DOLLY’S DREAMS

Winding our way through the tree lined avenues of Gulshan, we got out into the main thoroughfares of Dhaka the teaming mega-city capital of Bangladesh with a population of about 12 million people. We soon realized the bubble that Gulshan was – though not entirely unaware of it, it still is an overwhelming sense when you step out to other parts of Dhaka. To say that there was traffic congestion would be a huge understatement. You could shake hands quite easily with those in a vehicle alongside you – you could even feed that person, hug him or her, adjust his neck tie….just about anything. Inches separated vehicles from each other and for what seemed to be a very long time, one was just stuck on some of those roads. You could actually have full conversations with your co-travellers on that road even if you are in different vehicles. But it was also an indication of the sense of enterprise and dynamism of this amazing city – just about anybody was busy doing something in myriad chores, activities and enterprises. And we were soon to witness one such initiative. Though it was January (2010), there wasn’t any nippiness in the air – it was warm and humid.

We were dropped off the main road, opposite the imposing head quarters of BRAC, Bangladesh’s pride and one of the pioneers of micro finance, which had since then diversified into several other businesses including telecommunications. The plush buildings of upmarket Gulshan were still visible. But right across was a turbid water body, a lake, the stench from which soon filled our nostrils. And across the lake was a teeming slum, or an ‘informal settlement’, to use an euphemism. Small boats ferried visitors and dwellers to Korail, home to about 1 million inhabitants of this informal settlement. We got into one of the boats, rather gingerly, wondering about the safety of these and our sanity in agreeing to be ferried across this short distance. We looked down at the water – it was thick and dark in colour. It needed no imagination or explanation for us to realize that this was pretty much an open sewer that brought in the waste from this entire settlement. No wonder the stench was so overpowering. Soon enough, we could feel it at the bottom of our tongues, deep in our lungs – fumes, yes, it was more like fumes. Undaunted though, the chaps ferrying us went about with their business, turning around for yet one of the several hundreds of trips they must be doing, each day, for all days in a year, oblivious to that stench. In the evening, they would retire to their little hovels in this very settlement. This was the main source of their livelihood and they could not possibly be bothered with trivialities such as an assault to their olfactory sensitivities !!!

We started walking around the narrow lanes of settlement, so narrow that only one person could walk through at most times. It was easy to peep into the huts as we walked past. Most of them were temporary constructions of wood, tiles, tin sheets, gunny bags, cardboard – just about anything that could pass as potential building material. The huts were clean though, just about 100 square feet each at most, which probably was home to 4 – 8 people. That space served as living room by day and bed room by night, with the kitchen being one of the corners. Many houses had brightly decorated walls – cuttings from bill boards, advertisements, local cricketing heroes, film stars, including some Bollywood celebrities. Everyone appeared busy – cooking, cleaning, selling, making toys, handicrafts. No one was idle – no one could afford to be idle. The city was merciless and would not tolerate anyone idling away their time – every penny was precious, every taka had to be earned the hard way. It was survival of the fittest !

Soon, we came to what looked like a small shop. A group of teenage girls greeted us. Dressed very neatly in colourful clothes with their hair neatly tied with bright ribbons, there was an air of business about them. “Good afternoon and welcome to our neighbourhood”, a smart looking girl, probably not more than 14 or 15 said chirpily. “I am Dolly and I am the leader of our association”.

As we made enough space for us to stand and listen to her, she narrated their story. WaterAid had been supporting a local organization, DSK, to work with the community on addressing water and sanitation issues. This involved working with the Dhaka utility to supply water for which the local community would pay a charge. This was a huge victory in itself as an informal settlement was now getting legal water connections after almost a decade of DSK and the local community lobbying for it. They had also constructed community latrines so that people had no longer to use their ‘hanging latrines’ (which basically was a platform made with bamboo and covered with gunny bags for privacy which people used as latrines, the waste from which was disposed directly into the lake water below – and that explained the stench) – and this was catering to a section of the 1 million population. But hygiene was equally important. Hand washing with soap before eating and after going to the latrine was key.

However, the girls raised the issue of menstrual hygiene, they said. They had no facilities to keep themselves clean when they had their monthly periods. They lacked privacy, they didn’t have access to sanitary pads – and that meant that unhygienic practices were very prevalent among the girls and women and they suffered the constant indignity of having to live with this biological phenomenon. The women had lived with this for long, but the girls wanted things to be different.

