Water

Despite being given time by London to get something good we were being hassled to feed back our story.

The plan, rather than to stay another night in the hills, was to film in the morning and then at lunch head all the way back to Islamabad, get back to the hotel and eat some good food - pre-pared meals again wearing thin - sleep, and edit and feed the next day.

We almost had everything we needed - and headed off to the local well which was 10 mins away we were told by the army. 10 mins if you were fit and a mountain gazelle. No one mentioned it being at least 750 feet below us either.

There used to be a reservoir a few km’s away that fed all the communities through a network of water pipes - standard 1 inch diameter. They had all shattered in the quake and now the only point for about 10 sq kms was one well. Everyday during daylight hours there was a constant stream on people - mainly women - carrying water buckets on their heads - heading to and fro. This was not your dash to Tescos and back to the car - this was 10 - 15 litre open containers balanced on their heads going up and down and up and down again steep hill sides.

I’m sat halfway between the well and the camp - on the way back up thoroughly exhausted - but just haven eaten the last Mars bar. Ashish had his for breakfast - the fool.

Meanwhile back at the camp people waited in the warming sun for their daily distribution. As soon as the sun went down though the temperature fell dramatically.

I thought we had travelled a fare way in our time on the hills but the urchin on the right turned up wherever we went. How? And in flip flops!

It wouldn’t be complete with out a picture of our Army hosts, Major Tariq and Lieutenant Imtiaz. Both very nice, who looked after us splendidly and didn’t want us to leave.

Ashish and I both had head torches when wondering around at night - which keeps both hands free. These were very much the envy of the Army guys and lots of the soldiers asked Ashish for his. I had a spare though which I gave to the Major in thanks, and to make sure next time we meet he looks after us again.

As you can see, yet again, I am hard at work packing everything for the journey back to Islamabad and Rostrum is just standing there next to his newly cleaned set off wheels. Arrhhh.

As we left, there were many families still packing up their belongings to head down to safer and warmer ground.

Faiza

We were woken up in the middle of the night to a huge jolt. It was one of the biggest aftershocks and I was literally shaken off the floor. Ashish got very excited - sped out of his tent - and was looking for any signs of damage - being about 2am with no lights I mumbled something, turned over and went back to sleep - snoring again within minutes.

Breakfast was very pleasant, though we did wait till the sun came up as it was freezing before hand. I believe it was ‘bacon and beans’ ready meal with a nice cup of hot chocolate for me, and coffee for Ashish.

Up at the helicopter landing pad Major Tariq had arranged for the mules (whenever I called them donkeys I got told off) to be present to take rations and tents down to a nearby village which had only become accessible by road two days before hand.

We followed the mule train and on the way passed a family who was leaving. They had lost almost everything and were taking their whole life with them - oxen and all. They would walk for about 40km and settle there for the winter - only then thinking about coming back.

In the distance were constant reminders of the devastation, colapsed building, rock fall and snow capped mountains reminding us of the on coming winter.

We reached the village at the end of a valley which was now the local distribution point for aid. Here we saw many people collecting tents brought down by the army. There was bickering about who got what and hadn’t - according to the Major this was the ’scouser’ area of Pakistan!!

When the men had got their tents weighing about 30kg, they whipped them up on to their shoulders and skipped off down / up the hill sides - most times in nothing more than flip-flops. Amazing. All I had was a 12lb camera and that wore me down easily. (Sorry about the metric jump, I use both but find it hard to convert between the two.)

We saw old ladies being helped with their loads as well a an old man with a little girl in tow.

On our exploration through the village, most of which had been flattened, we came across the old man again and his granddaughter - Faiza.

Her parents, brothers, sisters and grand-mother had all been killed in the earthquake. The only two people left to look after her were her grandfather and great grandfather. They were living under a simple canvas tent.

This may sound very selfish but this is what I needed to come back to see and film, to make people outside in their cocoons see how this has affected daily life, especially those who can not look after themselves - the children.

We made sure that before we left Faiza and her grandfather had money to buy essentials they needed.

This area is a place of absolutely stunning beauty - the people have suffered a great loss with tragedy all around, but they remain resolute, warm and friendly.

Star of the Week

Guess who was Star of the Week at school?

Why… because she was being everyone’s friend and very helpful….

Base Camp

Up early with the dawn we cooked breakfast and slowly packed up whilst waiting for the sun to come over the hills to warm us up. It was very quiet - it seemed as if everyone was used to tent sleeping and could sleep with the lights on.

