A few clothes hang on fences; toys are
seen floating on murky brown coloured water; pillows clog the drains and
people, already shouldered with life’s burdens, slowly and determinedly clean
their mud stained wooden shacks, in a rhythmic and experienced manner.
These are the ‘invisible people’ of Mabola and Wellampitiya (towns just north
of Colombo), daily wage workers living on the brink of poverty, who once again
have been exposed to the harsh realities of an Indian Monsoon. This time
though, Mother Nature has been exceptionally harsh, with virtually non stop
rain over the last couple of months. November was particularly cruel with
flash floods even being experienced in parts of Colombo.
These daily wage workers forced to
settle ‘illegally’ on marshy land due to lack of adequate space are
particularly vulnerable to flooding during these times. Living downstream
of industrial estates, they are not only at the mercy of the rising waters, but
also of polluted water as a result of the effluents released by these
estates often serving top multi national companies. Visiting these areas,
as we tried to intervene for flood relief suddenly exposed me to another world
on the outskirts of Colombo.
‘No one really cares about us’
remarked Pushpakumara, a trishaw driver and father of three, distastefully. ‘We
are the invisible people, not showing up on anyone’s records. These
estates discharge their effluents into the river and when the water level
rises, the dirty water with unbearable smells comes into our living rooms and
kitchens.’
One is conscious of a pungent smell
that permeates this area of largely stagnant water. With the flooding of
whatever sanitation that existed for these people, are deadly chemicals that
have created a deadly cocktail of potential diseases for residents.
Wading these stagnant waters is to gamble with your health. There were
already reports of snake bites affecting the children plus one of my staff who
had forgotten his protective equipment and stupidly decided to wade barefoot.
Luckily he received very minor graze and I was able to quickly put my first aid
knowledge into practice for the first time.
At the local mosque, the only
‘community centre’ serving a mixed community of Muslims, Tamils and Sinhalese,
Mr Rumy, a local businessman directed operations much like an army commander on
the field. ‘These people have no representation. Whilst the government
recognises them by providing electricity and water connections, when such a
disaster happens, they are left to fend for themselves. If it is not for
the help of local community people and other humanitarian organisations, they
would have been left to suffer for themselves’ he laments.
Fatima was a former house maid (who
worked in the Middle East) and is now living with her three children, ever
since her alcoholic husband abandoned them, in a wooden 2 room shack that has
been divided into 4 rooms that include a kitchen and toilet. Standing in
the middle of what was her living room, with a sad smile on her face, she
recollects ‘We simply had to tolerate everything. We had to flee to
the mosque leaving behind whatever valuables we had. Now the water levels
are still high and we have a threat of snakes. Our children can not go to
school as all their books and uniforms have been destroyed.’
Standing in this room, I was suddenly
conscious of this new set of ‘invisible’ people as Pushpakumara had so
eloquently put it. These people who had not suffered from the ethnic
conflict or the tsunami yet seemed to be living in much worse conditions than
either of these two groups of people, with very little support from the
government or other humanitarian agencies. These people were only
invisible because of their poverty and their struggle to improve their conditions
but still needed support and a chance to be able to fend for themselves, the
need to come together to help themselves. Suddenly it became obvious for
the potential of this community to be unleashed in order for them to pick
themselves up
