Latest news
Between Jalozai camp and a hard place
18 July 2011
The largest refugee camp in Pakistan, Jalozai, is a sight to behold. Home to 70,000 at its peak, this makeshift canvas city is often the end of the road for people fleeing conflict, unrest or disaster. Though thousands long to return to their villages, for some life in the camp can offer surprising opportunities. RedR’s Nic Scarborough reports.
Jalozai looks like a huge refugee camp on the surface of the moon. As far as the eye can see, tents stretch out across the flat horizon. Nothing is taller than the five foot top of each tarpaulin shell. The ground is sand-like, dry, dusty. The tents are the only escape from the pounding heat of the sun.
Many of the people that live here are two or three hundred kilometres from their real homes, or whatever remains of them since the Government of Pakistan waged a three-year military offensive against insurgents on its border with Afghanistan. Legally speaking, they’re not refugees – they’ve fled war in this country, their country; Pakistan.
Life here under canvas is tough, with tents no bigger than two double beds. But recently people have again found themselves on the move.
A fragile peace
In April, the Government of Pakistan declared peace had been reached in former conflict-ridden areas and told the people of Jalozai it was safe to return. It’s not the first time this camp has seen mass movements of people –it has been an on-and-off home for families fleeing war since the eighties.
For those willing to leave, there was a food package on offer, some compensation for their destroyed homes and a free, one-way bus ticket. June 7 was the deadline for people go back to two particular areas: Bajaur and Mohmand. After this date residents were told there would be no free ticket and food supplies for those still in the camp would be stopped.
In all 12,000 people took up the offer. But just two weeks later, the Pakistan military was continuing air strikes and ground offensives against insurgents in Mohmand region, reportedly killing 25. This supposed ‘peace’ was nowhere to be seen.
But that’s not the only problem facing families here. The women who live in the camp are asking for new tents. Weathered from the last few years, many are now starting to fall apart. “Eight or nine people live in each tent,” says Muktaira, one lady I meet. She and her family are just one of the scores of families who’ve decided to stay in Jalozai despite demands to leave.
“We haven’t received any food for the last two months,” she says. Security is an issue here, too. There was a small bomb blast at the camp last week– one of several over the last year.
An effective threat
Muktaira’s story is a harrowing one. It’s almost a year to the day that insurgents approached her house in the early hours of the morning. Whilst the village slept, armed militants went about their work. The next day, Muktaira found the body of a slaughtered man lying metres from her front door. It was a threat anyone could understand.
But things got worse. An armed stranger arrived and told local residents that, from now on, he was in charge. And, when Pakistan’s army reached Bajaur war finally broke out. Gunfire, heavy artillery attacks, rockets, air strikes. “People were fighting with each other. No one was going to stop,” Muktaira says.
After three or four days of brutal fighting the male elders told Muktaira and her family they were leaving immediately. It was night when they fled on foot. They carried whatever they could over the mountains. Their children were petrified.
After ten or twelve kilometres the group reached a small town and looked for transport to Peshawar city. Anyone with a vehicle was making a fast buck on the thousands that were fleeing.
Finally, they reached Jalozai. Every family was give a standard issue tent. The tents are organised in blocks that meet international standards: each a set distance from the next; each with a set number of latrines (a squat toilet in the ground with a wood and tarpaulin frame around it); each with a tap where people can collect water in a jerry can. It’s a temporary arrangement. But some people have been here for years.
Permission for education
Today Muktaira is one of eight women sitting on a rug under the shade of a marquee that doubles as a classroom. Behind them sit a dozen young girls aged between seven and twelve. The women wear burkas in different colours; the girls wear headscarves, t-shirts and cotton trousers.
A number of woven items are scattered around the classroom – basic embroidery on hessian. These home wares are made by the women using the skills they’re learning here. The items are then sold on behalf of the women in Peshawar city by the charity that runs the training.
As well as manual skills, the women and girls are also learning the basics of reading and writing. In some parts of Khyber Pakhtunkhwa – the province that includes the border areas with Afghanistan – the female literacy rate is just 3% – one of the lowest in the world.
“The male elders gave us permission to leave the tent and come here,” Muktaira says. It was an agreement brokered by local RedR-trained aid workers and the male elders living in Jalozai. The impact it has had on women’s lives here is significant. And they are clearly on keen to make the most of their new found opportunities.
And still, the authorities talk about sending people home. “We’ll only go back when there’s sustainable peace,” Muktaira says.
Photo credit: © RedR/Amir Mukhtar
