse like a house of cards… But, it’s all a matter of access—I learn that before they received the corrugated metal sheets, this migrant community was living under the open sky for weeks.
Scores of children and women and men surrounded the little table around which the husband and wife doctor team set up their clinic. Relief and joy at the arrival of the doctors… But after three hours and well over a hundred patients later, with scores more crouched patiently in a queue, I sensed the doctors’ hopelessness, as they ran out of scabies medication but were confronted by more and more patients who stuck out their arms and pulled up shalwars to show the evidence of their sore, burning rashes. Cartons of antibiotics, cough syrup and pain medicine rapidly emptied out. The first of the jaundice cases was a young girl in a pink velvet shalwar kameez, then a lethargic infant whose belly had swelled, his complexion sallow, eyes the tell-tale yellow. Do something about his stomach, please, look at his stomach, his mother insisted, despite learning the diagnosis and being advised to go to the nearest hospital. There were several more jaundice cases but I lost count of them as I darted between the cartons and the table, replenishing medicine supplies.
A woman with a deformed foot insisted on being seen even though the doctors had specified they were equipped at this moment to treat only new infections and illnesses; an old man diligently went through the X-rays of his son’s head injury from a car accident months ago; another woman complained that for years she had been suffering from body aches… The doctors listened patiently, wrote out prescriptions or diagnoses for further referral if they couldn’t address the medical complaint there and then.
A little girl, supine in her father’s arms, was carried over to the charpai that had been set up in place of an examining table. An elderly man who’d been sitting there with his feet up, waiting to be examined, moved over to make space for her. She lay there listlessly, a dull expression in her eyes. In the palm of her right hand she clutched a silver karra—too big for her own wrist—with a tenacity that belied her semi-conscious demeanor. Her name was Gulnaz, she was four years old and she had fallen down and vomited, said her father, a short man with a long, wiry beard. Dr. Nayyar examined her, drew the father’s attention to a bump on her forehead that was turning blue. He told the father to observe the girl, to see if she vomited again, and to make sure she didn’t fall off to sleep or lose consciousness.
As I heard the patients’ medical complaints and cast an eye over their living arrangements, I felt a tug of hopelessness. How many more such communities existed, off the beaten path, invisible to the relief efforts that were still going on? There was some consolation in knowing that a comprehensive assessment of small spontaneous settlements in Mansehra had just taken place. In fact, just the day before, as part of that very assessment exercise with the Sungi and Oxfam team, I had witnessed people living in even more deplorable conditions. Ad hoc settlements like these have been invisible for the last three and a half months and unless they’ve had the fortune to have someone advocate for them, these communities have had to struggle especially hard to meet their most basic needs in the aftermath of the earthquake.
About forty minutes later, Dr. Nayyar looked up from a patient and asked if there’d been any news on Gulnaz’s condition. I went in search of the little girl and was shown to a semi-collapsed mud house, the only structure on this farmland, apart from another mud shelter that was being used for livestock. She was lying in the same listless fashion, on a charpai, holding on tightly to the silver karra, as if her life depended on it. I asked a woman who was standing by the bed if there’d been any change, if she’d vomited again. I’ve just come back to find her in this state. I don’t know anything, the woman said, walking out of the mud house. Where’s her mother? I asked another woman who was standing with her back pressed to the wall. That was her mother... I glanced at Gulnaz with a sinking feeling. Was anyone with this child when she fell? I said to no one in particular. She’s vomited a lot, said a small voice. Turning, I found a young boy, who couldn’t have been older than six. She fell from a bridge higher than this, he said, pointing at the doorway that was at least six and a half feet in height.
I was struck by the realization that here, in this rural environment, it is children who are responsible for other children, be it their siblings or cousins, for their parents are preoccupied with other duties and anxieties. It’s a thought that has grazed my mind, fleetingly, more than once, in the past weeks. But now, I looked at the young boy with admiration and gratitude. He was smart and aware and had possibly saved Gulnaz from further discomfort by revealing this information. I hurried back to the doctor with this new information on Gulnaz and silently hoped that this young boy was attending school (I had discovered that a disturbing number of children in this settlement were not).
But an hour later, as the medical camp wrapped up, Gulnaz’s parents had still not emerged with their injured daughter from the semi-collapsed mud house, even though they had been advised to take her immediately to a hospital…

