Georgian refugees' plight is grim
The Georgia-Russia conflict is estimated to have displaced as many as 100,000 people, many of whom are yet to receive any aid.
TBILISI, GEORGIA — They squat in abandoned buildings, crash in rickety schoolhouses or sleep under bushes and trees. They stumble into the city wooden-faced and traumatized, children in tow, with little or nothing but the clothes they were wearing when they fled their houses.
Tens of thousands of Georgians have been forced from their homes by days of fighting and Russian occupation, leaving this small country suddenly swamped in a major humanitarian crisis. Georgia is now packed with homeless and panicked families in desperate need of shelter, clothes, food and medicine. This week's cease-fire has not ended the suffering.
The crush of displaced people has proved more than the government or aid organizations can handle. Many who have taken shelter in the Georgian capital say they could not have survived if not for an impromptu outpouring of charity from fellow Georgians, who have opened their doors to strangers and shown up at shelters bearing food, bedding, soap and medicine.
Although aid is being quickly flown into Georgia and has begun to arrive at shelters, including 82 tons from the U.S. over the last two days, many refugees are still waiting for help. People are sleeping on the bare floors of schools and other government buildings, some of which lack proper bathrooms or electricity.
"This is a very hard situation for which we were absolutely unprepared," said Besik Tserediani, deputy minister of refugees and resettlement. "There's a huge amount of people coming in, and it's impossible to deal with it."
Tserediani slumped over his desk Friday on a high floor of the ministry, bags under his eyes and his head hanging down as if his neck couldn't hold it up anymore.
Outside in the yard below, refugees were piling in, angry and impatient and frightened, hollering for shelter, food, medicine. They crowded the steps; some of them wrestled with the guards, trying to push past.
"Get back, get back!" a guard shouted, shoving them out the door.
"I don't know where I can get food!" yelled a man in thick glasses.
"Just get back from here!" the guard said.
Hatya Zekasashvili had brought her 2-month-old to the ministry, looking for baby formula. She had no money and no way to nourish the infant, whose body seemed to droop wearily from her mother's arms. The pair had arrived in Tbilisi so destitute that they'd slept in a park before finding relatives who let them stay.
