Children deal with the trauma of living in refugee camps

Pakistani displaced children who fled the troubled Swat Valley, attend a class at a make-shift school setup in Shiekh Yasin refugee camp in Mardan

Nabila Bibi sits in a tent in the blistering heat thinking about the dolls she left behind at home in the Pakistani mountains where the army and Taliban rebels are killing each other.

Rosy-cheeked Nabila understands nothing about Islamist insurgents and Pakistan's latest military offensive against them, which the United Nations said has displaced around 1.5 million people this month alone.

She is more concerned about her ‘lonely’ dolls. ‘I am very upset to be here. I feel all alone because my dolls are not with me. Is there someone who can bring these dolls from my house?’ Nabila asks her elder sister.

Nabila, 12, and her family were living outside the town of Mingora in the northwest Swat valley until they fled to the Yar Hussain camp in fear of their lives.

The dusty camp was set up by the government in North West Frontier Province (NWFP) with the help of the UN refugee agency on the outskirts of the town of Swabi, sheltering about 1,200 families in the same number of tents.

‘It is very hot here. I have no friends nor is there any proper playing field like the one I had in front of my house,’ said Nabila, who is taking classes at a temporary school in the camp.

The UN children's agency UNICEF, deeply concerned about the psychological toll on children displaced by the operation to flush out the militants, said it was providing education and recreation in 13 camps where families are holed up.

‘It is vital for children to cope with the trauma of displacement,’ UNICEF spokeswoman Antonia Paradela says.

She said counselling services for women and children are available in all those camps, with trained staff identifying children who have been damaged mentally and helping them cope with a predicament which is none of their doing.

‘Children have also been provided toys, pencils and drawing paper to help them regain confidence,’ Paradela said.

But for all these initiatives, many youngsters in Yar Hussain look unsettled and some plain unhappy.

‘I miss my friends with whom I used to play cricket. I am a big fan of leg spinner cricketing hero Shahid Afridi,’ said Nauman Ali, 16, a carpenter from Mingora, Swat's main town.

‘I wish he would visit me in this camp. I like him because he is also a good batsman. He has a lovely style of hitting sixes.’ Nauman looked sceptical when asked if he thought he would go home soon.

‘I really don't know when I will be able to go back home and play cricket with my friends.’ Jawad Khan, a third grade pupil, said he wanted to become a doctor.

‘How can I continue my studies in an area where bombs and grenades explode daily? Stories about a group of people who slit the throats of their brothers scare me a lot,’ said Jawad, apparently referring to Taliban rebels.

‘I have a few friends from my area in this camp and we all agree these are dirty people,’ he added while carrying his half-naked infant sister.

Six-year-old Nadia Khan, meandering with her mother through the camp, where long queues of men and children formed at lunch time, repeatedly begged to be let out the camp.

‘I want to go home and play with my friends, please take me back,’ she pleaded with her mother in broken Urdu.

Despite severe irritation in her eyes caused by a dust storm, Nadia was hungry—even if the dish of spicy rice with chickpeas was hardly mouth-watering.

Shahid Khan, an eighth grade student, said the fighting had ‘shattered’ his dreams. But he was resolute nonetheless. ‘I want to become an army officer. I like their uniform, I like their discipline,’ he said.

‘I am determined to continue my studies. If this is not possible in Mingora, I will ask my father to send me to another city where I can complete my studies and join the army.’