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A five-year old girl in a helicopter…
by Johannes Dencker, volunteer, CWS Pakistan/Afghanistan
Posted December 15, 2005

A girl who seems to be about five years old has just come aboard the helicopter. I do not speak her language--she does not speak mine. But when I see the look in her eyes I almost believe I can read her thoughts. Several weeks ago her whole life was changed. The earth started shaking and the house where she lived was totally destroyed. She is number four among six brothers and sisters. The whole family survived, but suddenly they were without shelter. They managed to go to a village called Rashang, down in the valley. Soon the helicopters started to land in Rashang. But the helicopters scared her. The noise was almost unbearable, and when it landed the wind blew up as if there was a storm, and the air was filled with dust. Army soldiers unloaded tents, blankets, and packages with food, and then they filled the helicopter with people. Even some of her friends experienced the helicopter, and she has not seen them since then. Now it is her turn. Now she is sitting inside this monster-machine, and it is starting to move. The look in her eyes tells me all this.

Even I start to wonder whether there is a reason to be worried. The pilot, Major Fazal, started his shift at 7 a.m. It is now 4 p.m., and he has not had a break since morning. The normal regulations are not followed, but how can one stop flying when so many people are in need of help. They load his MI17 helicopter at Army Relief Base Camp in Battagram, usually with about 30 tents at a time, provided by Church World Service-Pakistan/Afghanistan, and with blankets and some other relief goods. On their way to an isolated village they do a couple of air-drops, and when they land they unload the rest of the material. Then they fill the helicopter up with people who need to be evacuated. Some of them are injured and they need to get to the hospital in Abbottabad. Others are not in need of hospital care, but they do not believe they would survive if they stayed in the mountains, so they prefer to go to relatives in other parts of the country. So it has been a busy day for Major Fazal. I do not even dare to ask him if he is also fasting, as it is Ramadan. But the Major has a steady hand, and soon both I and the five-year old girl relax.

The girl is sitting next to her father, Ursat Gulfabar. He is holding his youngest daughter, who is not more than six months old, in his arms. The baby has a bandage around her leg, but no other injuries are visible. Ursat is carrying a small backpack, which contains all the family’s belongings. The rest is gone. He could have chosen to stay, putting up a tent on his own land, and starting to build a new house. Or he could have gone down to the valley and settled in one of the tent villages which the army is planning to set up, waiting for the winter to pass. But Ursat is responsible for the whole family, and how would they survive the winter? He has a brother in Lahore, and he wants to go there instead. There they will be safe from the after-shocks and bad memories--at least for a while.

Ursat’s five-year old daughter glances out the window. It is breath-taking. The Allai valley is beautiful, no doubt. The steep hills, the winding roads, and the snow-capped mountains in the distance. But through my telephoto lens I can see that closer to the ground it is not that beautiful. A lot of houses are totally destroyed, and the landslides have taken big chunks out of the cultivated land. The Gulfabar family was lucky to survive, and I think Ursat knows it. I can see him smile several times during the trip, in spite of his material losses. The small villages are scattered along the hillsides. That is part of the problem. There are clusters of five to ten houses, and a population of about 200,000 are scattered over an area of 200 square kilometres in the Allai valley. How can you do relief work in such a place?

The helicopter goes down for landing. We have reached Abbottabad. My five-year old friend looks very relieved when she is lifted out of the helicopter. It was a long time ago that I saw a face as happy as hers, as she stands on the ground with some biscuits in her hand. She takes her mother’s hand. Her mother’s thoughts I cannot read. As a matter of fact I can’t even see her face behind the black veil. I can see she is in pain, since she is limping. But what is she thinking? I hope that she believes they will manage. She is still the mother of six children, and she has to be strong. At least they will be safe with their relatives in Lahore. And maybe one day they will be able to return to their home, to build a new house, and to cultivate their own land again.

As the military trucks take the injured people to the hospital, and as Major Fazal goes home to rest--at least until tomorrow morning--the Gulfabar family heads for the main road, to continue their journey to Lahore. And I am just hoping that the world will not forget Pakistan. I hope that my five-year old friend one day will be able to return, and to grow up in the mountains where she belongs. But we have a long way to travel. A lot of work has to be done, with joint efforts, to make this come true.

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