Contributor: Margaret Larson

Jakarta, Indonesia - Just returned from the ground zero area of Banda Aceh in Indonesia, I realize that in twenty-five years of covering news and disasters...typhoons, earthquakes, hurricanes...I have never seen anything as devastating as the tsunami damage. The only comparable sights that I can think of are the old black and white photographs of Hiroshima.

Talking with those who survived the disaster, I find that the water that churned and chewed through Banda Aceh was not water as we think of it. Instead, it was a putrid sludge of debris and gasoline and human remains, with trees and parts of cars and glass slicing through it as it ravaged its way several kilometers into town.

Reminiscent of 9/11, there are posted notes all over town, with photographs and details of missing loved ones. Parents and relatives who cannot bear to give up hope go from one small encampment to another to check for the missing. Their minds are slowly grasping that their families are gone, but their hearts and much harder to convince.

In an elementary school where tsunami survivors, with nothing but clothing they've been given, are waiting to recover enough to start over. It would be difficult enough to contemplate beginning anew if all that had been lost were material. But for everyone there, something much greater has been lost...a relative, a parent, a child. The grief is as thick as the humidity and hangs in the air all around us.

Almost every day since I arrived in Banda Aceh, there have been earthquakes. One was 6.0 and another a 6.2 on the Richter scale, I am told. It is as if the very earth is groaning in grief. Some local people are calling the area "the City of Ghosts". Everywhere I step, I find a book, a child's shoe, a doll, a nightgown or ID card...shattered pieces of more than 70,000 lives have ended up tangled in the wreckage of this area.

I meet 33-year old Darmini and her husband Hasbulah. Miraculously, they have survived what Darmini says she believed was the "end of days". She cannot swim, but somehow managed to pull herself above the waters by climbing a coconut tree and then clinging to a dead cow for hours until the waters receded enough for her to get to higher land.

In all my years talking with survivors, as a reporter and with relief work, I have never been so haunted by anyone's eyes as I am by Darmini's. She lost hold of her 7-year old boy and 9-old girl in this calamity and no one has seen them since. Darmini is convulsed with a pain that I cannot describe; we cling to each other and cry. She clutches my hand like a lifeline. I feel beyond inadequate to comfort her, but as a mother, I feel her agony. I don't know if I could survive that kind of grief. Darmini's story is representative of the kind of suffering and horror that is now standard across this part of the world.

Headed home to the United States now, I feel burdened by guilt that I can leave this place and go home to my husband and son, who are safe and sound. But I will return in another way...with continued support for Banda Aceh, with an effort to encourage my country's long-term commitment to these people, with a bond to Darmini and Hasbulah and the prayer from a mother's heart that the world will not desert the survivors of this tsunami as they somehow struggle to go on after an unfathomable catastrophe. They deserve to have us stand by them, until the day they can stand alone again.

Read more ▸

At a tiny airport in Banda Aceh, Indonesia, the biggest humanitarian assistance effort in human history is unfolding.  This area is 'ground zero' to the tsunami disaster, the first hit and the last to receive aid because of the remote location and the destruction of infrastructure. 

It is here that Mercy Corps arrived several days ago, and began distributing relief supplies under the most difficult of circumstances.  It is possible that as many as 70,000 people died in this region alone, at the northern tip of the island of Sumatra.  The truth is that we probably will never have an accurate death toll.  Some of the lowlying islands near here have still not been accessed, but aerial reconnaissance showed no signs of life.

For Mercy Corps, the primary challenge is the logistical reality of finding trucks and transporting and distributing goods in an area where roads now drop off into the sea and where the entire coastline has shifted as a result of the tsunami.  It is hard to comprehend an event so deadly and so sudden and so wide-reaching. The unthinkable happened in just minutes, but this region will be living with the aftermath for a generation. 

While Mercy Corps works to provide immediate relief, staff are also laying the groundwork for long-term recovery, rebuilding and economic development.  It will also be critical that people, especially children, be provided some sort of services to address the trauma of this epic disaster. 

Right now, the world is focused on the disaster and the donations from governments and individuals have been exceedingly generous.  But from past experience, Mercy Corps staff members know that crises such as this one will stretch on for years.  Indonesia estimates it will take $1 billion over 5 years to rebuild.  It will be critical for the donations, the attention and the compassion to be sustained far into the future. 

Indonesians have asked me, does America know what happened? Is it on your TV?  I assure them that we know and that we care,  and I tell them that donations are pouring in.  My hope and prayer is that the donations will continue long into the future and that the international community will embrace this opportunity to connect with and help our brothers and sisters around the world in this tremendous crisis.

