Zahid is only four years old. Coughing and a high fever exhausted him so much that he is sleeping, laid out on the wet, muddy floor. © CARE / Thomas SchwarzWhen we started early this morning from Islamabad, I didn't exactly know what would be awaiting me in the region of Mardan.
We drove the motorway No. 1, direction Northwest. Everything seems to be okay at first – at least it looks like it’s okay. No flooding, not even rain, no water – until, after about 50 km, we saw the Indus River. Aggressive, powerful, somehow threatening. It has broadened itself to the double size of it origin. We cross it, over a long bridge, and all of a sudden it disappeared, as if it were trying to hide from us. Suddenly the fog makes it invisible. But there it is, the monster, which has claimed lives and stolen everything from millions of flood victims. And, as always, it was taken from the poorest and most vulnerable.
The water has stolen everything
After fields of tents in we strop near Nawan Kili and I meet Nambarj. She's 65 years old and a widow. “Watch here, this house. It simply disappeared,” she says. “It is simply not there anymore.” CARE has provided her with a tent. When the flood came, the water jumped more than two metres above the wall of the courtyard. What is left? “Look there,” she says. She shows the old kitchen, where she used to have all her kitchen utensils. “There, this is everything I have now. Two small machines. Everything else the water has stolen from me.”
Terrible pictures, unbelievable poverty
CARE promises the woman to bring her kitchen utensils within a few days. When one has lost everything, even small things can make a really big difference. By the way: here also CARE is cooperating with local partners. Imran Inan of the CRDO (Community Research and Development Organisation) is a person who deserves my deepest respect. His patience and humble work is really something I admire. CRDO is one of several partner organisations of CARE in Pakistan.
I have an idea about poverty. I have seen it in many different countries; it is a reality. What I have seen now, though, leaves me stunned. Not only the situation of the widow, but also the one of the old man, who tells us simply: “I don’t even have shoes anymore.” He lives with his children and grandchildren in a tent next to his son’s house, which is still standing. Imran is listening carefully. “He will get them tomorrow,” he says. “We just received shoes. He will get them tomorrow. Promised.” The people in the north-western part of Pakistan are poor, even poorer than many in other parts of Pakistan.
Is there Zahid in rich countries, too?
But the situation of this small boy, who is laying on the wet, muddy floor of this small, simple house that survived the floods, shocks me. We were just about to go to the next meeting when someone stopped us. “Please, come to my house, please!” Zahid is only four years old. Coughing and a high fever exhausted him so much that he is sleeping, laid out on the wet, muddy floor. His chest is only slowly going up and down. It is 3:30 in the afternoon. The mother cries, when she sees not only me, but also the others coming to her house. It is empty, besides the fact, that Zahid is laying on the floor.
The mother does not have enough money for the transportation to the next hospital. Not to mention any money for the medication he needs, urgently needs. Someone gives her some money, at least for the transport. “Do you know, Thomas,” my CARE colleague Mujahid says, “there are many cases like this one in this region.” He adds: “We will find a solution.”
I find it profoundly shaming, how we – the rich countries – are coping with one of the biggest natural disasters in decades. At the same time I try not to become unjust. Also in our countries are poor people, of course. There is poverty, yes. But I wonder, if there is Zahid in the UK, the Netherlands, France or Germany, too. I am not sure.
By Thomas Schwarz
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