: NewsVision Situation Report : "Afghan Helping Afghan - WV Food Distribution Provides Relief in Kabul"

---------------------- Forwarded by Kristy Allen/AUSO/WorldVision on 04/02/2002 09:09 AM ---------------------------

NewsVision Situation Report Central Asia: Afghanistan 4 February 2002

Afghan Helping Afghan - WV Food Distribution Provides Relief in Kabul by Robyn Kennedy - Program Manager

As the first snow in many years falls on the war-ravaged capital Kabul, hampering relief distribution efforts, World Vision Australia's Robyn Kennedy writes first-hand of her recent experience distributing food aid to Afghanistan's desperate people.

January 29, 2002, Tuesday,

7:45 AM, UN/WFP flight from Islamabad to Kabul: Improvisation and flexibility are essential here. It's still too volatile in Jalalabad, so we've made a snap-decision to move tomorrow's food distribution to Kabul.

There are about a dozen of us, UN/WFP people and a few aid workers, flying in on this small plane. It's a cold yet beautiful day. The blue sky makes me think of home, but looking down evaporates that image. Kabul is below. There doesn't appear to be much left standing.

This is my first time at a relief food distribution. World Vision is working with a local Afghan aid agency called Sayyed Jamuluddin Afghani Welfare Organization ? SJAWO for short. We've got four trucks of rice, beans, sugar, tea, and cooking oil ? enough for about 800 families. The supplies were purchased in Afghanistan to assist the local economy. Each family gets 15 kilos of rice, 5-kg sugar, 5-kg beans, 5-kg cooking oil, and half a kilo of tea. I'm the only ex-pat on this distribution. Everyone else is Afghan.

10:30 PM, Another Hotel somewhere in Kabul: I'm not sure exactly where I am, but it's not the first hotel of the evening. After nicely locking myself into my room at the Kabul Hotel, SJAWO staff came back and said, "Pack your bags; we're moving you to another hotel. It's not safe here."

I protested, but only a little when I remembered this is their turf not mine. They moved me out because, in their words, "some former government officials" had moved in. I take former government to mean Taliban.

Here at Hotel number two, they could call it The Cage. My room has one entrance with two doors; the first with three locks and the second with two. All the windows are shuttered and barred, and I've been told that I'm in for the night. Hope the place doesn't catch fire. I suppose I should be a little freaked out, but I'm not. Too tired for that.

It's a strange end to a long but productive day. The warehouse is stocked. The food has been separated and bagged. The recipient list is complete. We're ready to start the distribution at 8:00 AM tomorrow. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------

January 30, 2002, Wednesday,

8:45 PM, Mustafa Hotel, Kabul, Afghanistan: I'm back in my cage, and I actually know the name of this place: The Mustafa Hotel, a sort of backpackers one-night-stand, complete with Bob Marley music at the front desk. Yes there is music playing once again in Afghanistan.

I didn't eat when I got back. I was too busy weeping even though I told myself I wasn't going to. But today was just too much. I don't think I can capture it all on paper, but will try. I don't feel much like doing anything right now, but I'll write a bit and eat some cheese and crackers, despite my lack of appetite. I think I'm numb ? body and soul.

The day began crisp, clear and cold ? very cold again. All of the registered families showed up early and the distribution got started on schedule at around 8:00 AM.

I've seen people in dire circumstances before. I've witnessed hungry people, wounded people, and traumatized people in Africa, and even at home in Australia. But I've never seen anything like today. It was the sheer volume of misery. Everyone showed signs of suffering.

Back home Gabrielle at World Vision Australia told me that I would see things that would mark me indelibly forever. Gabby's words rang in my head about an hour into the distribution. These people were just so devastated. They weren't just hungry. Some were sick, others missing limbs or physically disabled, and every one of them ? woman, man, child ? damaged by things past, but still very much present.

Kharum Gul's cried as she told me about her disabled husband and her six children, two who are paralyzed, and two others who are blind. The blind pair was with her to help carry home the food. She wept as she told me how her family begs for help from strangers and friends. Surely the help she received today will have to happen over and over for a long time.

Sheeran Agha also has six children. He lost both his legs when he stepped on a land mine five years ago. Even before that day it was a struggle to look after his family. My sadness was at least tempered a bit by the strength that still lived in his eyes. These people are amazing to have endured so much. I felt tears, but managed to hold them back. How could I cry in front of them? I had to stay focused and professional. I'm not a crier anyway.

But today was different ? so I don't mind letting go a bit here in my room, alone.

Yes, Gabrielle ? I saw things today I will never forget. Every story was heart wrenching.

>From the midst of it all I will remember one moment and one woman forever.

As Soi Rul waited for her bag of supplies she told me that she is a grandmother of two. So am I. That's how the media back home has been tagging me, as if being a grandmother and doing aid work is some sort of anomaly.

Soi Rul is a mother of seven and a grandmother of two. She has spent the past (she couldn't even tell me how long) walking the streets of Kabul begging for help and weeping as she goes her way. It's amazing that there are still tears left for her to cry. She begged to be a part of this World Vision food distribution. She wasn't on the list for today's, but as luck would have it ? she was one of the final ones selected.

We talked about our grandchildren. I thought of mine and all the advantage and luxury that is theirs. I snapped a digital picture of Soi and then it was time to go. There were a few bags left at the end and she got one of them. Rice, sugar, beans, oil and tea ? something to give hope for a couple of weeks, perhaps a month at best.

As we said goodbye, she started to walk away and then turned around. I felt I had to give her more, but I didn't know what more I could do.

But she didn't want more. She actually wanted to give me something ? all she had I think. She reached up into her long gray hair, which spilled down on her shoulders as she pulled out two silver hair clips. She pressed them into my hand. I couldn't say no.

Without really thinking about it, I pulled my silver earrings off each ear. I've had them for about ten years, a gift from my best friend, Raine.

I clasped Soi's hands and put my earrings in her palm, similar to the way she had given me her hair clips. She didn't say a word, but her eyes said everything. And then she was gone.

I promised myself I wouldn't weep. But I did for a few seconds. I just couldn't hold it in, and the rest came out here in this room tonight.

There's more, but that's all I can write right now. I have so many questions and absolutely zero answers rolling around in my mind.

I've got to find a good thought before I go to sleep.

January 31, 2002, Thursday

8:40 AM, UN/WFP flight, Kabul to Islamabad I found my good thought as I laid my head on the pillow in the Mustafa Bob Marley Hotel last night.

I think I actually smiled as I pictured how the food distribution went. It was Afghanis looking after Afghanis. I was the only ex-pat in the bunch.

I felt such privilege to see how smoothly everything went. The food was given over with dignity and respect. There were a few moments when the men handling crowd control yelled and appeared to get angry, but seconds later they were smiling laughing again. They had a job to do. As we worked there were tiny moments of celebration for something so simple as a few bags of food. They kept the balance. So did I.

--