The toilet facility was in what appeared to be a huge cat litter tray, in a copse just outside the campsite next to the river. Lots of little piles of finely crushed stones in little mounds all over the place. Just be carefull where you step!

Everything done we followed Kitty’s instructions and off we went to find our story. The first stop was to the main army camp in Balakot where we met up with a very nice Colonel - who had had enough of the locals being greedy - wanting more and more when they had their quota. He told us of a story of one man who was camped not far away who kept on coming to get a tent with some excuse or other. Having had enough of this he went to have a look - to find the man had a tent for himself, one inside, another to house his belongings and the last wrapped around his cow!

We explained that we wanted to go to Jabrai to see the communities where the raod had only just been opened. He said that was fine, to talk to Major Tariq there and we could stay there for the duration. Back into the Landcruiser we headed off up the mountain after a jeep carrying more supplies.

Did we climb - a true mountain road going up and up and up. We got there at about lunch time but being fast time we were good and sneaked a Mars bar. Major Taroq was very nice and showed us where we could set up camp. Knowing that if we left it to later - when it was dark and cold it would be a nightmare to set up, we started clearing the ground and pitching the tents.

Here we have Ashish’s tent that he put up himself - the first time ever too! With mine in the background.

Whilst scouting the area Ashish saw down in the valley a funeral going on. Much to my annoyance we stopped building camp and went down to film. An old man had recently died from injuries sustained in the eathequake - though he had been released from hospital. His women folk were gathered around the body wailing. Very atmospheirc.

This was not a quick proceedure so we filmed some other shots, afternoon prayer time and waited for the body to be brought down to the cemetary.

The men waiting with us were very kind, though we couldn’t comunicate too well, with faces full of charisma.

The cemetary was perched on the valley side, had a stunning view both up and across to the other side if the valley where we could see more damaged houses. When the body was carried down from the mans house a short ceremony was held over looking the valley with mist filling it the distance and blue skis above - very evocative of the times.

When it came to bury the body, which was wrapped in white cloth, it was lowered into the grave and then stone slabs laid over the top. They did not cover the body in soil but left a large gap, just filling in the holes in the stone. This perplexed me - though later I found out - as there is vey little space in the cemetary, it was so that when his wife died she could be buried with him - and other members of the family too if needed.

The old man was buried next to his 6 year old grandson who had died in the eartquake.

Eventually we made our way back up the valley side to the camp, in time to finish setting the tents up. The big green one is the Majors just next to ours. The two on the right are his toilet and shower which we were banned from using - no doubt after I had used it and made a complete mess.

As dusk was falling we were invited by the Major to have Aftari with him. Aftari is the breaking of fast held since sunrise - no water, no food with some exceptions for the young, old, infirm or when at war. Ashish was particularily taken with this, being of Indian origin, breaking fast with the Pakistani Army high up in the foothills of Kashmir. It was very welcoming and indicative of the hospitality we received wherever we went.

After this we went back to our camp and cooked dinner.

One improvement from the last trip being a decent light - only 18w - but loads of light and fully waterproof for the fiercest of storms.

The Area

Two pictures of the quake area - the first is for the second trip. Looking at the hills where we where. As a comparison of heights above sea level - Balakot is at 3300ft, Base Camp 6900ft and Faiza’a Village (which we will get to shortly) 5800ft.

It really gives you a good image of the problem faced in the rescue and refief operation as people live all, that is ALL over the hills.

This second image shows a topographical view of the whole area. Muzzafrabad is about 25 miles from the Epicentre with the shockwave traveling in diagonal along the 11 > 5 o’clock line.

Technology is always stunning when you can find a use for it. These pictues came from Google Earth which is a complete satallite image of the world - even if it is in parts more than 7 years old. Any way it gives you a fresh look at the world. It can be found here. I find it truely addictive. So far everyone’s house is there - not ours in the UK though it was still a building site then!

A Different Feel

We left Islamabad late, having got the necessary permisions (Ashish being Indian he didn’t want to take the risk being so close to the border - on the wrong side), food and cold weather clothing for the driver and fixer and drove back up to Balakot early afternoon in wonderful late autumn sunshine. This was much later in the day than I hoped, as we would not arrive until after dark and then have to deal with pitching tents…

The driver had not endeared himself to me with in the first five minutes - the tents had to go on the roof rack that we had asked be fitted to the car - knowing we had lots of luggage. The bags went up and needed to be set properly and tied down. Did he look like he wanted to do that? No he just stood there cleaning some road dust off the bonnet! So I climbed up and he started whinging to the Badsha (the fixer) - I didn’t know what he was saying but it was pretty self evident. Not what you need really. And yes he was a moody git throughout as it turned out!

