Catherine Lengyel in Soroti
The tranquillity of the water is misleading. It winks lazily from between the stalks of sorghum. Yet, at the bridge only a few hundred metres farther along, a torrent flows unrelentingly through the culverts, overwhelming whatever drainage may exist. Fishing is good these days, the young boys tell us, holding up a brace of tilapia. That is truly the only thing that is good these days, in the wake of the floods that have been washing over eastern Uganda since August.
Insidious is the word that comes to mind. The rains have abated somewhat, the worst is supposed to be over and yet the water creeps higher, surrounding yet another agglomeration of defenceless mud-brick huts. People are not being swept away and the images are no longer sufficiently dramatic to warrant attention. But the water is sneaky. After all, when people have next to nothing, it is hard to see how things can get worse. Clearly, the water has seen to that.
Chebet looks to be about ten years old. She is gracious, shy and responsible beyond her years. She speaks some English and is obviously a source of great pride to her mother. She explains that her family had to move three days ago, when their dwelling became flooded. She points to a hut in the near distance, sitting in a couple of feet of water. The family has rapidly erected a thatch-roofed structure on sticks, open to the elements on three sides.
There has been no time to make bricks. The makeshift hut does not provide much shelter for the six young children and their parents. Most evenings, there is a torrential downpour, and the nights are cold and damp.
Today however, the morning is sunny and warm. The younger children are munching on some dried cassava. There is little evidence of any other food in the depleted household. A handful of chicks scurry busily amongst the family’s few possessions: a couple of pots, a few old jerry cans, and not much else. There is little danger that the chicks might stray farther afield. Already, within a few paces, the earth is sodden and muddy. The family will have to move again, soon.
But then, impermanence has been one of the givens in their lives. Chebet and her family are just one the estimated 300,000 people affected by the floods – most of whom have been internally displaced for years. They had already fled from their homes and crops because of the threat posed by insurgents – either the cattle rustlers of Karamoja, or the Lord’s Resistance Army, and sometimes both - to huddle in the relative safety of temporary camps and settlements. Some were just about to return to their land. But the water wants to keep them in their place – dispossessed and poor beyond words.
From the waistband of her skirt, Chebet’s mother pulls out a piece of green plastic. She unwraps the contents carefully and, once she has shown it to us, puts it carefully back in place. It is a Uganda Red Cross Society (URCS) registration card.
While we speak, a group of ten young URCS volunteers has been busily unloading the trucks and getting the site ready for a distribution of non-food relief items, which is to take place today: two tarpaulins, three blankets, two mosquito nets, one kitchen set, three big bars of soap and two jerry cans will be provided to each household on the list. Judging from Chebet’s meagre dwelling, all will come in handy. The tarpaulins in particular are versatile: they help in reinforcing the shelter, and can also be used as a ground sheet to protect from the damp ground, or to dry foodstuffs during the day.
The four young women and six young men from Uganda Red Cross are irrepressible. Their good humour is contagious and their energy does not waver, even under the heat of the mid-day sun. They have a job to do, which – if not always text-book perfect in terms of organization - is certainly not lacking in compassion. It is the little things, the instinctive gestures of respect that reveal their hearts and give the process dignity.
Off to one side, Peter is carefully refolding some blankets, to make them look neat and tidy. Ben explains some basic elements of health and hygiene, getting a good-natured laugh from the crowd when he tells them that mosquito nets are not for fishing.
As soon as the distribution starts, Ruth can be seen leaping about from one end of the line to the other. “This man cannot carry such a load”, she cries out as soon as she spots an elderly gentleman leaning on a cane.
She rushes over to help, taking the heavier items from him. This happens time and time again, when the young volunteers see that someone cannot manage with ease. One of them has the bright idea of tying the jerry cans together, two by two, with packing string. It is a simple thing, but makes carrying them a lot easier. Another one is handing out the left-over plastic and Hessian sacks to young mothers and the elderly, so that these can be used to make bundles.
Hadija, who is sporting a bright red headscarf with the slogan “Let’s make poverty history”, is fasting for Ramadan. She carefully slides three long bars of soap onto people’s arms so they will not slip off. She will do this over 400 times before the end of the day, and her smile never wavers. When asked, each of them says that they have volunteered with the Red Cross to help people. James, whose mother died when he was young, expresses it best. “I have had some difficult times as a child”, he admits. “Now, I wish to have a voluntary heart”.
If only the water had such compassion.
Chebet’s mother balances the load carefully atop her head, as she heads back to her temporary home. These emergency relief items will no doubt help the family resist a little bit more to the extra hardship and risk of illness that the water has swept into their lives. Already, the Red Cross is planning the next steps: water purification, hygiene awareness training, distribution of tools and seeds to aid with recovery. Because, in a few months, the floods will recede and life will resume as normal.
The water will be history. The poverty will not.