Small Spontaneous Camps: "The Dilemma of Invisibility" Dated: January 28, 2006

I set out early from the Omar Asghar Khan Center for Development (OACD: Sungi’s training center and guesthouse) in Jinnahbad (Abbottabad) for Mansehra; the sky is overcast, threatening rain. I am on my way to meet Raees and Farah from the Sungi Mansehra office. They’ve been participating in the assessment of spontaneous camps of less than fifty tents, an IOM-led initiative that involves all the shelter cluster members. I’m glad that Sungi has decided to participate in this exercise, despite the initial reservation about the assessment continuing through Saturday and Sunday, as the office has recently started observing weekends. In the massive relief efforts underway, these small spontaneous camps have been neglected, relegated to near invisible status, as relief goods and services bypass them on their way to organized camps and larger settlements. It is time to rectify this situation…
The first destination is the town of Battal. The landscape seems familiar and after we pass an elaborate pagoda-style structure that turns out to be a hospital, I realize that this is the same route to Battgram. By the time we arrive at the Kandi-Gulmeran camp, it is pouring rain and the ground is so slushy that as we follow Babu Jan and Zaman Khan (leaders from the camp), it feels as though we are wading through a shallow sea of clay. Under a large, empty tent, the ground damp beneath us, we begin asking questions. Babu Jan and Zaman Khan perch on the edge of a small, rickety table, careful not to rest their entire weight on it. They have insisted that we sit on the only two chairs available. The ground is too sodden to sit on.
A small discussion ensues amongst the camp dwellers about the actual name of the camp. Kandi-Gulmeran, says one man. No, no, Gulmeran-Kandi, says another. And they go back and forth like this, arguing good-naturedly. It turns out the areas of Kandi and Gulmeran abut each other but the land on the Kandi side of the camp belongs to Gulmeran. The Kandi inhabitants have come from elsewhere, many from Allai. The land is ours but what are we going to do? Of course we will let them stay here now, says Babu Jan.
As the rain pelts down hard over the tent and the men’s breaths puff out before them in the frigid air, we learn, amongst other things, that all the children, even the girls are going to school here. IRC has been providing non-formal education. There are 16 motherless children in this camp. There are no female-headed households. Men run the households, Babu Jan says, then adds with a sly grin: But, actually, these days NGOs are running the households! When the question of camp security comes up, they tell us they don’t allow their women out at all. As we probe further, it becomes evident that there isn’t a security issue in this settlement but rather the custom of purdah that the men are adamant about adhering to. This is why they don’t let the women leave the tents, not even to pick up or drop their children to the nearby school. This is why they have left their jobs in Pindi, Lahore and Karachi so that they can accompany their women out of the tents when the need arises.
Although Kandi-Gulmeran has access to two sources of water—a well and a municipal water line—making it exceptionally fortunate, in this regard, as far as most camps are concerned, it is plagued by a lack of toilets. Women here do not relieve themselves during daylight hours, waiting until after dark to be accompanied to a field that is quite a distance away. Ironically, though there isn’t a water shortage at the camp, bathing is a challenge, due to the lack of a designated place. Washing, if they are able, once fortnightly, the women hold sheets around each other in the cold outdoors for privacy. It is understandable then why scabies and respiratory illnesses are rampant here.
When I step into a tent to speak to some women, at the invitation of one of the husbands, I find a clean but dark, dank space. I stand inside for bare moments before my eyes begin to sting and water—the gas burner is emanating more gas fumes than it is heat but the two women inside, and I, just keep wiping our eyes and continuing to talk as if nothing is the matter. On a cold, rainy day like this, turning off the malfunctioning burner isn’t an option, especially as one of the women inside is quite ill with a bad case of flu. The toilet situation, one of them confides, is the hardest. We can only go once a day. When I broach the topic of security, they say they feel very uneasy, especially when it comes to going out into the field to relieve themselves. But, otherwise, they spend most of their time inside their tents.
We walk around the camp, between tents that have been erected too close to each other, breaking fire safety rules. Just as we’re leaving, we are introduced to a representative from UNHCR who tells us that construction has recently begun on toilets and shower areas. In addition, kitchens are being built from corrugated metal sheets. There will be one for every tent, he promises…

