Internally Displaced in Swabi

July 21, 2009

Nasrin, a mother of three and a sewing teacher at the Camp, had walked from Mangora with her family. She thought she had lost her son, Zarak, a four-year-old with Bambi-eyes, huge dimples, cheeks burnt pink and short dark hair cut bluntly across his forehead. She found him again amongst the stream of people relentlessly flowing in the same direction. When Nasrin left her home in Mangora, she didn’t know where her mother and sister, Rozina, were. They’d find one another 25 days later at this very camp.

The Shah Mansoor Camp for the Internally Displaced Persons (IDPs) in Swabi is set up and run by the Pakistan Red Crescent Society (PRCS) in collaboration with the International Red Cross. 2,400 tents, housed 15,211 people. That's fifteen thousand, two hundred and eleven; 12,211 more than it was intended for. It’s not just a number.

The IDPs aren’t technically refugees because they haven’t crossed a geographical border but that technicality does not render their plight any less severe. These people walked about 30 miles over mountainous terrain, some without shoes, to live in these non-refugee camps. They left their homes with no more than the clothes on their backs, which could be a problem in itself when you’re sitting in 119 degree weather when you're used to (and dressed for) a maximum of 50.

Residents of Mangora and other villages in the region were caught between the cross-fire of the army and the Taliban. Since the Pakistani Government had allowed the Taliban to impose the Shariah (literally “the way,” used to define Islamic Law) in the North West Frontier Province (NWFP) of Pakistan, the Taliban became “power hungry,” as women in the camp described it. “They want to spread their Shariah to Islamabad and the army wants them out. We’re the ones that get caught in their exchange,” explained Sultana, another resident of the Camp and mother of nine, her ninth born at the Camp. When the mosques sounded an unfamiliar announcement calling for evacuation, people left behind their lives, their homes, trinkets and heirlooms. As they trekked to these camps, there were people handing out water, like in a marathon, and others offering rides in their cars and mini-vans. Most had now been living, families consisting of up to 12 members, in one tent with one fan, one mattress and a water-cooler, for two months.

Thankfully, these camps are equipped with a surprising variation of amenities. There are mosques, schools, medical facilities, community centers, water filtration plants, psycho-social support teams, coordinated activities for children, vocational training camps and community kitchens, among other things. Still, when they have to sleep head to toe, at least six to a 9 foot tent, they said they’d rather die with dignity in their homes than wither like a stray leaf in the heat.

Many are extremely grateful to the Government for all that they had provided them. The land on which these camps are situated and the electric and water supplies are all donated by the Government of NWFP; everything else is arranged by the PRCS through private donations collected from within Pakistan. During the day, men sit around their community centers while women teach, learn and cook. The camps used to provide cooked meals up until a week ago. A week ago announcements were made for certain areas that were cleared for return. That’s also when the electric and water supplies started to dwindle. Funny how that worked out. Buner was the first place to be declared safe for return. It was declared unsafe to hold local elections on the same day. I guess it’s just not politically safe yet.

Nasrin and Rozina left the Camp on the 19^th of July, with their families, to return to the remnants of their home in Mangora. Two days later news came that Mangora was in fact not safe for return (oops) and that people were stranded on some bridge, between the camp and Mangora village. Their phone is unreachable.

The headlines of the news each day celebrate how many IDPs have returned home. One wonders if they will actually reach there or last there. And those that do in fact get to go home, would their houses be there. How they’ll rebuild their lives? Is it even safe to be there?

What a tale they’ll have to tell their grandchildren, “I was born in a tent, in the middle of a desert, surrounded by 15,211 people. I felt loved.”