To the memory of those who perished in the South Asian Earthquake and those left to rebuild their lives, their homes and their communities.

Foreword

7 Point 7 is a poignant account of the experience of Mr Miller Caldwell, a committed humanitarian who was so affected by the death and destruction caused by the October 2005 earthquake in Pakistan that he offered his services to help the victims. Muslim Hands International, a well-established charity took up his offer and thus the author found himself in the devastated area of the Pakistani highlands - the North Western Frontier Province.

Mr Caldwell’s diary is easy to read and engagingly descriptive, giving a day to day picture of the plight of the victims in one of the many emergency camps of which he was given charge. The details about the humane role played in this tragedy by workers from so many international charities, NGOs, UN organisations, the Pakistan armed forces and many foreign government bodies is deeply revealing and very heartening. The working together of people of various faiths to help the victims of the earthquake is a very strong and hopeful feature of this tragedy.

The love affair of Jahangeer, a 17-year-old Pakistani boy and a 25-year-old Cuban doctor Jenny, brings a welcome change to the tragic scene of devastation all around. Games of cricket, eating out in wayside chetis and in the houses of Pakistani hosts gives an excellent picture of Pakistani food, eating habits and the Pakistani way of life.

The experiences of the author during his short spell of life in the Islamic Republic of Pakistan present a very positive picture of Islam and Pakistani culture. 7 Point 7 not only gives a unique insight into the life of the victims of the earthquake, but also the lives and efforts of those, from many parts of the world, who were engaged in helping them. I found it very interesting and absorbing and it deserves to be read widely as it is quite different from any of the accounts of the earthquake and its after effects as reported in the press.

Glasgow, October 2006 Bashir Maan C.B.E.

Introduction

On Saturday 8^th October 2005 an earthquake in India, Afghanistan, Kashmir and the North West Frontier Province of Pakistan struck. Measuring 7.7 on the Richter scale, it initially caused the premature deaths of thirty thousand people and left many more with nothing but grief. By December the official death toll had risen to seventy-three thousand and the bitter winter was closing in on the survivors. Many would not survive the notorious Kashmir winter conditions. The final death toll can never be established but the United Nations know that at least two million people were affected by this tragedy.

In Adam Smith’s Theory of Moral Sentiments of earthquakes in China, I am reminded of our capacity for "sympathy" in the philosophical sense: being able to locate outside oneself, and becoming an "impartial spectator". It is now easier to practice such philosophy in the modern world of instant media news provision but it is a good practical guide for difficult ethical settings nevertheless. Smith recognised that each must reach his or her own conclusion and prescription; and each must choose his or her own course of action.

A local Dumfries restaurateur and special police constable, Farooq Ahmed, lost a niece in this disaster and I had read in the newspaper about his intention to return to Pakistan to provide whatever assistance he could.

I had known Farooq for a number of years when we were both members of our Authority’s Race Relations Committee and he knew that I had retired from the Scottish Children’s Reporter Administration as the Authority Reporter for Dumfries and Galloway. I met with him in early December 2005 to hear about his proposed mission and offered what skills I had to offer. With my knowledge of children’s rights and their welfare, he felt I was urgently required to assist in the area of traumatised children. He explained that children who had lost their families and their homes had been placed in many tented fields. Charities had brought the children gifts at the end of the Ramadan fasting period but the children were so distressed that they had no inclination to open their presents. Now the snows had arrived, their plight was worse. The children wished to remain in tents despite the freezing temperatures as continuing earth tremors gave them no confidence in having a solid roof over their heads at this time.

A window of opportunity had opened up through the winter for me as we had lost our faithful collie. Being an author also meant time was my own. So when I offered to assist in any capacity at a camp, it took Farook no time to decide I should go. It was time to prepare.

Preparation.

The North West Frontier Province of Pakistan is not normally a recommended tourist destination. Is it mighty near where Usama Bin Laden is believed to have resided as a recluse in recent years. This venture was not a mission that could be undertaken lightly.

I discussed this journey with my wife and daughter and they gave their permission for me to respond to my conscience and travel. It called upon my judgement to be careful, sensible and sensitive in all that I did during the weeks ahead.