Read more ▸

A hellish predawn raid by truckloads of suspected Taliban gunmen took the life of a Mercy Corps veteran in Afghanistan in August. The violence didn't stop there. That wrenching episode was the second murder in a year, a horrible stretch for our relief workers.

The terrorism in Afghanistan continues, a daily fact of life, including: four kidnappings, gunfire sprayed at our vehicles, two cars burned, a bomb lobbed at one of our offices, and blown windows from a blast at the U.N. office across the street.

"We are on the brink of the worst I've ever seen," says Jim White, Mercy Corps' acting country director, who just returned to Portland from Afghanistan.

Now the eyes of the world are riveted on Iraq, judging the United States battle by battle. That microscope was once on Afghanistan. Now, two years after the first bombs were dropped, the world has forgotten this country -- and its lessons.

Security is the essential ingredient of nation-building, followed closely by investments. Without those ingredients we'll fail in Afghanistan -- and Iraq. But in the two years since the Taliban fell, we've dropped the ball on both counts in Afghanistan. Along with our international partners, we've squandered precious time and sorely tested the confidence of the Afghan people that we won't walk away from them -- again -- as we did a decade ago.

And, lately, errant bombs have killed 15 children as U.S. forces hunt down Islamic militants. But if the United States and the international community had created a broad net of security early on, these military actions might not be necessary and such tragic accidents wouldn't be happening.

Mercy Corps, with three offices in Afghanistan and 150 workers, is not the only agency under the gun. Aid workers are attacked about every two days all over the country. A total of 12 relief workers have been murdered there so far this year. For Afghan citizens the spiraling violence is even worse, a recurring nightmare.

Afghans are once again terrorized by "night letters" posted on mosques, warning them not to play music, allow girls to attend school or associate with aid workers who are risking their own lives to help the country rebuild. They tell us the threats are a chilling echo from the deadly Taliban years.

It's easy to see why Afghans are scared. First, consider the enormous security vacuum left when the Taliban regime was removed. That space was quickly filled by warlords and former mujahedeen soldiers supported by coalition forces, by Taliban and al-Qaida fighters who reinfiltrated from Pakistan and even by opium poppy growers -- all benefiting from a destabilized Afghanistan.

Without security after our quick military victory, we've left Afghanistan to unravel once again into a failed state and a haven for international terrorists and drug cartels. That's a prescription for disaster in Afghanistan and elsewhere.

"There are bombings, grenades and RPGs (rocket-propelled grenades) every day," Mercy Corps' White says of the weapons flung at aid workers. "People are getting killed -- and that's just the international community. Imagine the level of fear for the Afghans themselves." Devolving into chaos It's not as though the need for security caught us by surprise. For months, the current Afghan government, the United Nations and the aid community have urgently asked that the international peacekeeping force in the capital of Kabul be extended to the countryside. So far, that hasn't happened.

As a result, while there is progress in Kabul and some northern areas, huge swaths of the south and southeast are lawless, run by warlords and no longer accessible to relief agencies. Opium production is now 36 times higher than before the 2001 war. Many families tell us they're too afraid of reprisals to send their girls to schools or to register for the upcoming national elections.

In recent days, a group of aid agencies surveyed Afghans about their primary concerns. Security was at the top of the list. Without it, they say, there'll be no reconstruction, no democracy, no peace. Beyond security is another key ingredient -- money. The promised cash for rebuilding hasn't materialized. Last year President Bush announced a "Marshall Plan" for Afghanistan; other countries also pledged help. Yet, Afghanistan has received only a small portion of the $10.2 billion the World Bank estimates is necessary for the first five years. And the country got just a fraction of the aid-per-person compared to every other post-conflict rebuilding effort since Haiti, including Rwanda, Bosnia, Kosovo or East Timor.

To make matters worse, just as Afghanistan hit the skids last January and February, the United States was gearing up for war in Iraq, diverting our attention almost completely. That effectively ended the support Afghan leaders needed to pull their country together.

A window of hope If there's any good news in this situation, it's that we now have a fleeting window of opportunity to reverse the losses. Congress wisely diverted a small slice of supplemental funding for Iraq to Afghanistan -- $1.2 billion out of $87 billion. The money will be used to accelerate the training of Afghan police and army forces and to bolster reconstruction programs.

The U.N. recently voted to expand the International Security Assistance Force, now under NATO command, beyond Kabul. This security force or other forces must be sent to the most insecure areas immediately.

