It was when the body of a long-dead friend surfaced near her front door that Bulu Haldar knew her house was as good as gone.
直到一位死去多時(shí)的朋友的尸體飄到她的屋門前,布魯·哈爾達(dá)才意識(shí)到自己的房子已經(jīng)不在了。
For weeks, the embankment shielding East Dhangmari, in the Khulna district of southwestern Bangladesh, had been threatening to sink into the Pusur River. First, a ferocious storm had ripped into the outer layer of concrete. Then, at the end of 2017, the river had begun eating into the porous earthen wall itself. Locals rushed in sandbags, but that bought only a few days' respite. When the river finally surged into the cemetery across from Haldar's garden, disinterring skeletons and contaminating the village's drinking pools, it filled her one-room hut waist-deep in muddy brown water.
數(shù)周以來,人們一直收到預(yù)警消息,說孟加拉國(guó)南部庫(kù)爾納市一直保護(hù)著東當(dāng)馬里的大堤很快將要沉入帕莎河。一場(chǎng)巨大的風(fēng)暴曾把這座水泥大堤的外層撕裂。在2017年底,河水又開始滲透混凝土。當(dāng)?shù)厝吮硜砹松炒脫踝∷?,但這也只解了一時(shí)之困。河水穿過哈爾達(dá)的花園 沖進(jìn)了墓地,骸骨被掘起。村里人的飲用水也受到了污染。她只有一個(gè)房間的小屋被浸在齊腰深的泥水中。
"There was nothing else I could do to protect my house," she said. "We were powerless, like children."
她說:“我什么也做不了,我保護(hù)不了我的房子。我們像孩子一樣無(wú)能為力。”