Preparation took many forms. Typhoid and tetanus boosters were organised. Thermal clothing and footwear were bought and a solid grounding in Islamic customs and traditions was found in the Teach Yourself Islam in depth understanding series.

Additional outdoor clothing, which had experienced service in the Himalayas, came from Bruce my next door neighbour and, after Jim and Meg’s Peruvian travels, more winter attire arrived from their home in Arbroath. A welcome pocket hand warmer came at Christmas from my sister Joan in Surbiton while temperatures of –30 degrees were being reported as the clutches of winter descended on the tented villages. Meanwhile, more than 1,500 earth tremors had been felt in Pakistani Kashmir since the earthquake of 8^th October 2005.

In addition to clothing at this time, a generous cheque for the earthquake victims was received from Mr Alan Marshall of the Bard’s Veterinary Clinic in Dumfries and countless Christmas cards wished more than seasonal greeting. Prayers were being said for my safety as well as that of the victims of the earthquake.

I was taken under the wing of the Muslim Hands International charity. This is the UK’s major award winning Muslim charity based in Nottingham. It currently oversees the Muslim aid response to the 2004 Asian tsunami disaster as well as this earthquake. They welcomed me aboard when they knew that I was to be with Farooq. It was pleasing to find inter-denominational support within the Muslim fold.

It is the Muslim Hands Charity belief that:

• At Muslim Hands, we believe that everyone, irrespective of race, colour or faith has the fundamental right to a life of dignity, free of poverty and oppression.

• At Muslim Hands, we believe that poverty can and must be eradicated, as it exists primarily due to the unjust distribution of resources.

• At Muslim Hands, we believe that by working directly with poor communities we can bring positive changes from within these communities.

• At Muslim Hands, we believe that literacy, education and job-skills training are fundamental to the development of needy communities and are the most effective tool for empowering the poor to break out of poverty.

• At Muslim Hands, we believe it is our duty to assist impoverished people in times of crisis such as war or natural disaster.

• At Muslim Hands, we believe we are service providers to millions of people who share our view that "together, we can help the needy fight poverty".

Thursday 12th January 2006

Sheikh Maktoum, the ruler of Dubai, died on 4th January 2006 so the city was in mourning on 12th January when I flew into it on my way to Pakistan.

The Emirates flight from Glasgow was comfortable but more like a charter holiday plane. Such is the attraction of Dubai’s winter sun, cleanliness, tax-free products and enterprise for those who can afford it. Sitting beside me was a young female teacher from Dumbarton who was returning for a second term at her school. She gasped aloud in distress. She had left her laptop computer at home. I reassured her she was likely to get a good replacement at a good price in the United Arab Emirates. She agreed. But it was only the airport terminal at Dubai that I would see. It was already midnight.

 

Friday 13th January

A long flowing white gown ascended the highly polished escalators of the airport concourse and the man’s entourage followed behind. The family moved with dignity and elegance.

I walked the length of the terminal to find Gate 5, the flight to Islamabad. I sat beside a young Scottish residential care worker from Bellahouston, Glasgow, with her mother. You can not sit two Glasgwegian strangers together for more than two minutes before conversation begins and this encounter was no exception. The woman of Pakistani descent would be in Islamabad for three weeks to celebrate her marriage. She was looking forward to the occasion but would have to rely on her mother’s Urdu language skills to get by. Her heavy Glaswegian accent might prove a challenge for Pakistanis.

At 3 am the following morning, the flight from Dubai to Islamabad, the capital of Pakistan, was announced. The three-hour flight was quiet. I was seated next to a Pakistani humanitarian worker on leave from Dafur in Sudan’s civil war. We reflected on his well-earned leave and contrasted that with my imminent arrival in the earthquake zone. All tried to catch a couple of hours’ sleep but from my window I could see the Pakistan dawn slowly break. Grey clouds over a flat plain at first, then the shroud lifted and I could see scattered towns as we followed the flowing Indus river, north to the capital.

The Emirates plane taxied past army lorries, helicopters and many well-stocked wooden pallets bearing international aid that was arriving from all parts of the world.

