By Imlisanen Jamir
In the past few weeks, our pages have been filled with stories of struggle and resilience, painting a stark picture of life in Nagaland when the monsoons hit. The bridges in Athibung vanish under torrents, leaving villages in isolation. In Khelma, a hailstorm four months ago left devastation in its wake, with promises of aid still unmet. Landslides in Phinjang, flash floods in Wokha, and a deluge in Aqhunaqa – these are not just news items; they are daily battles for survival.
In Athibung, the monsoon isolation is an annual curse. Without bridges, the villagers are cut off, forced to navigate treacherous paths or wait helplessly for the waters to recede. It's a scene replayed every year, a reminder of the fragile infrastructure that leaves our people vulnerable.
Khelma village tells a different story but one no less tragic. Four months after a devastating hailstorm, the promised government aid remains a distant hope. The damaged homes and livelihoods are stark reminders of promises unfulfilled, a tale of waiting and enduring.
Phinjang has faced landslides for over two decades, a relentless struggle against nature. The landslides not only destroy homes but sever connections, isolating communities and cutting off access to essential services. It’s a two-decade-long fight with no end in sight, a testament to the endurance of the people and the persistent failure of effective intervention.
In Wokha, the villages of Ronsayan and Jandalashung are no strangers to the havoc of flash floods. The relentless waters bring destruction and despair, yet the response often falls short of the needs. And then there's Aqhunaqa, where torrential rains brought a deluge that engulfed the area, leaving behind a trail of ruin.
These reports lay bare the reality: Nagaland is disaster-prone, and while the fury of nature cannot be controlled, our response to it can be. It's not about casting blame but about acknowledging the gaps. State agencies tasked with rehabilitation and rebuilding have their successes, yes, but the failures loom larger, more personal. The people of Khelma waiting for aid, the villagers in Athibung facing another season of isolation – these are not just stories, but real lives hanging in the balance.
Natural disasters, we're told, are beyond control. Yet, what we can control is our preparedness and our response. There’s a limit to what any agency can do against nature’s fury, but there’s no excuse for delayed rehabilitation. It's not just about rebuilding structures but restoring lives, ensuring that promises made are promises kept.
We read about monsoon havoc across the country every season, but here, it's personal. It's our neighbors, our families, our communities that are affected. Adapting to our geographical realities is necessary, but so is ensuring that the systems meant to protect and support us are robust and responsive.
Nagaland’s stories of monsoon misery are cries for a more resilient response, for promises that turn into actions. We owe it to ourselves and to future generations to bridge the gaps, to turn the annual dance with nature from a battle into a coexistence, where human effort meets nature’s challenge with unyielding resolve.
Comments can be sent to imlisanenjamir@gmail.com