Mohalla Colonel Yar Mohammed
A short walk away is the next spontaneous camp. Raees and I make our way there after introducing Drs. Nuzhat and Nayyar, who have just arrived in their own car, to Babu Jan. The doctors called early this morning to say they had planned to set up a medical camp in a village but because there was a death there, the village was now busy with funeral arrangements. Did we have any suggestions as to where they could be of service? I told them about the spontaneous camps in Battal and so here they are now, unloading cartons of medicine, and following Babu Jan through the slushy grounds to the empty tent to set up a clinic…
At Mohalla Colonel Yar Mohammed, chairs and a charpai are set up outside—Raees and I insist on sitting outside as our shoes and clothes are full of mud and we don’t want to carry the dirt into the living space of the tent. (While we are assessing the camps here, Farah and members of the Oxfam team have gone to assess another area. After these camps are completed, we will all reconvene and carry on to Ichrian together). The rain has subsided into a faint drizzle now and the cold air is invigorating. I look up from the questionnaire. The landscape is startlingly beautiful: snow-capped peaks stand regal in the near distance, clouds waft at low altitude, bump into and float through the lush rolling foothills of the mountain range. There is birdsong. How ironic: we are sitting in a living postcard but assessing the devastation wrought by an earthquake; so much misery breathes amongst this beauty...
270 people live in 35 tents in Mohalla Colonel Yar Mohammed. There are about 60 to 70 pre-primary school age children; about 65 primary school children; about 30 middle schoolers. There are 8 girls above the age of sixteen, and 12 boys. There are no vulnerables living alone. And the community doesn’t face security problems—because we are all local people from here, says the representative. While a few people have left the area, most have stayed back as they can’t afford city rents. The rents in Mansehra have doubled, he adds. There is, too, the question of livestock—even if they could afford to move, what would they do with their livestock? Anyway, the worst is behind us, he says. December and January are the coldest. The days when we had two feet of snow and were cleaning it off our tents have passed…
They received food rations on a single occasion from the army. And kuffun, says a man who has just joined the gathering. He looks around in amusement, Yes— the army gave us kuffun (white cloth used to wrap a dead body before burial) he repeats with a dry laugh. Although the Red Cross gave out tents here, not a single tent is waterproof. In another camp close by, we are told, three tents burned down when a wire short-circuited. They themselves use firewood to keep warm. There are no latrines here, this despite the fact that there’s no shortage of water, we learn. This must be the only place in Pakistan where there is a surplus water supply, a camp dweller laughs…

Bela
A man stopped by our gathering midway through the assessment of Mohalla Colonel Yar Mohammad. When there was a pause in the discussion, he requested that we visit Bela Mohalla, a tent settlement a little ways away, across the river, where he lives. Because the purpose of the assessment is just that--to identify spontaneous settlements that are out of the way, forgotten, or have been mistakenly bypassed during relief efforts, we decide to check it out.
Bela is situated right off the riverbed. Big oblong boulders and smaller stones populate the bed and for an inveterate city dweller like me, it is as if I am gazing at a prehistoric site, accidentally privy to an ancient tableau. To get there we have to pick our path carefully through wet, slippery mud concealed beneath a carpet of russet leaves. I’ve just prided myself on identifying the leaves as belonging to the maple family, when I look up and much to my dismay (which I try to conceal under the guise of casual bravado…) there is a very narrow plank of wood, like a gymnast’s beam, that links up to a bridge (an old wooden bridge with great big gashes where the wood has fallen away and no railings)—both have to be crossed to get to the other side of the river, to our destination. I have a terrible fear of heights and as I take ginger steps across the treacherous path, I am awash with vertigo, the sound and motion of the Sirin racing beneath me, only enhancing the dizziness… But still, even in this moment of panic, the natural beauty of my surroundings beguiles me. If I’m destined to fall into a freezing river, then what more beautiful place than this…
A bright yellow tent greets us as we approach the settlement of Bela—God is Love. Christian Fellowship of Pakistan proclaims the writing on it. We learn that this organization has been distributing food to Bela. But they come irregularly and they haven’t come in a while, said one of the community members. They give us 2kg of rice and 2 kg of daal in small shopping bags. No salt, no masala, nothing… Meanwhile, we are sitting under a large white tent, plush with floor mattresses and pillows. There is an air of cleanliness and newness about the interior that was completely lacking in the tent settlement of Kandi-Gulmeran, a mere ten-minute walk away. How variable the needs are between settlements…
There are about 50 tents here but no latrines (The system here is wherever it’s thrown, it’s thrown, someone says). Red Cross gave out plastic sheets nearby and whoever was lucky, procured some. The nearest health facility lacks a lady doctor. Scabies is the most common complaint and several men say they would like to learn more about this contagion and how to prevent it from spreading. When Raees asks if there are any female-headed households here, there is a pause, then someone says no. I wonder if the silence signifies something or whether it is incidental—could it be possible that there are female-headed households but it is a question of honour that prevents them from revealing the situation? Regardless, the answer is a definitive ‘No’ from the community.

