Liquid peace

I'm currently working for a humanitarian aid agency in the Central African Republic. Part of our work involves repairing water points that were damaged in the recent conflict, and one of those water points is in the grounds of the hospital in Boda, a small market town in Lobaye.

I went back one afternoon to take some photos, and the lovely girl in the photo below was collecting water. We'll call her Fatima, and – as you can tell by the way she’s dressed – she’s a Muslim.

Before the conflict, Muslims and Christians lived side by side, but that all changed two years ago. The conflict in CAR was, ostensibly, Muslim vs Christian (although of course it’s much more complicated than that), and churches and mosques were burned down, alongside the fighting, killing and raping.

Now, Muslims in Boda live in a small, overcrowded enclave, separated from the rest of the town by rickety wooden bridges. It’s still not safe for the two communities to mix: a few months ago, a Muslim woman was very badly beaten for crossing the bridge into the Christian quarter, to buy milk.

So I was curious as to how Fatima was able to collect water. It turns out that the lady in the right of the photo, 'Cécile', knew Fatima’s family before the crisis.

Every day, she and her children meet Fatima at the bridge, walk to the hospital together, collect water and walk back to the bridge, where Fatima’s brother meets her. This way, Fatima is safe, and her family have clean water.

Broken bridges

The photo below shows what remains of the bridge that connects a village in Lobaye, Central African Republic, to the rest of the world.

In 2012, this bridge was in excellent condition, and were regularly used by traders carrying goods to markets throughout the area, using 4x4s, vans and small trucks, as well as by local people buying and selling in neighbouring villages.

As you can see, now the bridge is all but impassable. This is partly because, during the conflict, local people took planks, nails and so on to repair their own homes that had been damaged, or to secure their homes / stores against looting.

In the end, the village decided to completely destroy it, to keep attackers out.

Can you imagine having to make that decision? The choices were:

a) leave the bridge up - remain connected to the world so you can go to the market, the doctor, etc, but men may come in the night with machetes and attack everyone in the village; or

b) destroy the bridge – you’ll be safe from outside attackers, but the only source of food, medicine and everything else (including income) will be the village.

Since the bridge was finally destroyed in 2014, no humanitarian aid has been able to reach this village. So we are thrilled that we have just managed to secure funding to help the community rebuild their link to the outside world.

Songs in the key of poo

Since 2014, the humanitarian organisation I'm working for has been building latrines for primary schools in the Central African Republic.

During the recent conflict, school buildings were badly damaged, and even before that, latrines were in a pretty shocking state. Pits were overflowing, floors were collapsing, doors didn’t close, and most children and teachers preferred to use the bush. So here we come, with lovely new toilet blocks!

One of our school toilet blocks in Lobaye

All of this building is great, but it wouldn’t make much difference unless people knew that they should wash their hands, and were able to keep the latrine clean.

So we help schools to set up their own Hygiene Clubs, with pupils and teachers. These brilliant people are trained by our staff, and take on the task of telling everyone in the school about using the latrines correctly and washing their hands.

The Club works in small teams. Some teams make posters to put up around the school, reminding people to wash their hands. Other teams make up short plays and perform them – students love this – showing how to use the latrine properly.

The teams take it in turns to clean the latrine, using brushes, gloves and detergent, replace toilet paper and make sure there is soap and water for washing hands.

At break times, four Club members stand by the latrines. They make sure everyone knows how to use them (this is important, because the design is different from last time) and remind people to wash their hands as they come out.

They do this by singing songs, such as ‘Wash your hands, it will save your life,’ and ‘Be a happy child, keep your bottom clean.’

Never in my life have I heard a song that fills me with quite as much joy (and makes me giggle every time I think of it) as ‘Be a happy child.’ It's working!

How to dress your child in the lean months

If you don’t earn the same amount every month, and particularly if you’ve never been to a maths lesson in your life, it’s difficult to gauge how your household income has changed over time.

We’ve been asking people in the Central African Republic if life has improved since the conflict here ‘ended’ in 2014, and one of the responses we received this month hit me especially hard.

A mother told us: “We are much richer now. My three children each have two pieces of clothing.”

Two pieces of clothing. Not two outfits: two pieces of clothing. It’s something I’ve been noticing, but it wasn’t until now that it clicked. Poor children have either a top OR a bottom to wear.

I had a look through the photos I’ve taken here, and pulled out some examples of kids, most of whom were just in the background, messing about. See what I mean about their clothes?

Compare these children with Youssou’s family, below. Youssou is one of the people we’ve helped to start growing food, and now he and his household grow enough to eat, and a bit extra to sell.

So they’re doing pretty well: all but one of the children has top and bottom covered, and six out of eight have shoes.

“Why do they have so many children if they can’t afford to clothe them?” 

I’m glad you asked. For one thing, before the crisis, this family was fairly rich, and because Boda is so fertile, no-one was starving. Even during the ‘lean months’, people had enough to eat: 93% of children under five were well nourished and thriving.

Also, these aren’t all Youssou’s children. Some of them are his nieces and nephews, whose parents were killed during the war, so Youssou and his wife took them in.

Poverty here is brutal and relentless. People aren’t ‘poor but happy’ – they’re poor but resilient, and (amazingly) hopeful, determined and proud. We’re beginning to see change, but it’s agonisingly slow.