This had led to discussion on menstrual hygiene practices and facilities. The silence had to be broken – and who else to take the lead but the adolescent girls themselves, who, uninhibited and assertive, wanted this to be addressed. Dolly was one of their spokespersons who led the process of change. Over a period of time, they set up these facilities but also ensured that the girls and women had access to sanitary pads, for which they set up their own sanitary pad making unit. Sold at an affordable price, it also meant a small source of income for the group of girls making them. And that is what they were so proudly showing us – their little shop, selling sanitary pads, but also other items – soaps, detergents, books, pens and pencils.

“We feel very confident now and we feel that we have the power to change if we can articulate our needs and assert them” said Dolly, very proudly. That look of confidence and dignity radiated on the faces of the other girls, who had come to meet us and talk about their initiative.

As we were leaving, I asked Dolly what her dream was. She aspired to be a doctor, she said. She had seen enough illnesses in her community and enough suffering. She hoped she could so something to alleviate that !

As we took the ferry back to get into our cars, the stench was still overpowering. But it was replaced by a deep sense of optimism that change is happening, and the leadership is in the right hands. Dolly was truly inspiring in advocating for something that was a matter of deep taboo. No more ! Will she realize here dream ? Am pretty sure she will !

TOWARDS A BETTER LIFE

A swank new airport greeted us as we landed in Maputo, the capital of Mozambique. I remember this being constructed the last time I was here, a couple of years ago. Built with Chinese investment, it was a statement of Mozambique’s economic growth, estimated at around 7%, fuelled by coal and natural gas discoveries. That said, this beautiful country in southern Africa is still one of the poorest and least developed countries, ranking 184 out of the 187 countries ranked on the human development index by the UN.

Visiting the bairro of Costa da Sol along Maputo’s coast was going to be interesting. I had been here five years ago when WaterAid’s team in Mozambique had just initiated a multi-year water, sanitation and hygiene programme. This is a large settlement of about 17,000 families. Inhabited largely by the fishing community, this neighbourhood was visibly very poor. Thatched houses were a common site. Women struggled to get safe water. A powerful image that troubled me on my last visit was the trek that women made to a pit, a few metres deep a little distance from their homes to collect water, dirty water, scooped out of the sand laden pit, their only ‘reliable’ source of drinking water.

Estamos, a national NGO started working in the neighbourhood with WaterAid’s support. The funding for the programme came from the European Union. The initial phase was on hygiene promotion with the help of locally identified and trained motivators or animators. Their role was to go from house to house and promote messages of washing hands before eating and after going to the toilet. Messages on protecting the water used for drinking were promoted. And more importantly, discussions were held with households on the need to stop defecating in the open and for improved latrines, appropriate for the area. This was very important since cholera was one of the most common illnesses. At the start of the programme, there were 371 reported cases of cholera, as per the local health authorities.

Having been convinced about the need for a toilet, the next task was to encourage families to construct improved latrines, with an appropriate cement slab, that would ensure that human excreta is safely collected. Where there were ‘unimproved’ latrines, i.e. latrines that could potentially be a health hazard, the task was to convince people to discontinue the use of these latrines and replace them with the improved latrines.

To ensure the quality of the slabs, Estamos had set up a slab production centre. Various models appropriate for the location were demonstrated. The slabs were distributed free of cost to those who were identified as needy and poor. But these had to be transported to the construction site by the families, who also had the responsibility of digging the pit and constructing the superstructure at their own cost.

Availability of water was a key challenge. This required Estamos to work closely with Agua de Mozambique (AdeM), the water utility. As part of the programme, water kiosks were constructed which were operated mostly by women identified and supported by the community. There was a pre-paid billing system based on which water was purchased by the operator, for selling it onwards to the local community. The rate typically was 0.5 metical for 20 litres, which was just half the cost of what private providers were supplying in the area. For those who could afford, AdeM were persuaded to provide household connections with a deposit of 2,500 metical and a minimum rate of 250 metical for 10 cubic metres of water per day. This was later found out to be high and unaffordable. It was thus decided to reduce the minimum consumption slab to 5 cubic metres, costing 145 metical.

Meanwhile, the community association that was formed, grew in strength. With regular hygiene promotion, family based interaction and their involvement in the production centre, their confidence and profile grew. Responding to a call for bids by the municipality for solid waste collection, the association bid for and won the contract to collect and dispose solid waste. It is now an enterprise that employs 15 local youth.

