【Sunday Herald】Why is no one helping us? Where is the outcry?

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Why is no one helping us? Where is the outcry?
http://www.sundayherald.com/news/heraldnews/display.var.2508615.0.why_is_no_one_helping_us_where_is_the_outcry.php
By Scottish aid worker Habib Malik

DAY ONE - Arrival Islamabad Monday May 11  I have been to many disaster zones with Islamic Relief, including civil-war-struck Darfur and the utter destruction of Aceh in Indonesia, which took a pounding from the 2004 Boxing Day tsunami. But I knew this would be one of the most difficult and emotional trips I have ever made.

I was born in 1966 in Islamabad and lived there with my family until the age of 14, after which we moved to the UK. I go back to Pakistan regularly as I have family there, and have visited the North-West Frontier Province on many occasions. Before the current conflict, the Swat Valley was famous for its natural beauty. People flocked from all continents to see its crystal-clear lakes and snowy mountainous terrain. It is also rich in historic and religious sites. It is difficult to picture it in ruins amid the crossfire between Taliban and government forces as the country is torn apart in a struggle for supremacy.

Islamabad is about 40 miles from the conflict zone and the sense of fear is palpable. Islamic Relief is here to spend time in the refugee camps in Buner and Swabi, and to assess what basic essentials are needed and how we should focus our emergency appeal. The numbers are staggering, with more than 800,000 expected to become displaced, adding to the 500,000 who have already fled their homes since August.  Day two - Swabi Tuesday May 12  TODAY we visit the Tara Kai camp in Swabi. It's on the site of a school, but none of the 500 children who study here are in lessons. Their classrooms have been taken over by those forced from their homes. People have made their way to this camp, and many others like it, any way they can. The lucky ones have come by truck or cart, the unlucky on foot. The majority are women and children.
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Most of the women I speak to talk of walking for many days over the mountains with little food or water. The majority have no possessions except the clothes they are wearing. A few do not even have any shoes. One 10-year-old boy is alone: he became separated from his family in the chaos of the shelling as everyone fled his village, and he has not seen them since. His story is not unique.

At the entrance to the camps I see many people, mostly the very young and the very old, gathered and begging the security guards for information. They want to know if their loved ones have turned up in the camp or if anyone has seen them. It is heartbreaking to see the despair on people's faces when they are told there is no news today.
Latest estimates put the number of people expected to become displaced at up to 1.3 million. All the way from Buner to Swabi, local people have set out stalls with food, juice and water, and are handing supplies to those on the move. These small gestures are greatly appreciated. This region is poor and the people who live here are struggling with the influx, but the community is pulling together and all want to do what they can to help.

The temperature is well over 30 degrees and will continue to rise, making conditions in the camps desperate. I can spend only a few minutes in one of the tents before I find it unbearable; I cannot imagine what it must be like to live here day after day. But these people consider themselves lucky to have any shelter whatsoever.

As people continue to arrive in wave after wave, it is clear there is a serious shortage of tents. This will only get worse. There are shortages of food as well, and there are horrendously long queues of men who have been lining up for hours, since after morning prayers at 4am, for rations of food. All of them look defeated and desperate - a stark contrast to their usual appearance, as men from the province are known for their strong and tough exterior. People I speak to feel they no longer have any future, as they have lost everything they have worked so hard for in their lives.

Clean water is in short supply and many children are already suffering from diarrhoea. As the number of displaced people in these camps continues to swell, the threat from waterborne diseases will also increase.

Children back home in the Scotland, my own included, can't wait for the next round of school holidays. Here the situation is different. The children at the camps are desperate to go back to school - maybe it offers some sort of routine, stability and security - but, as things stand, that is simply not possible. They want to lead a normal life, to play and to dream about becoming doctors and teachers. But nothing is normal at the moment and this is adding to the trauma.

At Tara Kai I meet Mohammed and his daughter, who was born in the camp just two days ago. She has become something of a celebrity and everyone calls her Aman, meaning peace. They see her birth as a sign of hope and a better future. All they want is to return home; to return to peace.

I want to speak to more of the women about their experiences, and come across Noor Bibi, who is 35 and has two daughters and five sons. She vividly describes the moment helicopter gunships flew to her village as the army and Taliban fought for control. In the short time she had to escape the crashing thunder of artillery fire raining down on her neighbourhood, her main concern was to gather her family and run. She lost her nine-year-old daughter and her husband as she tried her best to shepherd her remaining children, including her one-year-old son, to safety.