The timing is especially important. Work proceeds on finalizing the Afghan constitution and electing a permanent government. If not derailed by the rising violence, elections are set for June. The recent fatal attack by suspected Taliban militants against Afghan census workers shows how continued violence threatens the democratic process.

If reconstruction fails, Afghanistan could again be the incubator for the kind of forces that unleashed Sept. 11.

After 20 years of conflict, Afghans tell us they hunger for peace and progress. In the towns and villages where we work, we watched their hopes soar with the removal of the Taliban and the return of the world's attention.

Helping them climb out of prolonged conflict, a crippling five-year drought, rampant illiteracy and crushing poverty will take sustained commitment. It's as much in our interest as theirs.

Read more ▸

CHAMAN, PAKISTAN, Dec. 10 - I've been working directly at the border, near Chaman, Pakistan and it has been amazing.

I can't help but continually marvel at the toughness, the absolute grit of the afghan refugees coming across the border. After what they've experienced and seen at home, after exhausting and probably harrowing travels, they're left to bribe their way across the border or pelt the Pakistani soldiers with stones until they can squeeze through.

What's waiting for them is a dusty, barren, forbidding stretch of land and thousands of other people in the same predicament. Both the men and women are prematurely aged, and it's extreme. A 40-year old looks 60. A father appears to be a grandfather. Even the children have the hands of the elderly, weathered and worn. The swirling sandstorms are so frequent, the kids are caked with dirt. They look like they've been rolled in ashes.

There are some frayed nerves today. Some people, probably local citizens doing a good deed during the holy month of Ramadan, have driven a truck to the camp to distribute a small number of clothing articles. Their good intentions go predictably awry; there are not nearly enough parcels of clothing to go around. The handouts cause a near-riot of desperate people, who are quickly left in a cloud of dust and disappointment.

"Some of the children look blank and sit quietly in the dust. Others still have a sparkle in their eyes; you can see the potential for hope." (Photo: Scott Heidler/Mercy Corps)

Mercy Corps is working hard, seven days a week to help. I am so impressed with Rod Volway, Mercy Corps' lead person in the distribution of food and household items to refugees in the only two new camps to open since the bombing campaign started. He is in constant motion, thinking ahead, checking on the warehouse, thinking some more, doubling back to make sure things are on schedule. Refugees come first to Killi Faizo, a transit camp, where they register and get basic goods. They are transported to Roghani, a camp for 15,000 refugees offering supplies, shelter and medical care.

Mercy Corps distributes monthly supplies of wheat flour, cooking oil, lentils and soap. Refugee families also receive blankets, pads, buckets and hygiene materials, lanterns and fuel. Help has to start somewhere. For thousands, it starts here.

These are tense days. U.S. military aircraft are flying overhead. Taliban fighters, fleeing Afghanistan, now roam this border area. Some reports claim Mullah Omar is here in Chaman. Some say he's wounded. No one knows. The bombing has caused anger. A journalist was beaten on the road here. But the refugees seem not to look much farther than tonight; they want peace and a chance maybe to go home. Two children died here yesterday. One was two, the other 10 days old. It seems hard to believe that in the 21st century, we human beings can't do better than this.

I play with some kids, show them my video camera. They laugh and take turns over and over until we've amassed quite a crowd. The children eventually break away in groups. There's nothing really to play with...a spare wheelbarrow, an empty sack. A vendor has set up a cart just outside the gate. Some refugees have enough money to buy a small plastic truck for their kids, or some extra crackers. A man passes by with a child on his shoulders, and his mother rides in the wheelbarrow he's pushing. On ahead, a 4-year old struggles to pick up a can of cooking oil and then follows his father back into the seemingly endless row of tents. It's a world so far from mine. I don't think I can adequately describe it.

Some of the children look blank and sit quietly in the dust. Others still have a sparkle in their eyes; you can see the potential for hope. I can't see the women. Many still wear the burqa. Those who don't have only their eyes exposed, which they frequently obscure with a hand. They scurry away from the camera. At home, they've been forbidden to be seen or photographed but then, in the line to pick up flour, a woman makes eye contact. She has a child with her, and she's the only woman among the dozens of men in line (traditionally, Afghan men do the food shopping, women do the household shopping). I point to the camera; she doesn't look away. I pick up the camera, and kneel down next to her, so that I can see her and photograph her at eye level. She maintains the gaze. I put the camera down. She never stops looking at me. Her eyes crinkle just a little bit. I think she's smiling and all I can think is, I hope we can help these people.

Read more ▸