The work of Oxfam’s partners in Japan now includes:
Oxfam America is accepting funds to support these and other efforts.
]]>We are providing funds to organizations in Japan that can assist people who might otherwise have difficulty accessing government aid. Migrant workers and immigrants, for example, who don’t speak Japanese. We’re also funding a partner focused on assisting nursing mothers and their babies. As the disaster response evolves, we'll continue to identify Japanese partners who can address unmet needs on the ground.
The Japanese government is a world leader in humanitarian preparedness and response, and it is carrying out a huge aid effort involving its armed forces, police, firefighters, and local authorities. We’d like to complement that work in whatever ways we can. But our particular expertise involves delivering clean water and sanitation facilities, and in Japan—where there are good water and sewage systems and enough water engineers to repair those that are damaged—it is unlikely that our help will be needed. There are clearly serious obstacles to getting supplies to people in need, but the government is in a better position to handle those difficulties than most outside agencies would be.
Oxfam doesn’t have a role in a nuclear catastrophe. The corporate and government authorities who are responsible for the power plants need to take full responsibility for preventing and responding to radiation releases.
When the earthquake struck, there were systems in place to warn people and protect them from what was coming, but the power of the events that followed went beyond everyone’s imagination.
What really amazes me is that a 9.0-magnitude earthquake has struck a densely populated island country, and people are not even talking about it. Clearly it triggered a tsunami and a nuclear crisis that have had far-reaching effects, but there’s very little mention of direct damage from the earthquake itself. I think that when all is said and done, Japan’s earthquake preparedness—such as its strict building codes—will turn out to have had a very positive effect.
There is no time when poverty, vulnerability, and exclusion become so apparent as at the moment of an emergency. So often, the people who suffer the deepest losses in an event like an earthquake or cyclone are the ones who couldn’t afford to live in a safe house in a safe location. When Oxfam sets out to help a community recover from a disaster, we look for opportunities to help its most vulnerable members make long-term improvements in their social and economic conditions.
When the world is hurting, you want to do something. In this case, Oxfam won’t mount a major humanitarian response, but I’m glad we’re able to offer our solidarity and support to the people of Japan.
]]>All over the world, Oxfam is responding to disasters, rushing clean water and other resources to survivors. But we are carrying out no such effort in Japan. Why?
Unlike many countries around the world, Japan has had both the means and the will to invest seriously in disaster preparedness and response. The government can deliver large amounts of aid as quickly as the conditions on the ground permit, calling for specific outside resources (such as more search-and-rescue teams) as needed. So far, Oxfam’s particular expertise in emergencies—including delivering water and sanitation facilities—has not been required.
But in every humanitarian emergency, there are those who struggle to get access to the help they need. Oxfam Japan is channeling funds to local organizations that aim to fill some of the gaps in aid—providing a hotline for non-Japanese speakers like migrant workers, for example, and assisting nursing mothers. Oxfam America is accepting funds to support their efforts.
“Oxfam is an agency focused on poverty and rights, and we prioritize the needs of women in emergencies,” says Michael Delaney, Oxfam America’s director of humanitarian response. “Thanks to the strong foundations laid by the Japanese people, our role in this emergency will be small, but our hearts go out to everyone affected by the disaster.”
]]>Oxfam staff in Tokyo say that, though they have experienced many earthquakes, they have never seen buildings shake the way they did on Friday. Aftershocks and rolling blackouts are keeping the population weary, while the threat of a nuclear meltdown is looming.
Oxfam has been ready to assist but is not launching a major humanitarian response at this time. We usually focus our resources on communities where governments have been unable—or, in some cases, unwilling—to provide for their people. But the Japanese government has a tremendous capacity for responding in crises, and a clear commitment to using its resources to the fullest.
And—particularly in the midst of a nuclear crisis—we do not want the demands of coordinating the work of outside aid providers to draw on the resources of the government.
Nevertheless, in emergencies there are always communities that fall below the radar and cannot easily access humanitarian relief. Barriers of language or residency status, for example, can have tragic consequences at times like these.
“The Japanese state has the means to reach 99% of the population,” says Oxfam Japan Executive Director Akiko Mera, “but there will always be some who need more specific assistance.”