It was fascinating to hear this story on my return back to Costa da Sol after 5 years. Many houses had moved to household connection thus reducing the dependence on the kiosks. While that meant that the business in the kiosk shrunk, it was positive from the access point of view as more families had water taps in their courtyards, saving time for the women in particular. It was also a matter of dignity to have a household water connection !  The association had a reasonable business. The women motivators were still active. With most houses having improved latrines, demand for slabs was low and business was down. But the production centre has now become a demonstration centre for the local municipality, schools, other NGOs and communities who constantly visit the centre to learn and understand various sanitation options.

But the biggest change was the significant reduction in incidence of cholera. From 371 in 2004-05, the rate had fallen to a mere 21 in 2008-09. There is still a challenge to eradicate it completely. There are newer families who are moving in and with each new entrant to the community, the hygiene work needs to be taken to them. But there is confidence that the killer disease is now under control – a combination of better hygiene awareness and access to water and sanitation facilities. This has been recognized as a major success by the Maputo municipality and the local health authorities as well. Perhaps, as a result of this, the houses also look very different – better constructed houses, more sturdy and durable.

Getting access to water and sanitation is still a challenge in Mozambique. Only 70% of the urban population have access to water and 47% to sanitation. The Mayor of Maputo, David Simango, is keenly aware of the migration into Maputo and its impact on the water and sanitation services. As he said, “There are challenges for Maputo. But there is a master plan in place for providing water and sanitation services and for solid waste management. Some things are changing. Local communities are participating more actively, people are contributing to local projects and their maintenance, people are more aware….and incidence of cholera is reducing’ !

WHAT IS MORE PRECIOUS ?

The morning air in Addis Ababa was crisp and nippy. It was the tail end of the wet season and the area immediately surrounding the smart airport was lush green. But as one drove into the city, the changes were quite apparent. For one, there was construction going on everywhere. More and more buildings, more roads, more flyovers. Addis seems to be in state of frenzied transition as it seeks to project the country as the leading light in sub-Saharan Africa, propelled by the vision of the late Prime Minister Meles Zenawi, who passed away very suddenly a few months ago at the age of 57.

My memories went back to almost exactly six years ago, when I came to Ethiopia for the very first time. I remember being struck by the fact that contrary to images of the starving millions that Ethiopia gained notoriety for, the country was a beautiful country, with its highlands and valleys, bustling towns and yet the serene villages in the country side. It was a country very proud of its ancient culture and traditions, many of which are still retained and practiced, including the common use of the Ethiopian version of the calendar and time, which can be quite confusing for a foreigner.

On that visit, we went drove south-east from Addis into the Oromia region. Driving through some amazing landscape and rugged terrain, we passed through the town of Assela. It was a bustling town with some shining shops and guest houses. “This town is known for producing some of the best known Ethiopian athletes”, said my colleague. Ethiopian long distance runners are known world wide for their stamina and speed, and their fierce rivalry with fellow East African runners from Kenya. Many of them had reinvested their finances into this town. “Given the rugged terrain and the long distances, from early childhood, children have to run for everything. And that builds up their stamina and speed that makes them such good runners”, I was told. And yes, you could see that even as you were driving past – children and young people running, all looking quite strong and obviously undaunted by the physical challenges of the terrain.

By late afternoon, we were in a village, quite far from the main road and quite flat when compared to the terrain that we had passed through earlier. There was a rapturous welcome awaiting us. Groups of men and women sang and danced in their traditional style, offering us a warm, traditional welcome, that is so common in Africa.

It was a community of about 2,000 people. Their delight was because of the newly commissioned water facility. There was a deep borehole, motorized, that pumped water to a overhead tank, from which water, after being treated, flowed through pipes into taps located at different points in the community to make it easily accessible. This was obviously something that they were quite proud of. “Though this is meant for us, many people from the surrounding communities come here to fetch water and there is no other reliable source in this region. The only other sources are some ponds which are very polluted”, said the women.

And that launched us into a discussion. “What has changed for you”, I asked, “as a result of this water facility”. This question was met with some shy glances and nervous laughter. “Well, we get water near our house”, ventured one of them. “I can see that, but has that changed anything in your lives”, I pursued. There was yet more silence. After some shuffling and muttering among the women, prompting one another to speak up, a woman who was at the back of the assembled group said, “A lot has changed”. Almost in collective relief, the women made way for her to come to the front. Adjusting her garment to cover her head, she started speaking. And what I then heard was quite unbelievable and heart wrenching !

