Every day several Pakistani helicopters leave the local airbase to drop food in Sindh, the region worst affected by the floods, writes MARY FITZGERALDin Sindh province
IT HAD been two days since Iman Ali and his family last ate, and more than a week since the water crept silently around their small farmstead deep in the heart of rural Sindh, destroying everything in its wake.
Before the army helicopter arrived to evacuate them yesterday, Iman Ali and his family were close to giving up. Iman Ali’s gaunt face had been burnt blackish-brown from days without shade or shelter. His wife Samina was wan and sickly but she fussed over their three children – Asma, 7; Saira, 3; and little Yaseen who was just a year old. When Iman Ali passed a bottle of water to the children once all were onboard the helicopter, they drank in gulps as if their lives depended on it. There were no smiles, just bewildered faces and bodies heavy with exhaustion. The family of five huddled together as if not quite sure yet that they were out of danger. All they were looking for, Iman Ali said, was safe shelter.
When the helicopter landed for the second time some distance away, it was to sweep up the old, the infirm, and those who could no longer bear temperatures of about 40 degrees without water or adequate food. Left behind were those who refused to leave, preferring instead to stay close to what was left of their homes to protect what they could from bandits.
Those who opted to be evacuated included parents with barefoot children, some of whom displayed the tell-tale signs of eye infection, and a frail septuagenarian woman who had to be helped up into the belly of the helicopter. As it flew off, one man, dressed in a red football shirt, was distraught. He pressed his face against the window, looking down as his village became smaller and smaller until he could see it no more. Then he buried his head in his hands, his body convulsing with sobs as he wept for all that was lost.
Every day several Pakistani army helicopters leave the airbase at Sukkur, one of the main towns in Sindh, to drop aid or airlift flood victims in what the Pakistani government now says is the worst-affected region in the entire country. Millions have been displaced in Sindh in recent weeks. And while in other flood-ravaged parts of the country the waters have begun to recede, here the risk of further flooding remains. Saleh Farooqui, director general of Sindh’s disaster management authority, said yesterday that in the previous 24 hours, floods had hit at least four districts, including urban areas, forcing about 200,000 people to flee for higher ground.
The helicopter I flew in was an Afghan National Army (ANA) helicopter manned by Pakistani and Afghan troops. More than 20 members of the ANA have been deployed to Sukkur to assist with flood relief efforts. The ANA has also provided four helicopters. When we leave Sukkur, the helicopter is crammed to the roof with boxes of fortified biscuits from the World Food Programme.
The floods, which began in late July in the northwest of the country after exceptionally heavy monsoon rains, came to Sindh last after swamping huge tracts of the central province of Punjab. By then, the Indus, the river that gives Sindh its name, was so bloated it was capable of wreaking damage on a scale never witnessed before in Pakistan’s southern belt.
Much of Sindh is now under water – how much becomes apparent when seen from the air. What was once a patchwork of lush agricultural land punctuated by tiny villages, farmhouses and mosques now looks like a vast sheet of water that stretches far into the horizon. When I flew into Sukkur with PIA, Pakistan’s national carrier, on Friday evening, there were gasps as passengers glanced below them. “Apocalyptic,” said one woman. Others wiped tears from their eyes. Even the pilot sounded as if he could not believe his eyes. “It looks like an ocean,” he said. “There is just so much water.” As the army helicopter swooped over miles upon miles of submerged farmland yesterday, the floodwaters gradually changed colour – from muddy brown to pea green and murky dark grey to bluish-black. Marooned houses and mosques looked like they were floating on the glassy surface. As the sun began to dip in the sky, it made the flooded landscape look like a shimmering sea.
From time to time there were hints of what lay beneath – the outline of a field or two; rows of crops; what looked like a railway line. On closer inspection, many of the tiny “islands” on which the stranded languished were actually small stretches of road built on higher ground.
When the helicopter approached, men and women waved frantically or held out their arms as if pleading to be taken away. The few cattle, buffalo and goats that had survived scurried from the whirring rotors but children raced towards the clouds of dust in anticipation of more food fallen from the sky.
The boxes of biscuits tumbled down – some landed on the ground, others splashed in the floodwaters where children dived in to fish them out.
On some of the “islands” the only shade was often that provided by a lone tree or donkey cart or upturned charpoy, the traditional rope and wood bed found in rural Pakistan. No food, no water, no shelter, and nowhere to escape amid the watery vista that surrounds them – how can anyone ignore the flood victims of Sindh or argue that their plight is somehow less deserving of international aid?