Through immigration formalities the long line snaked until I was at the front of the queue presenting my passport bearing the Visa declaration Gratis– Humanitarian Aid Worker.

I saw my name aloft on a card and smiled at the welcoming face of Raja Rashid Mehmood, the Social Mobilization Officer of Muslim Hands International HQ at Islamabad. Rashid drove me through wide tree-lined avenues where traffic lights dangled over intersections. I was intrigued with counting matrixes showing the time left before the lights changed in each direction. This clearly prevented amber gamblers and reduced the blood pressure of waiting drivers as they could see the length of time left to elapse before their lights changed to green. What an advanced traffic system! We need a similar system in our large towns in the UK.

Islamabad was born in 1968, the brainchild of a Greek architect. Gone was Karachi as the remote colonial capital, and on the plain to the east of Rawalpindi was established a modern Islamic capital city.

In street # 28, Sector F-6/1, House # 13 the British Lodge Guest House was located. My arrival had been anticipated. I was given a room on the first floor. The solid dark wooden double bed of the late Victorian era supported clean fresh white cotton sheets, a bolster and double pillow. Coming to terms with sleep loss and a five-hour time zone difference, I took a quick cool shower in the adjacent room then fell into slumberland.

Farooq Ahmed arrived to welcome me three hours later and I was able to give him coke, his favourite sweet chilli crisps and a camera, all presents from his restaurant staff in Dumfries. We agreed to meet later for a meal but sleep overcame me once more and either I slept through his knocking or the appointment never materialised. I never found out.

I did wander round the block before the end of the afternoon. In this residential area where drab frangipani trees rested in the winter months, I noticed fresh blood in driveways. Eid ul-Adha, the feast of sacrifice that takes place during the Hajj was being celebrated. These are times of joy at the expressed command of Allah as revealed in the Qur’an, when families and friends come together and the local community feels a strong sense of fellowship with the entire Muslim world. Name plates at these prestigious entrances to homes gave medical, dental and legal degrees, many acknowledging their alma mater of a British University city.

Back at the British Lodge, I sat on the balcony as dusk fell and the constant barking of a neighbouring dog eventually gave way to the chattering of small finches. Not bird song as such, just blethering for the sheer joy of it and because they could!

I reflected over a club sandwich on this, my first day in Pakistan, just how clean the city was. So many British streets are so dirty in comparison.

 

Saturday 14th January

I woke refreshed at 8 a.m. After an even colder shower this morning, I had a hearty breakfast of porridge, two fried eggs, toast and tea. An air conditioner set in the wall recess would lay dormant for another few months. I would not be in need of it.

The British Lodge driver took me to town and to an internet café where I spent 40 Pakistani rupees informing my wife that I had arrived safely and was enjoying a rather privileged start to my humanitarian venture. The driver then took me on a tour of Islamabad before climbing up the Margalla Hills to magnificent views over the city and the plain below. In its full splendour, I saw what seemed to be the largest mosque in the world. I felt I could almost reach out and touch the concrete girders and souring minarets of the famous Shah Faisal Mosque.

I stopped to take a picture of two monkeys sitting preening each other on a wall, oblivious to the car window going down and the appearance of a camera. The fauna of a country always endears itself to the visitor.

On my return to the Lodge I met the man staying in the room next to me. Dr Sayed wore a NASA badge on his lapel. He explained that he was a retired American scientist and had returned to his homeland to build and establish an educational institute.

I learned from reception that it was expected that the British Lodge would retain this room during my stay in Pakistan. They anticipated that I would be flown by helicopter to the Muslin Hands tented villages and return after four days to Islamabad where I would be working at the head office. This was certainly not my expectation but I had agreed to do whatever had to be done in this emergency and I would do whatever I was asked to do.

Farooq telephoned to say that tomorrow we would fly to Muzaffarabad and visit a Muslim Hands camp. We would leave in the morning after breakfast.

On the Lodge’e satellite TV, I settled down to see Manchester City beat Manchester United 3-1 live! During the later Liverpool v Tottenham Hotspur match, I fell asleep.