AnAidWorker

I am an aid worker. I work for an international aid and development agency. I was visiting drought-affected communities leaving on most inhospitable areas of this world, surrounded by rocks and mountains created by volcanic irruptions thousands or millions of years ago. People on this arid land are nomadic, seasonally travelling long distance in search of water and pasture for themselves and their animal. In good years, rain filling the ponds and green grass covering the grazing land, life seems all right, with jar full milk to drink and plate full of food to eat. In bad years, rains are scarce and no grass for animals, life is hard on this sandy plain, with disease and hunger striking unannounced and leaving a trail of dead bodies, both human and animals. This year has been a really bad one.

We, a journalist, I and our translator, travelled all day through dirt road, rocky mountain and across the dried up riverbed. Every few minutes our guide come translator would point to a mountain and announce that the village is other side of it. Once we cross the mountain the village was not there. Looking at the rough, ragged and rocky land my journalist companion would outer the same question of disbelief, “Why do the people live here?” I don’t have the answer to the question but I knew very well that the inhabitants of this land have no other place to go.

After eight long and bumpy hours, we came up to a village, few straw huts scattered on the slope of a mountain. Few other huts a visible at distance. People came out of their huts and rushed toward our car to greet us. After a quick glance, I realized that the people of this village had not have a good meal for while. They all looked as with silent expectation. The villagers thought we brought some relief items. I had to disappoint them.

After few conversations, we learned that the rain has been scarce in this part of the country for a year or so. Without water and grass, their animals, their only means of livelihood, are dying everyday. Their well is drying up. Outbreak of measles, malaria and diarrhoea are becoming common event. Most of the villagers eat once a day, rationing their last bits of grain. We went house to house and heard the same story form everyone.

I travel through this kind of poverty and suffering everyday. Unfortunately, I am not able to show these alarming images or tell this heart wrenching stories of these men, women and children. It does not fit the long-term organizational goal and objective. We do not publish these images and stories of hunger and death to the rest of the world, fearing the government might get angry and stop our work. Government of this country do not want people to hear the bad news only the news of success and development, achievement and riches.

After seeing the faces of desperation and destitution it was hard for me keep silent. I was venting and ranting for probably all day. At last listening to me for an hour my journalist friend blurted out, “Nothing is stopping you of doing anything. You just have to say I want these stories to be heard.” He gave me the idea of starting a blog, start telling people of what I see, hear and feel.

I never felt so happy, inspired and rejuvenated. From this day, I will tell the world of those stories of people who have been forgotten, ignored of silenced. I will be honest, open and truthful in depicting the true condition of people around me. I hope that my little attempt will shade light on people’s suffering and bring recognition from the outside world.