Ichrian
The team is waiting for us when we return from our assessment of Bela. It is well past lunchtime, but there is a lot to get done still, so we keep driving, munching on a packet of biscuits that Mushtaq Lala (Sungi driver) has thoughtfully bought for us. Ichrian, I discover, is located along the drive back to Mansehra. We pull up along the side of a slushy field. There are several small settlements scattered about so we decide to separate again. This time, I am on my own! I feel a little anxious and a bit guilty at the same time about conducting the assessment (anxious, because I really haven’t been prepped about this and am here to observe and write about the assessment, not become a participant, and guilty because this is an IOM-led initiative that was preceded by an orientation and training workshop a few days ago which, of course, I was not part of..) Anyway, I suck in my breath and go with the flow…
If in Battal, the beauty of the surroundings offers even the slightest distraction from life’s hardships, in Ichrian the unremarkable landscape only serves to highlight the exigency of the situation. Against the virtually barren field, the makeshift ‘tents’ of plastic and cloth, balanced on reed-like sticks, make a pitiable sight. The handful of single ply tents that stand out from the other crude ‘tents’ are by far the best shelters in this settlement. The conditions of this community stand in stark contrast to the settlements we have visited prior to coming here. While those were lacking in various amenities, the inhabitants, nevertheless, had the basics—tents, access to water, a school, blankets…
The settlement of Ghulam Qadir Basti has a serious water shortage. The nearest well has dried up and the closest water source is a half hour walk away. This is only the start of their troubles. Apart from a Turkish organization that gave out 25 kg of flour per tent, no other organizations have actually serviced this community, even though several have actually come by. According to Ghulam Qadir, a leader of the community, the Red Cross came by but did nothing. Someone—they can’t remember the name of the organization—came about latrines but never returned. The army conducted a school survey but did nothing. Khidmet Foundation carried out an uneven distribution of flour on a single occasion.
A boisterous crowd gathers around to voice the community’s frustrations. The women are here, too, and I am heartened to see that they are quite vociferous and unabashed about articulating their needs. Zaibunissa Bibi represents the women and energetically challenges the men when a minor argument erupts about the ethnic configuration of the settlement. The men answer with unwavering confidence, to my question about languages spoken here—We’re all Pushto speaking. That’s it. No, retorts Zaibunissa, we speak Kohistani. It’s just that these people don’t understand it and haven’t made an effort to learn! Niaz Mohammed (whom I learn later is from another settlement but has, meanwhile, been trying to position himself as a figure of authority) mutters something that I don’t catch, in all the loud chatter about me, that sparks Zaibunissa’s fury. She rattles off something to him, leaning forward and pushing aside the women around her. Then she turns to me and says: He said to me where do you people send your children to school. What does he mean? After all, our children go to the same school as theirs. But you see how they talk….
I begin to feel a little uneasy as the men and women continue to interrupt each other, argue amongst themselves, and push closer in. Even though I’ve explained the purpose of my visit, what’s to stop them from thinking: here we go again, yet another organization that’s come empty-handed…. I have no idea where Raees and the others are, only that they are in the vicinity somewhere. I have a flashback to the week after October 8—the desperate mobs in Muzzafarabad, chasing down distribution trucks, starting fights…
Fortunately, the argument raging before me subsides. I request Barra Khan, an elderly community member who is sitting next to me, to maintain order, to ask them to speak one at a time and to please stop shoving and pushing. In response to this request, he yells at his community members and tells some of them to go home! I continue with the survey. The following are some of the facts I learn— there are a total of 210 people, living in 29 tents, in this settlement. There are 4 families who do not have shelter equivalent to a tent. A minimum of 15 tents is desperately needed, in addition to 120 blankets. Whatever sheets or blankets could be salvaged from the ruins of their homes is what they’re making do with at the moment. There are 6 women and 3 men above the age of 60. One of these women lives alone. There are 2 orphan brothers whose parents are both deceased and 7 children whose fathers are deceased.
There are more females than males across the age group—the group, again, becomes boisterous over this point but, at least, good-humouredly! There are three widows and two female-headed households. There are three mentally disabled children. There is absolutely no recourse to support for widows, orphans and the vulnerable in general. Although there haven’t been any security related concerns in the camp, the women are fearful of the possibility of robbery. Above all, they feel they are completely at the mercy of the physical environment—rain and snow, for instance—as they lack proper shelter.
The inhabitants have a hard time procuring food. A number of the men work as cobblers and street cart vendors. They make do but the needs of their families are great. There is absolutely no way of warming themselves against the cold. Diarrhea, nausea, respiratory illnesses, scabies and fever (especially amongst the children) are rampant. Latrines are desperately needed, they say, as the open ground where they relieve themselves is a ten-minute walk away.
The appreciation and gratitude of this community is humbling. You are the only one who has sat with us and asked in such detail about our problems. Please do something for us… And with those troubling words, I hurry back to the road, anxious to tell the Sungi Mansehra team that they must speak to Shazia immediately about this settlement. Were it not for the assessment exercise, Ghulam Qadir Basti would have remained invisible, the plight of its inhabitants ignored despite the massive relief effort under way…