During the coming weeks, Oxfam Japan will channel resources to local organizations that can connect vulnerable groups with the assistance they need. Oxfam America is accepting funds for those and other efforts.
]]>The Haitian authorities need to show greater strategic leadership and take decisions that reflect the priority needs of the Haitian population. They need to initiate public infrastructure projects that put people to work and build skills; support people to return home or allocate land for new houses; and invest in agriculture. The international community should do much more to support these efforts by increasing the capacity and accountability of Haitian institutions.
]]>Dénéus works for Oxfam in the commune of Petit Rivière in the department of Artibonite in Haiti -- an area recently plagued by cholera. She sets out in the morning in a four-by-four truck, seeking out farmers in the fields who may not have heard the radio programs Oxfam has recently broadcast about proper hygiene and sanitation measures to stop the cholera, avoid infection, or the basic steps to help stricken people survive.
Spotting a crew of five men preparing a field to plant potatoes, she asks the driver to stop the truck, and she bounds out the back, moving across the road, down a well-worn path, jumping across an irrigation ditch, to the edge of the field.
It’s best for those accompanying Dénéus to stand behind her when she gets into action: she routinely uses a battery-powered megaphone to greet the farmers, and her words are loud and carry a long way. She asks them if they have already been trained on how to avoid and treat cholera and proper hygiene and sanitation practices. If they seem unsure or say no, she launches into the routine: she explains that cholera is a bacterial disease, can be passed by drinking contaminated water, and can be controlled by washing your hands before putting anything in your mouth. She encourages them to chlorinate water before drinking it, and to take early action to treat people showing symptoms of diarrhea and vomiting with an oral rehydration solution.
Some of the farmers stop, lean on their hoes, and listen, while others keep piling the moist earth into long mounds, in preparation for planting. But even the ones who keep working shout questions as they go: Where can we get soap? What about helping people who are sick? Where do we get the chemicals to treat our drinking water? Dénéus responds to all the questions: She refers people to centers where oral rehydration solution is available in their village, so they can ensure sick relatives can survive. And where to get one of the 35,000 cholera kits Oxfam is distributing, which have all the things they need to keep clean and treat their drinking water.
One topic dominates discussion in each of the 10 or so fields she sees this morning: she urges the farmers, “avoid going to the toilet right on the ground!” This is a major, longstanding problem in rural Haiti since well before the January 12th earthquake hit Port-au-Prince nearly a year ago: with no sewage system, running water, or proper latrines, many rural households must answer nature’s call in the open. Not all households have a latrine, so the farmers ask for advice: it’s simple, Dénéus says, dig a hole and bury the excrement. But Oxfam is also deploying a team of engineers to help farmers with simple materials to build their own latrines as an important step to reducing vulnerabilities to water-borne diseases like cholera. They plan to help install 700 latrines in Petite Rivière.
Dénéus is relentless, she repeats her messages with the same enthusiasm for each group she encounters toiling in the hot December sun, sweat running down the side of her face. “If you don’t think cholera can kill you, go to the hospital, go to the morgue, and see for yourself,” she tells any skeptical farmers.
Passing by a group she spoke with earlier in the morning now taking a lunch break, she stops and poses a question: “Did you wash your hands before eating?” Of course the answer is yes, but when she asks if they used soap, a few look down, but most of them make no excuses: soap is expensive and they are not accustomed to bringing it to the fields with them. Another form of behavior for Dénéus to change: With Oxfam distributing free soap, expense is not an issue in the short term, and eventually she hopes that farmers will improve their hygiene practices in the fields as well as at home.
After a productive morning tour of the fields, Dénéus stops by a few oral rehydration centers in the community of Marqès. These are simple tables stocked with clean water, mixing bowls and cups, and small packets of oral rehydration salts. These tables are staffed by trained volunteers who can teach people how to mix the life-saving solution, and ensure that anyone with a sick family member has access to this essential therapy. Cholera can kill in just a few hours by completely dehydrating a victim, so oral rehydration is essential. Dénéus checks the supplies, and coaches the volunteers on preparing solutions, how to answer frequently asked questions, and asks if there has been any activity at the centers as part of the monitoring Oxfam is doing in the community.
