Making homes safe against the monsoon in Bangladesh

by GRAHAM STANFORD
NOAKHALI, Bangladesh. — The wind howled through the trees surrounding the lonely Catholic mission in this cyclone-ridden belt of Bangladesh. And then the rains came — a sudden driving deluge which sent the villagers scurrying for shelter.
"This is bad," said Fr. Benoit as we stood watching the darkening sky. "It could be that the monsoon will come early. And there is still so much to be done before all the people are rehoused."
Fr. Benoit, of Montreal, Canada, is one of many priests with whom I have stayed in my tour of this war-crippled, new-born independent state. And he—and all of them—have one concern. They are determined that the villagers shall have adequate shelter before the monsoon breaks.
Fr. Benoit has seen so much of death in his four years here. In the 1970 cyclone nearly a million lost their lives. In this area alone he saw thousands die: their frail bamboo homes engulfed in the floods.
"It was decided then that such a disaster must not happen again," he told me. "A plan was made to move the people to safer areas: to provide them with stronger homes. But then came the war and further devastation.
"Plans were shelved. And so now again it is a race against time." He looked up at the darkening sky. "That is why I pray that the rains do not come early."
Along with the relief agencies, the priests are helping the people prepare for whatever the rains may bring. The country has known eight cyclones in the last ten years—and now it has learned to expect the worst.
But it is not always easy to teach the people to help themselves. Many still prefer to live in their traditional bamboo homes miles from the nearest village —alone with their families, completely isolated in the event of floods. Many are reluctant to enter the new brickbuilt villages now being built in the coastal areas.
"In many ways they still live in the Middle Ages," Fr. Benoit said. "They do not relish change even though it is to their advantage. That often makes it difficult to help them."
Near here I visited one of the "New Towns"—a "Harlow" of Bangladesh—and part of the £1 million rehabilitation programme on which Oxfam has embarked in Bangladesh.
Nothing like it has been seen before in Bangladesh. It is a pioneering project which, over the years. could save millions of lives if adopted throughout the danger areas. Around the town is a turfed embankment planted with trees which serves as a storm barricade.
Each of the 200 houses now being built is made of bricks and mortar, with a steel roof. Each has a small vegetable garden where the wives will be encouraged to grow vegetables or keep chickens while their husbands are out earning their livings as fishermen or farm workers.
Canals with tree-lined banks have been built on the outskirts and will be stocked with fish. There will be separate bathing tanks for men and women and the water serving the town will be protected from pollution. The town will have its own school and community centre and experts will advise on how best to use the land.
I met 62-year-old Ali Hossain, the first to move into one of the houses, with his wife and three children. He was a happy man.
"It is hard to believe that it will be mine,he said as he looked at the partially cornpleted house. "I am an old man now and it does not matter much what happens to me. But it means a new life for my children. No longer do they need to fear what the rains may bring : no longer do they need to live in the fields like ani
mats. Now we are safe."
Over three miles of rutted roads Ali took me to Char Abdulla on the banks of the Megha River, It was here that his home, with thousands of others, was swept away by a tidal wave as high as the trees." It was a sunny day with clear blue skies and I thought the Bay of Bengal looked quite beautiful. But Ali disagreed.
"It is a false beauty," he said. "In a few weeks it will be dark and ugly and once again it will kill many people. All should go now."
But many thousands have no such "New Towns". On the waste stretches of land at Char Clerk I found 1,500 squatters who, returning from the Indian refugee camps, found themselves homeless. Without any tools they had scraped together high mounds of stones on which they had built bamboo huts.
Some managed to earn the equivalent of 15p a day mudcutting for a new rough road which is being built. But when the monsoon breaks even that work will stop. They will have nothing. Already they are listless, apathetic, nearing the end of their tether. Many of their children are starving, their stomachs bloated from hunger.
With me was the local district commissioner, a wellintentioned, humane man, but with problems beyond his control. He said he would try and send them food. But they stared at him blankly and turned on their heels. They had heard that before -and none had come,
Back at the mission I talked late into the night with Fr. Benoit about Bangladesh and its problems.
He said: "No people in the world can have suffered so much. They have endured cyclones, famine, disease-and finally war. And now it could start all over again. What gives one hope is the dedication and determination of many of the young men who are determined to rebuild Bangladesh.
"They are tired of their image as beggars: they want to make their country really independent. And they say that if the more fortunate nations will give them a little time and help they are sure they can do it."
But Fr. Benoit, like other priests I met, has no illusions about the selfishness, the overriding self-interest which motivates some Bengalis, Corruption is widespread, profiteering rampant, and the young Bengalis who are engaged on rehabilitation work are loud in their condemnation of this cynical behaviour.
One of the most impressive young men I have met out here is Mr. F. H. Abed, 32-year-old founder of the Bangladesh Rehabilitation Assistance Committee. He gave up a £4,000 a year job as chief accountant for a British oil company to help his country hack on its feet.
"Now is our chance to show the world what we can do," he said. "If we don't take it, we deserve to be beggars."
Fr. Benoit said : "There are many splendid young men out here who feel just the same. The country's future depends on their efforts. Others can help, but only they can rebuild Bangladesh."
The rains had stopped: the night sky seemed clearer. "That is good." said Fr. Benoit as he bade me good-night. "We need all the time we can get."