The journey up to Balakot seemed much different, though only two weeks before we had plied the same road. I couldn’t work out why I didn’t recognise anything - oh yes I couldn’t see out of the previous car as it had posters all over the windows! Its amazing how things change when you can actually see!

We arrived at Balakot at about 8.30pm and drove to the camp that Kitty had recommended to us where the Spanish Red Cross were set up. We found a local Captain who led us to two small instant pop up tents that we could use.

Not enough for the four of us I tried one of the ones that Ashish had brought out from London for me.

Having sorted out the sleeping arrangements we cooked dinner - Driver (Rostum), Badsha (Fixer), Me

We have to thank Kitty for our direction onthis trip. I was thinking of going up via Buttal and trying to come down into the quake zone from the North. I was not totally happy with this idea. We did not want to do Balakot or Muzzafrabad again but find comunities who had been stranded. Since the quake happened she has been working with NGO’s (UNICEF and Save the Children, Red Cross… ) filming their activities and had a much better idea of what was happeneing AND understands what we need - which very few people do.

I gave her a call on her Sat phone and she happened to be outside Balakot, on top of a mountain where the road had just been opened to a valley head, having tea with a very nice Pakistani Army Major. That was it - decision made - Balakot bound.

Kitty is one of our freelance producer / journo’s who used to be in kabul but is now travelling and picking up work here and there.

Balakot

When we left I was not really very happy with how we had reported the situation. I won’t go into how what or why but I knew that I would be back and soon. I need to do justice to the people here who have suffered so much already - and now winter is soon to be amid them.

With a different team Ashish Joshi - correspondant from London, driver and fixer I have yet to meet, this afternoon we are heading back to the quake affected areas. Sadly Chiade is working on the cricket tour and Badsha has been sent somewhere else.

This time we are better prepared and will stay and show the world what has and is happening here. I won’t be satisfied until I can feel I actually helped.

Neelum River

Before

After

Leaving

Over the last week none of us had had much sleep or much in the way of good food. We had been re-supplied from Islamabad with food and water – which gave us a bit more energy but exhausted and dirty – none of us had washed for a week – no running water – we left our camp site…

And the media village…

And headed back to Islamabad. We could have gone the night before but it was getting dark and we had received word that the roads were unsafe. Not only because of the earthquake and landslides but because a number of trucks coming up had been hijacked and the drivered severely beaten. Before we left we made sure that until we reached Muree, Badsha was not to stop for anyone.

Five hours later we arrived back in Islamabad – a world away from the damp, grey cold devastation such a short distance away.

Heliport

We had passed through and by the heliport each day so far. During daylight hours in Muzzafrabad there was a continual movement of helicopters flying out with aid and back with the injured endlessly.

Today this was our focus, Friday, seven days after the quake though it felt much more. The heliport was a football or cricket pitch quite nicely located beside the river which flowed about 100ft or more below. As you walked in you passed what once used to be a restaurant. This was now a makeshift surgical ward. Outside was the triage area.

Here sat those luckily enough to have been brought in, often with no relatives and in much pain. One girl has a huge gash in her leg above the knee which looked like it was going green. Her leg was covered by a blanket to give it some protection as the rota wash from helicopters landing close by blew dust and dirt everywhere. Those lying on makeshift cots or the floor unable to move or cover themselves were just battered by the storm.

On the way into the old restaurant there was a boy sat on his fathers/uncles knee. He had just had his arm amputated.

Inside was terrible. It was divided into two sections. The first was for breaks and fractures. A boy was having his leg plastered.

From behind the partition a boy was crying ‘father, father though his father wasn’t around. As I went in, one man had a fresh bandage covering his leg just above the ankle – a porter was mopping the floor underneath. The young boy who was crying out lay on the next table. He had just been brought in and the doctors were discussing his injuries. One unwrapped his right hand which had been tightly bandaged. Another scrubbed at a wound in his head. The hand was crushed – and now a week old injury. It didn’t look like it could be saved.

I left and went back to the car and got a bottle of water. I walked up a small path, out of the way and sat on the remains of a low wall.

