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RedR


while at the same time making them suitable for nomadic herders who usually prefer to live in blanket-clad stick ‘igloos’?


Plastic toilets used after the Haiti earthquake. Image courtesy of Paul Jawor


Take Haiti. My challenge there after the devastating quake in January 2010 was particularly tricky; reconstructing a badly damaged 10,000 litre water tower (about the weight of six cars, elevated five metres in the air) to supply a busy hospital.


We had limited materials. We couldn’t find any designs for a similar structure that could withstand aftershocks. And, all the while, the hospital was filling up with casualties who needed to stay hydrated.


The solution, once we had consulted every engineering resource we could think of, including some handy advice from the experts at disaster relief charity RedR, was to build the tank in a very different way. We reduced the size of it to 2000 litres and kept the remaining water in a bladder on the ground.


As we needed water under pressure to supply operating rooms and wards we had to pump it up to the tank. More laborious, yes. But at least the structure was less likely to come crashing down in another tremor.


The foundations were a challenge, too. We opted for a concrete raft with a wide base with four, widely spaced and inwardly angled reinforced steel columns. Concrete wasn’t an option as we couldn’t trust the quality of the cement. Our efforts worked. The hospital’s water supply was restored and the tower is still standing today – even surviving a few aftershocks since!


But it’s not only the big structures which need careful thought. A couple of weeks ago I taught a seminar on humanitarian engineering for a group of student architects. I asked them to design a latrine for use in a post-disaster situation. It had to be suitable for a disabled child who had lost the use of his legs, in a Muslim country. It’s the kind of challenge that would have faced engineers in the aftermath of the recent Turkey quakes.


Firstly, the young architects looked up possible solutions online. Many found designs for latrines. But disabled latrines were harder to come by. Designs for culturally appropriate latrines were nowhere to be found.


And herein lie some of the challenges of humanitarian engineering in the field. Though essential in our world, in a remote, disaster- hit location you would rarely have access to the internet. What is more, local engineers who are tasked with building structures don’t usually work from drawings. They tend to rely on verbal explanations or copy structures they have built before.


Then there are the practical considerations. Kids are often scared of the dark, so latrines need to be well lit. If a child cannot use their legs, it’s best not to build something too far off the ground. Even something as simple as a chair with a hole in it can provide the best solution. And, in Muslim societies, toilets must not face Mecca.


Even the ongoing East Africa drought and food crisis throws up a series of design challenges for engineers in the field. Though not a rapid onset emergency in the same way as an earthquake or flood, the mass movement of people from Somalia – in this case to a remote area of Kenya with very little water, natural shelter or infrastructure – brings its own, unique obstacles for humanitarians responding on the ground.


In the case of Kenya’s ‘Dadaab camp’ as it’s known, where nearly 450,000 Somalis have sought refuge from years of conflict, devastating drought, lack of food and general political crisis across the border, the key issue is shelter.


But how do you provide adequate cover for so many people on an exposed, dusty plain? And how do you ensure canvas tents are sturdy enough to withstand the wear and tear which accompanies the daily ritual of a refugee camp,


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The answer is that you try your best, based on experience and local knowledge. Sometimes though, and despite considerable effort, we don’t always get it right. In the case of Kenya, what you see when you visit the sprawling camps of Dadaab and nearby Ifo is testament to the fact that designing in disasters is sometimes an art, not an exact science.


Alongside the rows and rows of standard issue tents sit rough, stick-like igloos of the type I mention. These are nothing like the UNHCR canvas tents, but often refugees prefer the idea of building their own shelters. It gives a sense of permanency, and a feeling of doing something active. Perhaps it’s a small taste of home.


In short, successful design in disasters is about attention to context, using local ideas, practices and materials and responding to the needs of the community – essential principles if local people are to take ownership of new buildings and use them.


This might sound like back-of-an-envelope stuff, and often in the heat of a major crisis design in disasters, it is exactly that, but if it’s intelligent and culturally sensitive, it can save lives, restore a little dignity and help set disaster-hit communities on the path to a faster recovery.


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