Sharing tents, aftershocks & landslides in a divided village

Aftershocks always begin with a soft boom that reminds me of distant artillery fire. Then the earth begins to shake, or it used to. Lately, the tremors have been so intense the ground vibrates.

We marvel that the shocks come mostly at night. There were about ten of them last night. There are one or two in the morning, then the days are mostly quiet.

The shocks are not without effect.

We awoke this morning to the news there was a landslide on the road ahead of us and another behind. No getting about for a while. A good time to wash our socks. Grooming usually suffers in a disaster.

We awoke this morning to the news there was a landslide on the road ahead of us and another behind More important, it cuts off critical supplies and it wears down the people who lived through the initial earthquake. Banda looks like a war zone, rubble heaped upon ruins. Its 125 residents are shell-shocked. Set this within the cruel context of the feudalism of the North West Frontier Province and the results are often ugly.

If Banda was ever a community in the true sense of the word it definitely isn’t right now. No one has shelter and the prospect of a tent nearly induced panic.

Wide-eyed villagers elbowed themselves to the front of the crowd to make their cases. The most fearful looked to be the poorest. But everyone was yelling and the result was cacophony.

Banda looks like a war zone, rubble heaped upon ruins. Its 125 residents are shell-shocked We had come with too few tents so we canceled the distribution and left to get more. We returned as the sun disappeared and the aftershock struck. Rocks crashed down slopes, a few bits and pieces fell off a ruined house and we started handing out tents off the back of our truck.

Pakistanis in these remote mountains speak about what caste they belong to, a term associated with Hinduism not Islam, which predominates here. We heard the word a few minutes after leaving Banda when a crowd of desperate looking men pleaded with their eyes and hands for us to stop. They are also part of Lower Banda but of another caste, they said.

In our work, we ask ourselves what good might come out of a disaster “The people of Upper Banda do not share with us,” a man said. Behind him women and children huddled under plastic. Old men watched us with expressions I can only describe as cowed.

In our work, we ask ourselves what good might come out of a disaster. Three hundred years ago my relatives were Serfs in Feudal Germany. Maybe with the infusion of earthquake aid will also come new ideas that will accelerate the disintegration of Feudalism in this remote district and put some hope in those bowed eyes.

-Ends-