"Meadowbrook School of Weston, Massachusetts" Dated: January 5, 2006

I (Humera Afridi) made a second visit to Ashiana, this time with the objective of initiating a correspondence between the children at Ashiana and the students at Meadowbrook School of Weston, Massachusetts, who had made felt dolls for child survivors so that they would have something of their very own to play with. A teacher from Meadowbrook School, Rashna Mehta, selected Sungi to distribute the dolls directly to child survivors. She donated 52 dolls; each doll came with a monetary gift of Rs. 100.

Thirty-six children at Ashiana participated with great enthusiasm, as well as impressive discipline and creativity, in this activity today. Two volunteers, Ahmad, 24, and Donna, 20, from the United States assisted in the activity. After we distributed the dolls, we handed out coloured card paper, lined paper, markers, colour pencils and stickers to the children. The idea was to put the children in touch with friends outside of their immediate environment, for them to know that they were in the thoughts of children their own age, in a far away country.

The first activity I had planned for the children was that they had to imagine a photograph that contained everything special or important in their lives. This photograph would tell their American friends, who had especially made the dolls for them, something about their lives and personalities. They then had to translate this imagined photograph into words on the lined paper they had just received. These words would serve as a self-introduction to go with the thank you cards they were making.

Of course, given the varying ages and literacy levels of the participants, I left the activity open in the sense that those who were able to—and wanted to—write a few words could do so, otherwise, they could just draw on the paper. It was disturbing to learn that quite a few of the children were illiterate and couldn’t write at all (I couldn’t help but think what a contrast the literacy levels of this group of NWFP children would be to a comparative group of similar children in AJK where literacy levels are remarkably high). Nevertheless, it was heartening to see how engaged they were with the activity, and how a couple of the children came up with very soulful lines, presenting insights well beyond their years.

Sitting on a charpai with a group of elderly women was a physically deformed and mentally retarded 16 year old girl who had come to Ashiana that morning with her grandmother. She did not have the coordination to draw but she held the pencil and rocked back and forth and seemed content to participate. Dr. Wasim told me that her grandmother was very concerned about her menstrual cycles as it was very difficult to look after her. She was, in fact, looking for a medical procedure that would stop the girl's menstrual cycle. I was struck by the urgent need for a health counsellor and gynaecologist in this instance---how necessary it was for the girl's family to be educated about her needs and to be informed about the kind of care they needed to ensure for her. Of course, I thought, too, about the fact that she'd had absolutely no special needs education nor had she any recourse to such...

