I was just on the AlertNet website and came across this blog post by Chris Northey - CARE's Emergency Team Leader in Myanmar. It just shook me awake from the comfort of my office in Manhattan.
Rain and sadness in cyclone-ravaged Myanmar
10 Jul 2008 11:33:00 GMT10 Jul 2008 11:33:00
It's raining every day now in Myanmar, very heavily; monsoon season has clearly arrived. It's not the gentle rain we're used to at home - more like someone tipping a bucket of water over your head. I can't help but think of people stuck outside in this rain with no shelter and it pushes you to do more.
Since I came back from the delta, I've been very busy in the office and we've had more staff join the emergency programme. It's very easy to get caught up in the detail of budgets, proposals, warehouses, planes, cars and procurement, and forget that a line on a budget sheet represents a village that CARE is helping, that it represents a person and their family. The sound of the rain reminds you of this.
Click here to read more
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Monsoons and chainsaws
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
http://inthefield.blogs.cnn.com/2008/07/15/anger-and-suffering-in-myanmar/
July 15, 2008
Evading the junta to witness Myanmar disaster
Posted: 1451 GMT
(CNN) — There are your tough assignments and then there are those that border on the impossible. Myanmar is one of the world’s most secretive nations for a reason.
By nightfall, we were stowing away like fugitives.
By nightfall, we were stowing away like fugitives.
Foreign journalists are banned from the country. Tourists are even finding it difficult to get a visa, especially Americans. So the odds were already stacked against us.
I can’t say how we got in the country but that was only half the battle. Devising a plan to get down to the area devastated by Cyclone Nargis in May would be much harder.
The junta government has sealed off all entrances to the Irrawaddy delta. Checkpoints are set up in nearly every town. For days we pored over maps and scouted out the safest routes.
Spinning with frustration, we finally came up with an idea. It was risky. If caught, we could be deported and the locals helping us faced prison time. We had to move quickly and carefully.
By nightfall, we were stowing away like fugitives and hopping from one mode of transportation to the next. It took us 21 hours to reach the delta — a trip that typically takes 4 hours by car.
A quick glance is all it took to see why the Myanmar government wants to keep the rest of the world out. Devastation was everywhere.
Bodies were still scattered along the delta two months after the cyclone. I knew we’d see them, I just didn’t know how haunting it would be. There was no avoiding the stench of death. It’s an odor that sends chills through the soul.
All I could do was say a silent prayer. These were people who deserved better. It was shameful to see them rotting like their lives didn’t matter.
I kept thinking somewhere their families were grieving, wondering what happened to them. Or maybe the bodies of other family members were scattered elsewhere, and there was no-one left to bury the dead. Perhaps, it’s best these remains can’t be identified. This horrific discovery would only compound the pain.
And pain was the only thing in abundance along the delta. I met a tearful woman who sat clutching a picture of her only child.
The smiling 17-year-old was this poor farming family’s best shot at a bright future. They spent all their extra money making sure she got an education. Two weeks before graduating high school, she died in the storm. Her body was never found.
Yet, others had no time for tears. A young farmer briefly stopped working in the rice paddies to describe how the tidal surge swept his baby boy right out of his hands. There was no emotion on his face or in his voice. I couldn’t help but wonder if the cyclone had robbed him of that too.
We worked quickly trying to capture these stories, never knowing when we would get caught by the junta. As night fell on the delta, it was time to set up camp. We slept in stifling conditions, didn’t shower for days and lived off little more than bottled water and energy bars. I kept reminding myself that our misery was temporary; for the people of the Delta it was a constant reality.
Still, I was struck by how few complained about the lack of aid since the cyclone. It was as if they didn’t expect much in the first place.
Some of the villages we visited were given bags of rice, while others got some tarp and roofing material. I saw a total of two tents. None of it was nearly enough. Most of the relief supplies came from aid organizations or small groups of locals banning together to help. There was little sign of any significant assistance from the government.
It’s a place where you could get lost in your anger and sorrow. Too many questions and not enough answers. Maybe that’s why survivors don’t waste their time stewing in frustration.
As we headed out of the delta, I made a point to take one last look.
The cyclone’s destruction seemed to fade away into the palm trees that lined the shore. From afar, it becomes easy to ignore what you cannot see. And that’s the very reason this assignment was worth the risk.
Watch my report about life in Myanmar after the cyclone
Watch my report about students returning to school in Myanmar
Posted by: Betty Nguyen, CNN Anchor and Reporter
Post a Comment