By Karen Homer
 

Zahra Abdrhman is desperate to tell her story. Tapping on the window of our 4X4 vehicle, she beseeches me politely in accented English not to leave without coming to her home -- a hastily-constructed twig hut -- for just a few minutes. She apologizes that she cannot even offer me water. It's 52° Celsius.  A stifling, gritty wind blows across the barren plain where Zahra and 4,000 other refugees are camped here in northeast Chad. They have lived here several months. But they refuse to call it home. For that would be to surrender hope.

  "The airplanes were bombing us and then the Djandjawit came on horseback and attacked our homes. They came just after evening prayer time," says Zahra, a petite, well-spoken teacher who looks much older than her 30 years. She is from Djirdjira, a village in western Sudan about 50 miles from this camp known as Am Nabak.  "We ran into the bush and hid there for four days. After the militia left we went back to our homes and collected up what we could from our burned homes." Zahra shows me a charred metal cooking bowl riddled with bullet holes -- proof positive that her nightmare did indeed happen. "But the soldiers came back again. We ran for two days and nights to the border. The children's feet blistered and bled."

Zahra says that many children in this camp still have nightmares about the bombings and their flight from home. "If the children hear a noise during the night, they are frightened and some run into the bush. Some mothers tie their children to them while they sleep to make sure they don't run off." Zahra says they don't know what else to do. Few of these mostly-illiterate mothers have ever heard of post-traumatic stress. They just pray that their children will forget.

Zahra is worried about the camp's children, many of whom she used to teach back in their village. They are missing out on months of schooling that they may never make up. They don't have enough to eat. Many are under-nourished. Aid agencies and the UNHCR have not yet started working in this camp. The children live in primitive shelters -- rags and bits of salvaged plastic tied to trees -- poor protection from the torrential rains that begin this month. They are extremely vulnerable to diseases such as malaria and pneumonia.

World Vision plans to begin child protection programs in Am Nabak and several other camp areas later this month with funds provided from Canada. A key element to the programs is the creation of a child-friendly space, a large tent where children can gather with other children and feel safe. In this environment they will receive trauma counseling and the opportunity to get involved in activities that will provide them with a sense of routine.  

World Vision is preparing to distribute 45 tons of emergency supplies, including plastic sheeting, water cans, cooking pots and water purification tablets that will benefit up to 100,000 people.  The agency will also distribute 4,300 tons of food to 26,000 people in the northern Bahai region over a six month period in partnership with the World Food Programme. Food distribution programs are also planned for Darfur.

Zahra is relieved to learn that help will soon be on the way. After their flight from Sudan, the refugees in Am Nabak have refused to move to existing, organized UNHCR camps and have not received even the basic necessities such as food, water, and health services.

 "We don't know who to thank. But we know that women from far away must care for us if you are bringing these things," says Zahra. "Please bless their hearts for me."

Karen Homer is World Vision's Communications Manager for the West Africa region, based in Nouakchott, Mauritania. Originally from the Toronto-area, Karen joined World Vision in Canada in 1989 and served in Romania for two years (1990-91) before moving to Dakar, Senegal in 1993 where she covered eight countries in the region.