I hope programs for women's workshops and children's enhancement will be on the planning agenda for Ashiana’s future and that these ideas can, indeed, become a viable reality. I would really like to participate in the evolution of Ashiana as a space where the needs of mind, body and spirit are addressed in the attempt to enhance the lives of earthquake survivors.

On January 4, 2006, I (Humera Afridi) accompanied Dr. Al Noor and his team to Johanniter Hospital, Chattar Plain. As we drove north, the foothills of the Himalayas were cloaked in snow. Everywhere you looked, the landscape was white, broken only by the brown trunks and green foliage of chir trees and the royal blue peaks of tents that had been winterized with plastic sheets.

We passed a CRS “shelter truck” and a board announcing a collaboration between Sungi and World Vision. When I asked about the sign, Naeem Lalla, the driver, said it had to do with an earlier disaster rehabilitation project. I made a mental note to ask about this project at the office. We passed a helipad and an army relief camp, lots of mud houses… I was struck by how clean the road was, how fastidiously it had been cleared of snow. Public transport vans passed us, marked with Chinese characters. I observed with interest, too, occasional clusters of blue tents also marked with white Chinese characters.

But as we neared our destination, traffic stalled. A truck, laden with goods, had veered off the road and got stuck in the snow. I disembarked and joined Al Noor’s team who were traveling separately in their own bus, organized by Sitara Travels. The road in Chattar Plain was slippery with ice and we minced our way on foot to Johanniter International Hospital, careful not to fall. Mian Khalid, from Sungi, bought hot roasted peanuts for us from a small roadside kiosk but in the icy air, they quickly turned cold!

The Johanniter Hospital was set up three weeks after the earthquake on land lent to them by WAPDA and is operated by teams of volunteer doctors from Germany. The Germans will fund this hospital project for one year but the objective is to involve the Ministry of Health. In fact, an ostensible understanding between Johanniter and the Ministry of Health already exists whereby the Ministry of Health is supposed to provide assistance (for example, the Ministry was supposed to provide a lab technician but haven’t fulfilled that agreement yet, thus the lab isn’t functioning at the moment…).

We entered the hospital through the waiting room, a caterpillar shaped tent, with separate benches for men and women. We entered the long corridor of the reception, which, in turn, opened up to several examination rooms and a lab, an air of cleanliness, in fact, of newness, replaced the dank mustiness we had just traversed. Dr. Al Noor was impressed by the facilities and grew visibly more excited with each passing moment as he peered into the rooms and surveyed the medical equipment.

We were introduced to Dr. Nassir Iqbal Khan who hails from Chattar Plain but has a private practice in Karachi. He had just arrived a few days prior to our visit, for a three month stint as a volunteer doctor, after having been contacted by several people in Chatthar Plain, who said there was a desperate need for a doctor who could speak the local languages and identify with the patients. Dr. Nassir said that were a great number of patients with upper respitory infections and that lack of proper shelter was the leading cause of this problem.

Emphasis was made by the staff for the need for good quality medications. The bulk of medicines at Johanniter were from Mansehra and they said there was no quality control over this stock. They said the facility could do with stocks of medicine donations from Islamabad. On a follow-up conversation yesterday, they said there were quite a few malaria cases now and, once again, emphasized the need for good quality medicines from Islamabad.

A young military doctor in his mid to late twenties, sporting a black Nike skull cap, was administering to a patient in another room. He told us that a doctor always accompanies a brigade but because the troops weren’t suffering from anything more than flu, he was free most of the time, and had, therefore, decided to volunteer his time at the Johanniter.