She describes walking for hours and hours, and her feet still carry the marks of her demanding journey for all to see. She was hit by shrapnel from a shell fired by the security forces. The injury was severe and started to bleed badly, but there was no way she could get medical treatment at the time.

Luckily, someone took pity on this woman looking after six children while clearly in pain, and brought them to this camp. Her husband eventually found the family, but their daughter is still missing.

She is angry and confused as well as upset. Noor Bibi - and, you get the feeling, many more like her - does not know where all the firing and shelling is coming from. They do not understand the conflict and have little idea what it is about. All they want is to be back in their homes.

The day has been physically and emotionally draining, but tomorrow there is the other side of Swabi to assess.  Day three - Swabi Wednesday May 13  SWABI district, where most of the refugee camps are scattered, is a vast area within the North-West Frontier. It is almost 10 times the size of Glasgow, but much of it is completely uninhabitable. This presents a huge problem, as the tide of displaced people seems never-ending.

Islamic Relief has been working in this area since last August, when fighting began between Taliban forces and the army, so we are instantly recognisable to most people in the area. The reaction to our presence is usually very positive, with those in need quick to tell us the stories of their hardship; however, I can also sense a tone of disappointment, if not anger, from some of the refugees. They keep asking me the same questions: "Why are there not more UK NGOs non-governmental organisations here to help us when so many of our brothers and sisters live in the United Kingdom? Why are they not helping us? Where is the outcry?"

There is clearly a sense of abandonment. They have already given up on their government and the Taliban providing them with any assistance, but are dismayed at the lack of external attention to their plight. I assure them that more aid agencies and other world governments will start to provide assistance. I hope I am right.

People often assume that aid work simply involves putting up shelters, handing out blankets and distributing food. However, aid agencies are well aware that taking care of people's mental wellbeing is just as important. Many of the children I am meeting are clearly suffering the effects of trauma, and it is not uncommon to see them cower and cry when a helicopter passes overhead.

One such child is Kamil Bakhsher, who is 13. One minute he was outside in his village with his friends; the next he heard helicopters open fire. He could not find his parents, so he ran towards his uncle's house. Finding similar panic and chaos there, he did what everybody else was doing: he kept running. He tells me he had no idea where he was going but followed the crowd. Another family took him in their vehicle to Swabi.

Since his arrival at the camp he has been staying with neighbours from his village, but he has not located any of his family. He is still full of hope and believes they are alive. It is a tragedy to see this 13-year-old having to manage on his own in a situation where many adults would struggle to cope.

FROM my extensive travels on almost every continent with Islamic Relief, one thing that always sticks out is that children are children no matter where in the world they live, and children need to play. Most of the children here complain of nothing to do: they want room to play cricket or run around with others, but even this is denied them in the overcrowded camp.

Many of the children speak incoherently, clearly still in shock at the scenes of devastation etched in their minds. Most tell me how they can't sleep as they have nightmares about helicopter gunships; many are not eating properly, which is especially worrying given the prevalence of diarrhoea, the second biggest cause of infant mortality in the world, due to the poor sanitation.

Therapy is vital, but it should not just be for the women and children. Many men I have spoken to have given up hope of a normal life: they do not know how they will cope now their businesses, homes and possessions have been destroyed. Local NGOs are now struggling with the amount of people continuing to flow into the camps. I have seen people forced to sleep without any shelter as there are simply not enough tents to go round.

The day comes to an end, and night swallows up the camp. There is an eerie silence. This is unusual as Pakistanis, like us Scots, are known for their sociable natures and love to talk. I have seen enough here to know that aid is urgently needed. These people need hygiene kits, clothes, water-supply instruments, tents, blankets, mosquito nets and much more. While contemplating this I am disturbed by my phone, carrying the news that Islamic Relief UK has just launched a £5m emergency appeal for the displaced people of Swat. I am thankful for at least one piece of good news during the day.  ***
Habib Malik is a British aid worker and head of Islamic Relief Scotland. He is currently in Pakistan's troubled North West Frontier Province and here reports for the Sunday Herald from the teeming refugee camps in the Swat Valley where hundreds of thousands of those displaced by the fighting are now seeking a safe haven.