“Water was a big problem for us. We had to travel about 7 kms. to the nearest source to collect water, which too was not of good quality. It used to be quite dirty as animals also drank from that source. But there was no alternative. Our children would often fall ill, we would fall ill, but there was nowhere else to go. Each day, 4 – 6 hours was spent only on collecting water, which was very tiring.”

There was a short pause. Probably she was contemplating if she should go further. But she saw that people were listening to her. She looked around at the women. The smiles and nervous laughter had disappeared and there was some shuffling of feet. They probably all had some individual stories that came back rushing – or they probably sensed what she was going to say.

“I was heavily pregnant. I was due to deliver any day. But I still had to go and collect water, as my husband would not do that. Other women could not do it for me as they too had to collect water for their families. And I had three small children who were too young to fetch water. So, like any other day, that day too, I went to collect water. On the way back, carrying my jerry can, I felt very tired. Soon, I had labour pains, so I had to sit down. My women companions supported me. And then, we realized to our horror, that I was giving birth, on the way side, far away from my village. The women quickly surrounded me and helped me deliver the child…on the way side” she said calmly, as a matter of fact, looking down at the ground as she spoke, recalling those memories. “Once that was done and over, a thought flashed through my mind for a second. Should I take the child home ? Or should I take the water home ? I could not take both. If I take the child, what happens to the water ? I was reminded of the faces of my three young children who were waiting for this water and for me to cook them a meal. Of course, I did take my newly born child home. But this was what life was earlier – water was so precious that every choice or decision was around water”!

“I am so happy now that those days are gone. Thankfully, we have good, clean water in our village and no longer will any woman have to undergo the dilemma that I faced, even if it was only for a second”!

THE BASTI TRANSFORMS !

It was not yet summer. Towards the end of March (this is 2012), it is still supposed to be spring time. But by the time we got to the Bajrangnagar community in Indore, it was quite warm and the hall which was the venue of our meeting with the community was packed, mostly by women. We had come to meet this community as part of the WaterAid team, where our partner NGO, BGMS (Bhartiaya Grameen Mahila Sansthan) had been working for several years on various community development initiatives. It was an organization formed by women for women, but their work benefited the entire community, and the children in particular.

“I came here because I had fallen in love with a young man from this community and got married to him. But when I came here to live after my marriage, I wondered if I had been stupid to do so” said Sunita, rather nonchalantly ! There was considerable mirth around her frank confession. “This was quite sometime back. I lived in a reasonable neighbourhood but I was appalled by the conditions that people lived in. The worst thing was that there were no toilets. I was not used to relieving myself in the open – and that was very difficult for me to come to terms with. But I realized that at that time, I did not have an alternative ! That is when I decided to work with BGMS team and see what I could do to support development here. During this period, I studied hard, got my degree, completed my post graduation and am now working as a teacher. But I am still involved with BGSS on a voluntary basis” she said.

It was a fascinating story of change. From a typical slum, over two decades with support from BGSS, the community had succeeded in transforming the settlement from a lowly slum to a well developed community, pretty much like a middle class settlement. Houses had been renovated, there were good cement-and-concrete roads, drains were well laid out and overall, it was quite clean compared with the general standards of cleanliness that one would expect to see in a similar neighbourhood in an Indian city.

Sunita’s personal testimonial became a trigger for many women to narrate their own stories and experiences. The narrative was quite similar – they had been contacted and encouraged by BGMS, the BGMS team came and trained them to be community workers, they mobilized women in their neighbourhood, savings were collected, loans were given, life had changed and they are now looking forward to much brighter future for their children. Women from different communities in the city of Indore, with different backgrounds, many from the tribal community called the Bhils who had migrated to the city in search of livelihoods from the rural hinterland that was affected by drought and failing agriculture or related livelihoods.

Through all this, one of the women, who must have been in her mid-fifties, listened intently. She appeared to be in no mood to speak, but to listen and to relive for herself her own past life in the community. Dressed in a blue sari with her head covered, the stories that other women were saying seemed to resonate with her. She was nodding in agreement, smiling occasionally, but sitting very quiet. And suddenly, she raised her hand, indicating her intention to speak. And speak, she did – her story and what she had seen and experienced.

