A convoy of cars, their roof racks piled high with boxes and bags, inches along the hairpin bends of the mountain road, passing men on foot bent double under the weight of sacks of belongings. As they near their destination, passengers point at piles of rubble where their homes stood before the Pakistani earthquake ripped them apart six months ago and contemplate the huge task of rebuilding their lives that lies ahead.
They are among tens of thousands who fled to the safety of refugee settlements and are returning to their villages, many reluctantly, after a government decision to close the camps this weekend.
The closure could not have come at a worse time for Jamela, who has six children. She was nine months pregnant when she was told of a truck going back to her village of Kerry Saddat, 1 800m up in the remote Siran Valley, and that she and her family would have to leave. She liked the camp — it provided them with shelter, food, a school and hospital. She knew she was going back to nothing.
Three days after returning, Jamela (35) gave birth to her daughter Tabasum in a tent in front of a pile of bricks and broken timber once their home. Cuddling her baby, she pointed to the timber frame of their new house being built by her husband, Inayat Ali Shah. Work had stopped because he had run out of materials.
”We were far more comfortable in the camp,” she said. ”Everything was there. My husband and son had typhoid when we arrived and they were treated. Everything was destroyed here and it was coming up to winter so the army sent us away.
”The tremors that have come since the earthquake are much more frightening up here. I made a lot of friends from other areas and I miss them. We said we would visit each other, but it’s hard. I can’t write, so it’s difficult to stay in touch. It is very empty here. We lost many relatives and neighbours. All of the 35 houses collapsed.” At the mention of the earthquake, her 12-year-old daughter Wahida’s face crumples, her body racked with sobs.
Resistance
There has been much resistance among inhabitants to the closure of the 148 camps six months after the October 8 quake, which killed 75 000 people and made millions more homeless. The sites were managed by the army and some of the soldiers cried as they broke the news of the closure. The government argues it is necessary to prevent people becoming so dependent on handouts that the camps will never shut. Many of the aid agencies in the relief effort agree.
The region’s mayor, Sardar Muhammad Yousaf, said: ”People must go back to begin rehabilitation. This is the right time of year to start rebuilding and replanting crops. The monsoon rain comes in July and then the winter sets in. It is a short window of time. We don’t want people to get used to living in camps. The district [government] cannot bear the burden in the long run.”
It is an argument Jamela concedes. ”I’d rather have stayed, but I know we couldn’t live there forever. If we hadn’t left now, we’d have had to stay for another year. It is difficult, because we have to start again from nothing — even our one goat ran off during the earthquake.”
One camp will remain open to take care of the vulnerable: the wounded, widowed and those who have nowhere to go because they lost land in landslides.
A study by an international group of seismologists of Balakot, a town near the centre that was levelled by the violent jolting, threw up some worrying results. It showed the ground beneath the town was more porous than previously thought and predicted another tremor could cause the land to be swallowed. The mayor said no one would be allowed to live within a 10km radius of the town, and a second camp would be kept open while refugees from Balakot are found alternative places to live.
Compensation is being given to all those affected by the earthquake: each family initially received 25 000 rupees and now 150 000 rupees is being given to everyone who lost a house. Food is being distributed to villagers until the crops are harvested, and charities are working with the government to provide schooling, health care and counselling.
Closing camps
Mia Haglund Heelas, the Pakistan director of the children’s charity Plan International, said: ”It is unique to close camps so quickly after a major disaster. Some people remain in them for 20 or more years in some countries. A conscious effort is being made to avoid that, and it is the best solution for people to go back and rebuild their lives, if they can.”
Many of those packing up their tents and few possessions at Daryal camp, near the small town of Shinkiari at the foot of the mountains, were worried about returning. Their nerves are also frayed by the frequent aftershocks.
Sabiha Sadiq (35) said: ”I’ve got eight children to look after, my husband crippled his leg in the earthquake and now he can’t work. Our house was destroyed and we won’t get any compensation because we were renting it. I don’t know what will happen to us once the camp closes. We are very scared.
”We don’t want to go back to where we were, because there is nothing there for us and the ground is cracked. The children are scared when the tremors happen, and I think it is worse in the mountain because they cause landslides. One little boy was screaming last week because he had been stuck in the rubble for hours. We feel safer here.”
Education
As she spoke, singing could be heard from the tent school and Sabiha said proudly that her 12-year-old daughter Nazia was top of the class. Many of the children and parents say it is the school they will miss most. For some, especially girls, it is their first time at school.
Abid (12) and Asama (10) had never been to school. Their mother, Zojan, said: ”There is no tradition of going to school in our family. There is no school in our village. I never went, nor did my husband. When my neighbours on this row of tents talked about school, I was not sure. My children were afraid, but they spoke to other children who liked it. Now they insist on going when they’re ill. I want Abid to be a doctor and Asama a teacher.”
Aneela Swati (12) is upset the camp school is closing. ”The teachers beat us in my old school, they don’t in the camp,” she said. ”We learn poetry and drawing, and sing songs. It is far better teaching.”
Plan International is setting up temporary tent classrooms in the hillside villages in the Siran Valley while working on plans to rebuild 40 primary schools. More than 2 400 of the 2 570 schools collapsed across the region during the earthquake, crushing thousands of children at their desks. The charity also wants to set up new secondary schools for girls.
Tassadaq Hussain Shah, its rehabilitation adviser, said: ”This is a very conservative area and few girls go to secondary school. Parents are afraid they will be abused if they have to walk a long way to school, and that will bring shame on the family.
”They want to marry them off and they often start having children at a very young age. We want to set up small schools for girls within the communities so they do not have to walk far.
”The earthquake has changed people’s lives. In the camps they have met new people and seen different ways of doing things. The need for education has also been seen, not least because those who are illiterate have found it difficult to get compensation because they couldn’t complete the form.”
The government slogan for the rehabilitation phase is ”Rebuild better”. The Earthquake Rehabilitation and Reconstruction Authority is advising people how to build quake-resistant houses and buildings, there will soon be more schools, and millions of rupees are earmarked for improved health facilities.
Farooq Shah (22) and his wife, Ruqiyya (18), who married a month ago in the camp, are keen to be part of the better future. ”Things are difficult now,” said Farooq. ”My compensation has not come yet, I don’t own any land and I’m an unskilled labourer. I don’t know yet where we will go when we leave here, but things will get better for us. We will work hard to build a home and a future for our children.” — Guardian Unlimited Â