After a while a local man came up to me and asked where I came from…

‘England’

We shook hands…

‘Are you weeping?’

I nodded…

‘Why’

I motioned down the hill and held out my hands to say why and shrugged…

He said something in Urdu that I know meant ‘May Allah bless all the injured and dying…’

He held his hand to his heart – a sign of peace/respect/thanks…. I did the same. He stood there for a short while and then left.

By the time I was ready to face the world again about an hour had passed. It still upsets me.

Some however where very very lucky, had their family to look after them.

Others whether alive or not left relics of their lives in the rubble.

Thursday

A day of more of the same really. We went to a small refugee camp in a football staudion next to a college that had collapsed. Again being a Saturday morning when the quake struck lots of children were at school.

One of the reasons for schools and hospitals being so badly affected in particular is that the builders used more sand than cement in the concrete - cutting costs but in return making them very brittle.

At the camp an aid truck turned up. One woman was berating everyone to get back and form an orderly queue but of course no one was having any of it and they were all scrabbling hands outstretched as items were thrown from the back.

A lot of these trucks contained aid from the major cities and had been driven up - all very well intentioned but when they got to a partucular random point the stuff was just thrown out to waiting folk - which is no wonder pandemonium ensued.

Given that there was only one road in and out it wouldn’t have been hard to corral these trucks in a seperate area and send them out in an orgainsed fashion.

Our edit suite got upgraded today with sign on the door too.

And Richard made friends with a pup.

Sitting & Thinking

I know I have mentioned squatting before when we were in Indonesia and it is not my favorite way to go but when needs dictate. I also have a very regular constitution and after breakfast I need to go or the day is hell.

For the female journo’s, going was very difficult at the media camp as there was no privacy and lots of local men all around.

I went for a walk and found C2

It the back of the picture is the garage - still standing. The house was totally demolished.

In there secluded from the world was a room - presuably the servants room, with a barely surviving chair…

The result - somewhere safe, fairly clean and quiet to sit and think.

Here at Last

We finally arrive in Muzzafrabad in good time for our feed and find a media village near the Prime Ministers house in a posh district of town. Other houses here and in the city haven’t fared as well at all.

One bridge to get over the river was only just wide enough for the car and being a suspension bridge it dipped as the car rolled over it. Thankfully just one car at a time.

We headed off to find some of the international rescue teams in the old part of the city. This was a place about 1/2 a mile square with small alleys, all interlocking with no planning, for the two or three story buildings - that you now have to climb over. It seemed a domino effect had brought most of them down as they were so close together. The smell of death, so noticabel in Banda Aceh was also starting to become more noticable in some areas.

We found a Turk team tyring to get a woman out - working with passion, and verve but not much regard for safety. Also a Brit / German team who had found a survivor under a collasped house with a sniffer dog and were preparing for a 24 hour dig to get them out. All as volunteers with disaster NGO’s these guys are quite amazing.

Our edit suite wasn’t as nice as my one in Delhi - or Battal but it did the job. Had to get my travel pillow out though - those boxes are very hard.

Bedtime - Richard takes the hard man route and in the morning is fairly wet from dew.

Me on the other hand am a bit more organised. Better than you may think and only the top of the sleeping bag getting wet from where it pokes out from the roof!

Chiade was sensible and slept in a tent.

There was a big aftershock that night and we found out the next day that the Brit team were very close to finding their survivor 16 hours after we had seen them, but the building had shifted 6 inches, colapsed a bit more, they withdrew and then could not get any further signs of life. The next morning they were very very subdued.

The Turks though did get their woman out alive a couple of hours after we left, to much well deserved cheering and celebration from onlookers.

Shake that Booty

Driving a long we passed lots of sheep.

Look at that tail. I did tickle me and still does to think that when the earthquake struck, all over Kashmir sheep booty was doin its thang!!

Lost?

Up early again - woken by Mosques issueing the call to pray. Chiade cooks breakfast - rehydrated fried potatoes with bacon bits.

Hmmm - not exactly the best of meals - like cardboard but cooked with dry powdered fat. Heat it up thouhg and it turns to goo…

Off we head for the Muzzafrabad at last. The road have milestones every few kilometers but none of them say M-bad. They all say Balakot and another town in that valley. According to the map - this is not the right way.

Eventually we come to a mountain pass with tourist map and that clears it up a bit. We can go this way and double back on our selves. A car does stop though to help our plight.

Given we are trying to make a feed time to get our package to London this is again a bit nerve racking.