“My name is Vasanti Jodha. I am from the Bhil community. I came here several years ago. I had 3 children then and the youngest one was just a few days old. The situation here was horrible. From the main road, we had to balance ourselves on a log of wood to cross a dirty stream into which all waste, human and solid waste, was emptied. The sight was disgusting, the stench was awful. It was quite a task to balance ourselves on the log of wood as we tried to cross the stream without falling. Many children had fallen, some died, some were wounded. But that was the only way in which we could access our settlement. All the houses were temporary in nature, built with bamboo poles and draped with rags, jute bags or anything that we could lay our hands on. The whole place was dirty. Children were regularly falling ill.”

“No one cared for us. On the contrary, we were victims of anything that happened in the city. If there was a burglary, the police would come looking for us as if we were responsible for any crime in the city. When the police came, we had to run for cover – as we didn’t know whose husband, brother or son was going to be arrested. They would be gone for days and we would not know what fate awaited them. We were considered as dirty, unwelcome people, petty criminals. When we went to the local office of the municipality to ask for support for some jobs, health or education, we were shooed away. But a few weeks before the elections, once in every five years, we would have politicians coming in asking for votes, saying that all our problems would be sorted. We used to wonder – how come they are discovering us now. Where were they all these years ? Falling into the trap of their promises, we would vote for those who we seemed to trust. And once elected, we would go to greet the successful candidate – only to be shooed away again. ‘Sahab is busy’ we were told ‘and he cannot meet you’. Well, he came to ask for votes, we voted for him, so why would he not see us, we often wondered. But we thought that was our fate and we were destined to live a life like this – neglected, wretched and poor”.

“And then, we had the team from BGMS. When they came, we thought that they too were like any other outsider, coming in for their own gains. We had many people coming here offering us various things and making all kinds of promises and we had learnt not to trust them anymore. Why would BGMS be different ? In fact, we would avoid them. But they persisted. They kept coming back and saying that we need to work together to solve our problems. They started talking to us about education, why we should educate our children. They wanted our children to be immunized. Since they were all women, they would speak to the women and ask them to get organized. They encouraged us to save a little so that we could revolve it amongst ourselves when in need. They offered us small loans. Slowly, things started changing.”

“Some of us started small businesses – vegetable and fruit vending, tailoring, small livestock, small scale trading. Initially, our husbands wondered what we are upto. We were scolded and ridiculed for spending time in meetings. But when they started seeing the results, they realized that we were doing something very important. Gradually, we started looking at issues of cleanliness and of waste. Our settlement was very dirty. There were no toilets. Water supply was completely lacking. We were fetching dirty water from nearby sources or buying it which was very expensive. What BGMS did was to take us to the municipal corporation to demand water supply and support for construction of toilets. It was not easy. We kept going regularly. We asked them to come to our settlement and see our conditions”.

“Eventually, things started happening. They came and saw our problems but also saw that there was so much self-help happening through women’s groups. We said we would contribute to the water project, which we did. We also said that we will ensure that it is well maintained and that we paid our dues on a regular basis. We were also granted support for construction of toilets”.

“This led to an increase in our confidence. We started going to the municipal corporation on our own without BGMS. We negotiated with them on waste collection. A system was put in place because of which solid waste is collected every day. Under the programme for urban development, we negotiated and eventually were granted a project to build cement and concrete roads in our neighbourhood. All this further increased our confidence. Women started doing more for their own livelihood. They grew their businesses. We now have reasonable incomes to take care of our families or make a big contribution to our family income. We also have a woman building contractor (pointing out to a woman about her age sitting nearby) who started by building toilets after getting trained in basic masonary skills. Now she constructs houses – she has also taken up contracts for building two-storeyed houses in this and other settlements”. You could sense the vicarious pride that Vasanti experienced narrating this last bit !

“We were poor and living with no dignity. But today, we are respected. People come to visit us. Officials and politicians listen to us. The police cannot harass us any longer. We may still be poor, but we feel confident and empowered. And we do feel confident that our children will never see the days that we have, will never experience the vulnerability and indignity that we faced!”.

A LIFE OF DIGNITY
It was June 2007. I was on my first visit to Mali and I was with Barbara Frost, our Chief Executive and Idrissa Doucoure, Head of West Africa. It was summer and the temperature was well above 35 degrees Celsius. Fatim, our Country Representative in Mali had arranged a visit for us to the village of Tienfala in Koulikoro region in south-western part of Mali.