At all times I was struck by the aura of newness that pervaded the mobile unit, that sense of a place preserved from the rush of bodies and sickness. And this, I quickly learned, had to do with the fact that there was a shortage of doctors at the Johanniter as well as the fact the facility only offers first aid treatment, nothing more involved or complicated. Because they do not have anesthetics, the Johanniter does not perform surgical procedures. If such a case does arise, they send the patient to the Cuban hospital across the snow bank. However, they do not actually have a concrete agreement or understanding with the Cubans—it’s just that because the facility is a stone’s throw away, they send patients over opportunistically, without actually referrals, in the hope that they will be attended to over there. For instance, the young woman at the reception desk told me that just the day before a woman in labour had come to the Johanniter but, because it is merely a first aid facility, they sent her over to the Cuban hospital, though they were unsure if she’d get the attention she required there. Typically, the Johanniter refers patients who require more than mere first aid attention to the Christian Hospital in Abbotababad, DHQ in Mansehra, or to Battagram, or the American field Hospital in Shinkiari.

The Johanniter mobile unit is certainly impressive. Its portable units, built according to a Swedish model, come with their own heating and cooling systems, and are manufactured in Lahore (the contact person for these units is Wakas: 03008887120). These yellow and gray waterproof units, made of parachute material, are carefully designed, high-tech and of industrial strength. They can be configured in such a way that allows for interconnecting compartments, offices or wards. We were taken by Shahzad (a private school teacher by profession who now works at the Johanniter) to a storage warehouse that leads, through a flap door partition, to an office. The office was equipped with a Dawlance fridge, steel shelving units and spacious desks complete with plastic flowers and an ornate gold clock!

A separate tent unit contained the Johanniter’s laundry facilities-- washing machines and driers lined up one after another in neat parallel rows facing each other. Yet another unit housed the kitchen, equipped with industrial stoves and boasting six cooks. Across from the kitchen is the dining hall which, at the time of our visit, had collapsed under the weight of snow. Another tent, fragrant with the scent of lavender soap, housed stocks of hygiene kits and warm children’s coats. At the time of our visit, only 15 to 20 coats had been given out. Boxes of German mineral water occupied one corner of the tent. We were taken to another unit that had hospital beds squashed one next to the other: clean, pristine and seemingly unused. Yet another held children’s cots— also empty.

The daily fuel expenditure for the generator at Johanniter is Rs 10,000 (they said if WAPDA wanted to cooperate and fix the electricity they would, but haven’t done so yet. They also said that in the beginning WAPDA took Rs 2 lakhs for a transformer but when they didn’t deliver on that and were asked to return the money, kept Rs. 45,000!) The Ministry of Health is pressuring Johanniter to move from WAPDA land. But the Ministry itself has not fulfilled its end of the bargain. After having been invited to the opening and given an extensive tour of the facilities, and despite having taken note of the costs that have gone into the facility, WAPDA has not been forthcoming with providing medical assistance. It appears that WAPDA is likely to take over once the Germans leave.

Meanwhile, as a lay person who’d been given a tour of the facility, I couldn’t help but silently balk at the wastage—or what struck me as such. Here was a sophisticated, high-end set up with empty beds and an air of newness about it, sending people off to the Cuban hospital across the road! The Cuban hospital is doing admirable work and doing so under the most exigent circumstances! While they have paramedics they also have severe translation and language challenges as the majority of the staff don’t speak English. And here, by contrast, was a fancy setup with the most sophisticated gadgetry that couldn’t perform but the barest of first aid services!

The Cuban hospital wouldn’t allow us to have a tour of their facility as they were busy and overwhelmed with patients, they said. We learned that they, too, were on WAPDA land and that the Pakistan army was supporting them with fuel, labour and shelter.

Yesterday, I had another conversation with Dr. Nasir at Johanniter. He said the number of scabies patients was high (one person infected means another 10 will follow suit as there are an average of 7 to 10 people in a tent and scabes is very infectious). He said a lot of the patients are illiterate and have, out of ignorance, actually drunk calamine lotion instead of applying it topically. He would like stocks of Lotrix cream, instead, to circumvent the problem of people taking calamine lotion orally. On average, of the 250 patients that visit Johanniter daily, 40% are scabes cases, he said. He also requested medicines that would alleviate joint pain as the cold weather was creating this problem as well. Lately, those with broken limbs are coming to them for painkillers and for x-rays to check on the alignment of their settings. Finally, he said, chest infections, flu and pneumonia cases were also high.