Gauging Vulnerability

Photo: Local male community leaders in a refugee shelter in northern Afthanistan

discuss their concerns with donors and implementing agency.

After a glorious hand shower in about four inches of water in the bathroom I shared with nine other expats during the most recent field mission to Phuli Khumbri district of the Baghlan province, I dressed in what has become my daily wardrobe: long linen pants (preferably reaching the floor), a white long cotton tunic that touches the tops of my knees, my custom-made leather sandals from my time in Kleinmond, and of course the essential headscarf. We piled into two vehicles and headed east to tour one of our refugee resettlement camps for recent returnees expelled from Iran and Pakistan. Today's visit is a "donor visit" where we (the implementer or "facilitating partner") takes the donor (in this instance a US donor) to the site to engage with the local community and gauge the impact of their contribution. We wait by the side of the road for over an hour for the donor to arrive who is running late.

Inside one of the recently constructed shelters we provide in collaboration with the UN High Commission for Refugees, we meet with the males of the community. Sitting on Afghan kilims along the walls of the small room, we listened to the community leaders thank the organization for the diligent work of the engineers who assist them in the construction of their shelters, and voice their concern at the lack of certain services such as schools, clinics and livelihoods. Fortunately we were here today to visit the already ground-broken sites of both a school and a clinic that we are implementing as phase II of the project.

The site will eventually be home to approximately 1,000 families, all considered extremely vulnerable. The way in which the system works is that the government earmarks the land for returnees, then identifies families who qualify for the redistribution scheme. Once a family is identified they are assigned a plot of land and given access to the material supply camp where they collect a standard set of materials (poles, window frames, doors, latrine) and with the assistance and guidance of our local engineers who roam the expanse of desolate land, the beneficiary constructs his own shelter with mud bricks that they manufacture from local materials. This effort will eventually result in a UNHCR standard type B shelter. (note: I am told that two men can construct the shelter in 30 days if the bricks are pre-fabricated.)

Following our meeting with the men, the males in the visiting party proceeded to the site where the clinic is under construction, while the women attended a hygiene education demonstration by one of our community trainers. The training was held in the local Mullah's house, and without a female translator available, we had to get his permission for one of our local male staff to enter is house filled with women only, in order to translate the Dari presentation into English. At first when we entered the women were eager to shake our hands amidst calls of "Salam aleikum", touching their hearts with the free hands not holding one of a dozen children around. Once our male colleague entered the women retreated behind their veils as they hid their feet, arms and faces behind brightly colored fabric to shield themselves from the intruder.

Flies the size of small birds congregated on a colleague's purse, practically turning the brown bag into a tar-black mush of buzzing business. The room is hot. My left sock is wet. Shedding my shoes at the door I managed to step in a huge round wet stain on the carpet. I watch the trainer proudly display the instruction paper with a diagram on how to wash your hands. Our male colleague translates too softly. We get the jist though. Hygiene education is generally a standard part of any training that we provide. Disease caused by poor hygiene is rampant as the lack of sanitation and clean water still plagues these communities.

A few women speak up and voice their own frustration at the lack of shops, bakery, work, clinics and schools for their children. One explains how she had to stand by the roadside for six hours with a sick child to get a lift into town a few weeks before. We politely explain that a clinic and school is under construction, full well knowing that it is not adequate for the expected size of the community. Yet we reassure and recommit our dedication to the sustainable survival of this dusty expanse of an only refuge for these families.

We exit the house and join up with the men folk at the clinic site. The young female representatives from the donor are interested in being photographed next to one of our hand pumps. The head representative compassionately listens to some of the men explain that the particular pump was dry and needed reparation.

Afterward, the donors pile back into their fleet of Land Cruisers and drive off in a cloud of dust. We linger for a while. Drive around the site. Visit some of the beneficiaries. One of my colleagues stops at a hand pump to test the quality and taste of the water (we have a problem with "salty water"), he announces it is perfect.

We drive off too. I remove my sock soaked with unknown substance. We go back to our guesthouse to talk about the visit and strategize on budgets and ideas for providing livelihoods for the families. That night I sleep "like a stone" in the words of my Italian colleague.