Work to be done, Stories to break your heart

It’s a Saturday night — twenty three days after the horrific climate event that triggered the devastating flash flood in Nepal. Already the event is receding from the headlines but it wil be years before those who survived will be able to put the horrors of that day behind them. We provided $40K for the immediate relief effort, working in partnership with three of the partner organizations who are members of our Engage Nepal Council who worked with local government officials to determine the greatest needs and the familes who were the most vulnerable. We’ve also engaged the government on next steps as our focus shifts to relief. This week we met with the Director of the National Disaster Risk Reduction Management Agency and we have also been invited to join in coordination meetings with local government leaders to better direct our relief efforts. And, on Wednesday, Om Thapilyathe chair or the Engage Nepal Council and Executive Director or Engage Nepal will once again head to the flood affected areas with partners from Gorkha Foundation and Sagarmatha Children’s Foundation to assess more carefully with local leaders the next steps. Nepal’s government has so much to deal with — major infrastructure and development issues that would be a huge challenge for any country. They need partners who are willing to work alongside them, taclking issues at the community level, in cooperation with local government. We and our partners are among those willing to play that role. But, for all that, it’s not just about planning, or budgets, or fundraising. It’s about the people who have suffered, the people who may never fully recover, the people whose lives have been changed forever. People like Garuav Mizar, of Shirakhali, Devighat. Here is his story, as shared with Om on his recent trip to Nuwakot: “My name is Gaurav Mizar. I am ten years old. Until the 10th of Bhadau, whenever someone asked me where my home was, I proudly said, “My home is Shirakhali in Devighat.” Because even though it was small, even though it was just a hut, it was my own home. When I was very young, my mother died from childbirth complications. I remember that four years ago my father brought a stepmother home. A year ago, that same stepmother left my father and went away. After that, it was just me and my father in that little house. That was my whole world. But the painful truth is that the flood on Bhadau 10 washed away that small world forever. It took my father — the foundation of my life — and it took our little home and the few belongings we had. I studied in Class 6 at the Sanskrit Secondary School a little distance from home. That morning, I had reached school before 9 a.m. My father was probably working at the anvil on the porch of our house. At school, the teachers told us that a huge flood was coming from the irrigation side, that the police were announcing warnings through loudspeakers, and that everyone should go to higher ground immediately. So we all went up to safety, and because of that, I survived along with my teachers and friends. But no one in the neighborhood warned my father in time to leave the house and run to higher ground — or maybe they did, and he didn’t believe it. I don’t know. The flood swept away my home and my father with it. The next day, Jamuna Aunty, who lived a little above our house, told me, “Gaurav, the flood took your father. I saw it with my own eyes.” Hearing her words, I burst into tears. Others tried to comfort me. Jamuna Aunty said, “If your father had left just half a minute earlier, he would have survived. He was just a little late.” I studied hard at school, and the teachers loved me. They used to say, “Your name is Gaurav — you must become the pride of this school.” By the next afternoon, the river’s water had receded a lot. The villagers took me to a nearby building. I have been staying there ever since. But I don’t want to stay there. I want to find my father. In front of my eyes, I see only the sound and the image of that flood. I get scared all the time. And I keep hearing my father’s voice calling me “Gaurav.” Today, for some reason, I felt like going to the place where our home used to be. The flood had piled up tree roots and debris there. I sat down on a piece of wood. I remembered my father. I sat there on the muddy ground for a while and cried. Then I returned to the building where they are keeping us. Now I have no home. Who will build one for me? Who will teach me? Who will feed me?” This is why we care. For Gaurav. For Sommaya, whose husband and daughter were lost as she watched. For all the others whose lives will never be the same.