“Tienfala is a very special village”, Fatim explained. “Most of the people have been affected by blindness caused due to trachoma”, she said. Trachoma is spread by insects that breed in dirty water and causes serious blindness. “In this village, we are trying our initial experiments in inclusive provision of water and sanitation services so that the disabled can also access these services”, she said.

Disability is one of the key barriers for accessing services including water and sanitation. These services are designed for the so-called able bodied. Disabled people are rarely asked about the options that they would like to be factored in to ensure their barrier free access. More often than not, they are marginalized, excluded, unorganized and voiceless. Many governments estimate that people with disabilities constitute 2-4% of the population – and hence, they are dismissed as being in a numerical minority. Others, including the World Health Organisation consider those with disabilities to be in the 10-15% range of the population. Clearly, there is a case for better visibility of those who are disabled and enumerating them.

But Tienfala was indeed very different. You did not need statistics to tell you the story. A walk around the village was enough to see clearly that many people were indeed blind or partially sighted. There were some cases of people with locomotor disabilities as well. We started going around, talking to the people on water and sanitation, and other matters concerning them. At the far end of the village, we stopped at the house of an old lady.
As we entered the small compound that housed her mud-thatch house, she stared at us blankly, sitting on a low stool. Fatim introduced ourselves, and her face lit up. Her big smiled revealed her toothless gums, but there was no denying the fact that she was very happy to meet us. Profusely welcoming us, she got up slowly, but steadily from her perch, with a help of a walking stick. “Tell us your story”, Fatim asked her, “and tell us if life is any different for you now”, clasping her frail shoulders. She must have been around 80.

“I was blind from a very young age”, the old lady started. “Life was very difficult. Our family was poor. And without my eyesight, it was very difficult to get around and do something on my own without relying on somebody’s help. As I grew up, lonely and isolated because of my blindness, things became more difficult. I did not get married as no one wanted to marry a blind girl. Eventually, my family members either moved out or died. I was all alone, all by myself. I was surviving only on the mercy of the local community, who occasionally brought me water and food. I had no place to go to the toilet. I had to get down on all fours, find my way around to a place where I could relieve myself, but then was always worried if others would see me. Living at the far end of the village also meant that I was not involved in any community activities”.
“I had resigned myself to a life of indignity, feeling unwanted and useless. But then these people (pointing out vaguely in the direction of Fatim and her colleagues) came around. When they saw that there were many blind people in the village who had difficulty in collecting water, they created a fence around the handpump and laid the path leading to the handpump with pebble, with some bricks lining up all the way, so that we could find our way to the handpump more easily”, she said, brightening up as she talked about her new experience. “Of course, because I am too old and weak, I don’t go regularly to the handpump and collect water – occasionally I do, but mostly, other people help me. It is easier for them now as they too do not need to walk long distances to collect water, and so it is easier for them to support my needs as well”, she said.

“But the biggest change for me has been my toilet. I have a toilet now in my small compound. There are bricks and stones that mark the way to the toilet and so I can find my way very easily – and it is just outside my little house. I know it is a secluded and private area, so I need not worry about my privacy. And they have raised the toilet seat, so that I don’t have trouble finding out where the toilet is. Earlier, someone did help me with a small toilet, which was a hole in the ground so that I did not have to relieve myself in the open. But then, I had to find the hole with my hands to make sure that I am sitting at the right place. Now, that is no longer required. I find it very comfortable, and this is the best thing that has happened in my life”, she said, the huge smile returning back to her face !

“I thought I was destined to live a life of indignity. I am very old now and I don’t have much time left. But I am so pleased that some people recognized my needs and in my last days, I am able to lead a life of dignity”, she said, visibly moved and overwhelmed. “It is the first time in my life that I felt wanted and that someone really cared about me”, she said, her voice cracking. “I cant see you, and I cant give you anything in return – but what I can do is to sing a song for you, and dance for you, to express my gratitude and appreciation for all that you have done, and bless you all that God gives you all that you want”. With that, she threw her walking stick aside, and broke into a song and dance, in a tremulous voice, whirling around slowly, but with determination. Her face was again lit up with joy as she did that. We clapped in unison to keep up with the beats of her song. After a few moments she stopped and laughed in embarrassment, suddenly becoming very coy about what she had just done – expressing her joy ! Laughing to herself, she said down and waved to us with both hands, a sign of a blessing.