Dénéus has a law degree and is working for Oxfam because she says the right to life is one of the most basic. “I came here to save lives; that’s what Oxfam is doing here,” she says as she leaves the fields after a busy morning.”I’ve only been working here a month, but I’ve seen Oxfam doing good work, and it is saving lives. The rate of mortality is reduced, and the rate of people getting sick is also lower thanks to Oxfam.”
The work of Dénéus and other public health promoters is reaching out to 125,000 people in the region, using the radio and in-person visits to push key messages about good hygiene and sanitation habits. Mario Guerrerro, Oxfam’s program manager in Petite Rivière, says this effort is proving essential. “The training for people to change their habits is making the difference,” he says in his office, looking over the declining mortality figures in a report from the health ministry. “Once people understand, they do their best to treat their water.”
Toward the end of Dénéus’s rounds this one morning, she encounters nearly 40 farmers in a relatively small area she can hit in one stop. She moves through her presentation, answers a few questions, and concludes her visit with a phrase, a promise, and a wish: “Zero cholera!” she shouts, her final words to the farmers.
]]>Diop is a grandmother who lives with 15 members of her family in the city of Pikine, Senegal. When late summer rains pounded the region, this low-lying city fared badly. Its poor neighborhoods lack proper drainage, and the city has become an urban lake. In Diop’s house, every room but one is submerged in the still waters of a flood that acts like it’s here to stay.
“Since 2005, we have been suffering from the floods, but we have never seen anything like what is happening this year,” says Diop.
The nearby marketplace is under water, too, so for people who make their living by trade, incomes have vanished. And for the many who, like Diop and her family, buy their provisions day to day as they can, there are practically no stores of food in their homes to fall back on.
Health is a worry, as well: the latrines that are now deep in floodwater are slowly releasing their contents into the streets and schools and homes of Pikine, setting the stage for outbreaks of diarrheal and skin disease. And the standing water is a breeding ground for mosquitoes which, in malarial regions like this, pose serious threats to health.
Oxfam has joined forces with Eau Vie et Environment, a Senegalese partner organization, to assist 28,000 people affected by the floods in Pikine. We are removing water from homes, pumping waste from latrines before it flows into the streets, and distributing soap and other hygiene materials to help residents protect their health under these difficult conditions. For those in greatest need, we are also distributing small sums of cash to enable them to buy essentials for their families.
“Our goal is to provide immediate relief to those who need it most but also to address the longer-term problem of drainage with the local and national authorities whose job it is to prevent disasters like this,” says Oxfam’s Dawit Beyene. “No one should have to live in standing water.”
]]>For the past ten days, Oxfam has been responding to the flooding in the Mexican states of Oaxaca, Veracruz, Tabasco, and Chiapas.
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Ibrahim and her family of six are from Mardan, in Pakistan’s northwestern Khyber Pakhtunkhwa province. Four weeks after they were forced from their home by rising waters, they are living in a tent in an overcrowded camp with four thousand other flood survivors.
She knows they are among the lucky ones. Since the Ibrahims arrived at the camp in the town of Nowshera on 4 August, they have had a tent for shelter and access to clean water and food. But she’s worried about what the future holds for her family
“Before the floods came, life was hard but good,” says Ibrahim. “We had our own home. My husband worked as a watchman for a local company, and we had some livestock that brought us some extra money.
“Then the rains started and the river began rising. We had never seen anything like it. We got up for prayers at 5AM, and the water level was higher than we’d ever seen it before. Then it started coming into the house. By 12PM, we knew we had to leave.
“Now, even the office where my husband worked was washed away, so he has lost his job. There is nothing we can do but stay in the camp and wait. We are thankful for help, but it is very hot here all the time. We have tea and bread in the morning and curry in the evening. But at home, we all ate three times a day and we had tea 24 hours a day. At night, we only have two camp beds and some plastic mats for the eight of us.”
The Ibrahims’ story is typical of many of those affected by the floods. Some are living in government-run camps; others are making do by the side of the road.
“We can rebuild our home but it will take time,” says Ibrahim. “There’s no water or electricity, and all the rooms are filled with mud. Every day, we go to clean and to make sure no one has taken whatever has been left.
