Ghulam Kubra and her family escaped from their home 30 minutes before the roof collapsed. Fifteen days ago, the mother of four watched in despair as her one-room mud house crumbled. “It rained for two consecutive days non-stop,” she says.
“I could see the cracks in one of the walls, followed by a big gaping hole as rain lashed on it mercilessly,” says Kubra, 32, from Jalal Thebo village, in Tando Allah Yar district, Sindh province.
“I knew we would be buried alive if we did not leave, as I had received DRR [disaster risk reduction] training from a non-profit just a few years ago. I could recognise some of the danger signs we had been taught,” she adds.
She had also been through this before. The house that was destroyed earlier this month by the unprecedented rains that have battered the region since June was built after their previous home collapsed in floods that hit the area in 2010.
“It’s just a pile of mud and bricks again,” she says tearfully.
Kubra and her family are among the 33 million Pakistanis who have been affected by the floods, which have killed more than 1,100 people. More than 1m homes have been damaged or destroyed, along with about 3,000km of roads. More than a million animals have been killed and crops have been washed away.
The prime minister, Shebaz Sharif, said the flooding presented the “toughest moment” in Pakistan’s history and called for urgent international support. The government estimates it will cost at least $10bn (£8.6bn) to repair the damage across the country.
Sindh province is estimated to have suffered damage of more than $1.6bn. The UN has launched a $160m emergency appeal to provide critical food and cash assistance to Pakistan.
It took a long time for the family to rebuild their lives after the 2010 floods. Kubra, who earns about 30,000 rupees a month (£117) as a social mobiliser for non-governmental organisations, saved for seven years before she and her husband, Khalid Ahmed, could afford to rebuild their home.
“I had reared livestock and had sold three goats for 15,000 rupees each. I was able to save slowly, over the years, and get this house built,” she says.
Unlike thousands of displaced villagers, who have sought refuge on the dry land along highways, where they are visible to relief workers, Kubra has camped on higher ground near where her home once stood.
“I don’t like to live like a refugee,” she says. She has erected a makeshift latrine with sheets of metal to form an enclosure next to a broken wall, so she and her two daughters, aged 14 and 12, can have privacy when they use the toilet.
She shares a rope bed with one of her neighbours. “We don’t sleep on the ground as there is danger of being bitten by snakes and scorpions these days, since we are surrounded by water still,” she explains.
The scale of the crisis has meant it has been difficult for NGOs or the government to send food and supplies. “The stagnant water is knee-deep and it is difficult for relief workers to reach us,” says Kubra.
There are days when they have nothing to eat, and then there are other days when villagers send them food. “I’m not complaining, only stating the fact as everyone is in the same boat,” she says. “Today the richer among us have become paupers too.”
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