There was not a single dry eye in the crowd. It was one of the most moving moments in my life. And each time I narrate this story, or think about it, or even as I write about it now, I can feel my eyes welling and the lump in my throat !
I don’t know if that old lady is still alive. Probably I will find that out when I visit Mali in 2012. But even if she isn’t, I am filled with so much joy and pride that WaterAid played that little role in transforming that lady’s life !

REBUILDING LIVES

It was a warm August morning. The journey from Islamabad to Mardan, about 200 kms. was smooth thanks to the well constructed motorway. Traffic flow was smooth. Passing through some villages and towns, life seemed to be normal as people seemed to get along with the normal routines of life as would be expected in any part of the world. Unless one was told, one could not make out that we had entered the province of Khyber Pukthunkwa, one of the provinces that has been affected by violence in the recent past.

We reached the office of IRSP, one of our partners, who played was involved in emergency relief after the devastating floods of 2010. WaterAid had supported IRSP with the water, sanitation and hygiene (WASH) component. It had been about a year since the floods had hit various parts of Pakistan. After a brief discussion on the organization and their programmes, we proceeded to Nowshera district, getting on the famed Grand Trunk road (that starts in Afghanistan, cuts across northern Pakistan and goes all the way to Kolkata in eastern India). Soon after passing the town of Pabbi, we left the main road to get into the dusty rural roads, with lush green fields on either side, thanks to the rains. We were heading towards Amankot, a village ravaged by the floods.
“The water came up till here” said the young man we met outside the mosque, pointing out to a slab high above the main entrance to the mosque. It must have been about 8 feet high. Looking around the village, that seemed unbelievable. It was quite dry even though heavy rains had lashed the cities of Islamabad, Peshawar and Lahore the previous day. The crops looked green and healthy. Brick and mud houses looked as if they had been there for several years. The village streets seemed quite typical with children (mostly boys) playing on a quiet Wednesday afternoon in the holy month of Ramadan. “Yes, it is true”, said one of the village elders. “When the flood waters entered the village, most of the people came to the mosque because it was on higher ground. It also had a terrace. But with the flood waters entering the mosque, people had to move to the terrace or onto the verandah of the mosque to save themselves.

Amankot is a large village with about 1,400 households and population of about 8,000 people. The floods in 2010 had caught them unawares. They had never witnessed anything like this before as the area was never considered to be flood prone. But the continuous and heavy rains of 2010 caused the river Kabul to swell and flooding the entire region. Fortunately, many lives were saved as people moved to safer places. Only one death was reported. However, the people lost everything else. All the houses were destroyed and many cattle were swept away. From a village that did reasonably well for itself, it became an impoverished, vulnerable village overnight.

“The borehole in the mosque was the only source of water. But because of the flood waters, the quality of water deteriorated. The electric pump that pumped out the water into a tank stopped functioning”, said Saif, the Project Manager from IRSP. “So while the emergency measures required us to get water tankers and ensure that they were adequately clean, we did two things. First, we checked the water quality and then had it treated before consumption so that people do not fall in. Second, we also installed a hand pump so that even without electricity, people could still collect water”.

“Our most important contribution in the emergency work, in addition to providing emergency water supplies and temporary toilets, was providing menstrual hygiene kits”, said Syed Shah Naseer, the Chief Executive of IRSP. “Women suffer in silence as it is a matter of social taboo. Through our female staff, we could directly work with women at the community level and address one of the most pressing, yet silent needs of women and adolescent girls”, he said and added, “ we are the first to do this in our region “.

We were then taken to a communal building a little distance away from the mosque for a discussion. The audience consisted only of men – without any women in our team, it was difficult to interact with the local women, given the strict social customs. It was clear that the trauma of the floods and the long, arduous route to recovery had a lasting impact on people. There were constantly reminded of the flood with the discoloured wall inside the building which clearly showed water levels of about 12 feet all along – something that ensured that people would not forget what they witnessed a year ago.

“Our village was destroyed beyond recognition”, said Rahim, a youth from the village who played a key role in the emergency response work. The only thing that was visible at some places was the head of the hand pumps if they were on land that was high enough above the water levels”.

One of the key contributions of IRSP that has stayed with the people, very interestingly, is hygiene promotion. “We are now much more aware of the need for hand washing and personal hygiene” said one of the elderly gentlemen. Pointing out to a male school teacher, he said “We now ensure that hygiene messages are regularly provided in the schools so that children make it a habit”.