“I am scared about the winter. We think it will take two or three months at least to make our house so we can live in it again. We need to go home before winter comes. We have no winter clothing or bedding. What will we do if we have to live in a tent? We need to be back in our home.”
“These people don’t want handouts,” says Neva Khan, Oxfam’s country director in Pakistan. They want to return to their villages, rebuild their homes, and recreate their lives. Oxfam is among the agencies working to provide them not just with emergency short-term help but with the resources they will need over the long term.
In order to do this, she adds, we need much more help from supporters.
For those living in the camps, uncertainty is a constant companion. “I don’t know when we will be able to go home,” says Ibrahim.
Today, she is speaking for millions.
]]>As we approach Row 1A—one of the neat lines of white tents that make up the Corail resettlement camp, two figures wave at us energetically. Marceline Philidor and her daughter Sabine are as welcoming as when I saw them last, over a month ago. Their family was among the first group of people to be moved from the Petionville Golf Club—where they faced an imminent threat of flash floods—to this site about 15 km outside Port-au-Prince.
Marceline is busy cooking some rice on a small stove, but she pulls up some plastic chairs for us under the awning in front of her tent - one of the few small patches of shade in this vast, sun-baked camp. I ask her what life has been like these last two months.
“Well, life is the pretty much the same here now as when we moved in. Not much has changed. We have our tent. We have enough water from Oxfam to drink and cook and wash. We’ve received food, too, and rice, oil, beans and flour from World Vision. We still have the latrines from Oxfam, and there are enough for everyone, although it would be nice to have our own toilet, or a toilet to share with several families, and keep them clean between us.”
Oxfam has been concerned since the Corail site was selected in April that the area is isolated and doesn’t have markets close by. I ask Marceline what they have been living on and whether they’ve been looking for work outside of the camp.
“I’ve done some work - digging the trenches for drainage here in the camp, making them deeper—so we will have a little money soon. I’ve been the one working, because I had my identification with me when they offered the work, so I signed up. My husband goes out almost every day looking for work. Sometimes he takes the tap-tap (Haitian mini-bus) that goes from here to town, and costs 15 gourdes. But we don’t have much money, so often he has to walk.”
Marceline’s husband, David Deronoil, joins us and tells about his search for work.
“I go regularly into Delmas, to all the old places I used to work before the earthquake. I was a metal worker and then a driver. Often I have to walk, so I leave here at 4:30 in the morning, and I usually arrive around 11.” He pauses. “A man shouldn’t stay at home and not work. He should be able to go out and work to support his wife and child. But there are no jobs.”
Marceline once sold goods at a market stall, and she would like to re-open her business. “But I wouldn’t start it here,” she says. “I would go to one of the markets nearby, in Bon Repos. People say they might create a new market there so people here can work. I don’t know if it’s true. We’ve been asking to have a market and a hospital and a school for the people living here in the camp.”
School is an important topic for David.
“Aside from getting work, our main priority is Sabine’s education. Education is very important. I don’t want my daughter to grow up sitting around here, not learning anything. I want her to go to school and learn. To get an education. There’s a good school in Bon Repos; I would like to take her there, but we would need money. Like before the earthquake.”
I ask David and Marceline what their thoughts are about the future. David shrugs. “I wouldn’t mind having a house here. We like it here; we don’t hate it. And we don’t want to go back to Port-au-Prince. It’s too crowded and there are no homes there. I wouldn’t mind having a home here, or even building one myself.”
He smiles, looking around his tent. For now there isn’t much around their little home—just one or two plants sheltered by the side of the tent—but it’s clear he’s picturing what it could be like.
“We would like a little place to plant trees, so that they could give us shade and we could have mangoes to eat. And some space to keep chickens. Then we could have chicken to eat. We need a real home. We need some privacy. We also need to be able to have fun sometimes, have some kind of recreation.” He laughs. “Maybe watch the world cup on TV!”
He becomes serious again. “But we don’t know if there will be homes. There are rumors that they might be moving us again. So we don’t know.”
Although Corail is designated as a temporary relocation site, nobody knows how long people like David and Marceline will live here. These families need—and have the right—to start earning a living again, to send their children to school, and to have a clear idea when they will finally have a home again. The government of Haiti, with the support of international and national organizations, has the responsibility to develop and implement a housing, resettlement, and job-creation strategy that will get people back into homes and communities, and earning incomes. This is the crucial next step to help Haitians rebuild their lives for the long term.
