Rescue boats pass many more than they collect

PAKISTAN - At first it looks like just another tiny island of ruined and abandoned buildings, poking out of the vast, unnatural inland sea that stretches away into the distance on all sides.

But as the boat edges closer, gliding over the tops of bushes and brushing over raised banks that were once roads, it is clear that this one is different.

There are people here, pouring out of their rough shelters, streaming down to the water's edge, shielding their eyes from the sun, squinting to get a better glimpse of salvation.

It is clear, too, that there are far too many to fit on the two small boats that have been sent to rescue them. They will hold 20 people each, but there are maybe 100 or more standing among the graves in the burial ground - the only piece of land high enough in the village of Bago Daro to remain above the floodwaters of the Indus.

People push and shove to get to the boats, wading through the water, men lifting children on to the wooden benches, women with babies clambering over the sides. A few men elbow their way through the mass of bodies and hold their ground: those women and children not strong enough to compete are left behind.

It is all over in minutes, the boats pushing backwards and away. Those not strong or lucky enough to grab a place stand and watch in despair. In the water, a little boy stands bewildered. He does not cry, or wave. He just stands there, staring blankly, receding into the distance. And then he is gone, obscured by the top of a tree, and the boats are once again out on the open water, heading for the city of Shahdad Kot and what amounts, in the flood-ravaged province of Sindh, to safety.

Most of the villagers have never been on a boat before. They sit quietly for a while, then start to talk.

It was five days ago that the water arrived. They had been asleep in their houses, says Nawabi Khatoon, when they realised. They had heard no warnings, she says, cradling the youngest of her four children, 1-year-old Zenat. No one told them their homes, kilometres from the river, were in the slightest danger. They have been drinking the floodwaters, she says, because there is nothing else. They have no food, no medicines. Her husband is missing, and their animals. She has no idea if they are alive or dead.

They grabbed what they could, says Shabeer Ahmad, and waded through the rising water to the highest ground they could find: the graveyard. One person drowned, he says; others are very ill. The very sick were not among those who managed to fight their way on to the rescue mission.

A month into the unfolding disaster, hundreds of thousands of people are still being forced to abandon their homes, fleeing before a fresh surge of water swelling the already overflowing Indus as it rushes towards the sea.

High tides have slowed the rate at which the Indus can empty into the Arabian Sea. Hundreds of thousands of people were still being evacuated last week from areas of Sindh, including around Shahdad Kot and Hyderabad. An estimated 3.6 million people are homeless in Sindh alone.

That morning, the boat pushed off two hours late at 9.45am from the levee on the outskirts of the city. First the boatmen were late, then there was no fuel, then there was a crush of men wanting to be ferried back to their villages to retrieve possessions.

Behind the levee, towards the city, the land was mostly dry. In front, there was only water and the tops of trees poking out as far as the horizon.

A local agency, Development Society, a partner of the UK's Action Aid, has rescued about 650 people so far over the last week, Ghaffar Pandrani told me as we sat in the rear of the boat. "They don't have support from our government or anyone. We are only a small group; we can't help them all," he said.

The journey to Bago Daro covered 35km and took the best part of three hours. There was no shade in the boat and the water quickly ran out. The bottom of the boat quickly filled with water and had to be bailed out every few minutes.

The sheer scale of the flood became clear as we headed further away from Shahdad Kot. A few broken buildings poked above the surface, but the only signs of life were the water birds and four dogs trapped on a broken levee.

They ran backwards and forwards, barking frantically as the boat passed.

By the time the boat returns to Shahdad Kot, it is 3.30pm. Yasin Brohi watches it pull up to the levee. The 45-year-old was rescued two days ago with his wife from a scrap of higher ground. It took less than half an hour for his house to disappear. "All we have left is our lives," he says.

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