On being asked what the situation was now, they pointed to a number of rehabilitation work that had been done by IRSP and a couple of other external organizations. IRSP had focused on water, sanitation and hygiene. Other organizations had helped with providing temporary shelter and rebuilding lanes within the community. And while they worked hand in hand with these external agencies, they are most proud of having reconstructed their houses almost entirely through self-help, brick by brick, and a very tangible evidence of their attempt to rebuild their lives with
dignity and pride.

THE LOCAL PHARMACIST DOES NOT LIKE US ANYMORE !

It was raining heavily. It was early August in 2006 and I was on my first visit to Nigeria. We were in the state of Bauchi . It was quite a long but comfortable drive from Abuja, the Nigerian capital. We were approaching the village of Birnin Ganye. The last stretch of our journey to the village seemed to take much longer because of the rains which had wrecked the mud tracts leading to this small village with a population of about 300. I had joined WaterAid a few months ago and this was my first visit to an African country after joining WaterAid.

“We can’t go any further in this vehicle”, our driver said. He had tried a few manoeuvres earlier and had somehow managed to take us as far as we could. We decided to get out of the vehicle and walk the rest of the distance. We could see Birnin Ganye, but it was across a swelling stream. It was only less than 30 feet wide, but we were asked to be careful because of the swirling and fast currents and the slippery stones that we had to step on. It was quite a spectacle. Most of the villagers had lined up on the other side of the stream, watching the guests arrive. The young men among them had got in to the stream to help us guide through the stream. In a few minutes, that was done and we were all on the other side, and walking towards the village.

It was a very poor village. All the 40 odd houses were in a cluster, built with mud and thatch. Education levels were low. Almost all adults in the village were casual agriculture labourers. The nearest urban centre was about 10 kms. away. Agriculture production was mostly for home consumption. There was very little surplus. But recently, they had something to be proud of and had thus become the envy of the neighbouring villages. And that is what brought us to Birnin Ganye.

Earlier during the year, a water and sanitation programme had been completed. This settlement now had its own borehole fitted with an easy-to-operate hand pump. This meant that people had easy access to safe water, and women in particular no longer needed to walk to the river to fetch watch. The walk to the river would take them an hour for each trip and the water was unsafe for drinking, but till the hand pump was installed, the river was the only source of drinking water, in addition to it being a place where people bathed, washed their clothes and brought their cattle as well. All the houses had a clean toilet, which was preceded by hygiene education, stressing the importance of washing hands at critical points in time. All this may not seem to be a great achievement, but for the poverty stricken people of Birnin Ganye, this was a matter of pride and happiness. They were happy that their village was now a ‘clean’ village with access to safe water, and proud that they played a key role in implementing the project with the support of the local government authorities and WaterAid. They had invested their time and effort, had mobilised the local group, and more importantly, had taken the responsibility of managing the water point and ensure that people actually used their toilets.

As we entered the village, the community gathered under a tree for a conversation. After the normal introductions and welcome speeches, one of the community members took us through the history of the project and their role. It was then time for us to ask any questions. My first question was what they thought the outcome of this project was. For some time, there was silence. People were talking to each other in hushed tones. Not sure if I had articulated my question properly, I asked them (through our local interpreter) if they could tell me how this project had changed their lives.

The answer was on expected lines. The women felt that they could save more time since they did not have to fetch water. Many people felt happy that their village was clean. And then suddenly, one young man got up and said, “The local pharmacist does not like us anymore”. There was quite a bit of amusement at what he said, but the people gathered there seemed to agree, nodding their heads vigorously. “Can you explain that in some detail” ? I pursued.

“Well”, he said, “there was lot of illness in this village. Every month, all throughout the year, we had to rush people to the local hospital because of diarrhoea, cholera and other diseases. It particularly affected the children the most and many of them died. The person who benefited the most was our local pharmacist because it was good for his business. And because we did not have enough money to buy medicines most of the time, he would lend us money and charge a hefty interest. It also meant that we started borrowing money from him for other purposes as well. We thus contributed quite a bit to his income. But the other day, when I saw him in the market, he wondered why people from this village no longer came to him, bought medicines or took credit. And my response to him was that we did not need him anymore. Our people had become quite healthy, because of the water and sanitation project, and the hygiene practices that our people are following” !

It was quite clear from the reaction of those around him that they were all in agreement. I am aware of a number of attempts by researchers and academicians who conduct detailed, rigorous studies to assess the ‘impact’ of external interventions. But to me, this statement of a young man, endorsed by all those who had gathered around him, was enough of an ‘impact assessment’ !