]]>With the crack of a sledgehammer on concrete, Oxfam's water and sanitation program in Delmas, Haiti, got underway.
The earth was still shuddering with aftershocks when survivors began to dig, carving out latrine trenches 10 feet long, 10 feet deep, and three feet wide through every kind of soil and pavement. Others did their part by quickly shaping platforms out of rocks and earth to support their new source of drinking water: Oxfam water bladders.
It was a race against time, and against deadly water-related bacteria like typhoid, hepatitis, and cholera that can thrive in crowded, unsanitary conditions. And it is a race that—so far, at least—we are winning. After the quake, hundreds of thousands of people had no access to toilets, and the water available wasn't fit to drink; yet, thanks to an all-out effort on the part of the displaced communities and aid agencies like Oxfam, there have been no outbreaks of waterborne disease.
But there is more to water and sanitation programs than health.
"We build latrines not only because they help prevent the spread of disease, but because they should help protect the dignity and safety of disaster survivors living in camps," says Oxfam engineer Kenny Rae, who led the first phase of Oxfam's water and sanitation effort in Delmas.
There is a special focus on the safety of women and girls, because in the chaotic aftermath of disasters, they are particularly vulnerable to harassment and assault. The structure of a latrine—like the firmness of its latches and whether its doors open toward or away from the general population of a camp—has implications for safety, so Rae and his team listened closely to the concerns of women residents.
Shower construction was another important issue. Haiti's weather is so warm that shower stalls can be open to the sky, but where they were installed within view of multi-story buildings, women in Delmas had understandable concerns about privacy—which Rae and his team quickly addressed by adding roofs.
"When it came to sanitation facilities," says Rae, "women in the camps had the first and last word."
Helping survivors recover after disasters is not as simple as doling out goods and services: it requires attention to the many facets of community well-being.
For example, working for pay can help disaster survivors meet a range of needs, both financial and psychological. Oxfam offered wages to residents to dig latrine trenches, cover them with slabs of molded concrete or plastic, and build structures of wood and plastic sheeting around them for shelter and safety.
"We ended up employing more than 300 people to build latrines in Delmas," says Rae. "Their communities benefited from the project, and their families benefited from the income."
But in some cases, the need for community-building trumped the need for money. When it came to constructing platforms for water bladders, everyone worked for free, says Rae. "They treated the work as a contribution to their communities."
Caring for Haiti's fragile environment was another key consideration for the water and sanitation team, which needed wood for construction.
"From the outset," says Rae, "we determined that we weren’t going to use local timber poles because of the impact on deforestation."
The team found a source of timber imported from the US. It was more expensive than local wood, and at first it was hard to find enough of it. But, says Rae, in a country as deforested and as vulnerable to landslides as Haiti, the environmental cost of harvesting timber is tremendous.
When Rae and his team assessed the local water and sanitation situation, they found settlements where thousands of displaced residents had gathered. But Delmas is also dotted with tiny camps and informal schools, and it took time to understand the full extent of the needs. Oxfam staff kept their eyes—and their office—open, continually updating their plans and assessments.
"We had an open-door policy," says Rae. "Pastors, school directors, and other community leaders would bring their requests and concerns to the Oxfam office on a near-daily basis, and we were almost always able to respond."
After helping create water and sanitation facilities in 21 sites, serving 40,000 people, Rae has returned home for a rest. Sort of.
"Of course, I was pleased to get back to the people I love," says Rae, "but I was torn because the needs on the ground in Haiti are so enormous."
When he goes back to Haiti, it will be to work on another key issue in the recovery: shelter. His focus will be not only the homeless in Port-au-Prince, but also the tens of thousands of rural families that are hosting relatives who fled the capital and are now living in very crowded conditions. Rae will be looking for efficient ways to build temporary housing and house extensions to reduce the stress on families.
"Shelter is—and will remain for a while—a huge, huge need," he says.
As for the water and sanitation program in Delmas, says Rae, "I'm confident that the Haitian engineers I helped to train will be able to carry it forward."
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