August 29, 2025
By Kaleem Ullah
LAHORE
On the banks of the Ravi River near Lahore’s Saggian Bridge, the Afghan refugee settlement stands battered — not just by the force of nature but also by the ticking clock of a looming deportation deadline.
The government has ordered Afghan refugees holding Proof of Residence (PoR) cards to leave Pakistan by August 31. But just as families were preparing to pack up their belongings and make difficult choices, floodwaters surged through the settlement. Homes were submerged, warehouses inundated, and the little economic stability many had clung to washed away overnight.
Seated outside a half-flooded warehouse, 42-year-old Saifullah watched as men tried to salvage whatever remained of their goods. For two decades, his family has lived in this settlement, earning a living through scrap collection and recycling. But now, he says, they are left with nothing.
“We were waiting for trucks to transport our belongings because the government has given us until the 31st to leave,” Saifullah explained. “We thought we would sell everything by the 28th and use the money to plan our departure. But the flood came before that. All the stock we had in the warehouse was ruined instead of sold.”
He pauses, pointing to damp stacks of paper, cardboard, and plastic—items that once formed the backbone of the community’s fragile economy. His appeal is simple: either give them more time to sell what little remains or compensate them for the losses.
A community born and raised in exile
The Afghan settlement at Saggian Bridge has been home to more than 800 families since the early 2000s. They carved out livelihoods in Lahore’s waste economy, collecting garbage and running small recycling businesses. Over the years, children were born here, went to local schools, and grew up knowing no other home but Pakistan.
Yet, as Pakistan accelerates repatriation measures for Afghans, the settlement’s future hangs by a thread. The floods have only deepened the despair.
Inayatullah, another resident, described the crisis in words heavy with uncertainty. “The flood has destroyed all our belongings. We are paralyzed. On one side, the government has the sword of deportation hanging over us; on the other, the flood has drowned our houses. We even had to move women and children to safer places because we feared more flooding.”
He insists that the refugees are not opposed to returning to Afghanistan, a country that many still call “home” despite decades of absence. “We are not refusing to go back. We will happily return because Afghanistan is our country. But we are only asking the Pakistani government for some time—so we can leave with dignity, not empty-handed.”
The flood’s wider devastation
While Afghan refugees at Saggian Bridge struggle with the dual blow of deportation and natural disaster, Pakistan’s disaster management authorities have warned of the broader scale of destruction.
Lieutenant General Inam Haider Malik, Chairman of the National Disaster Management Authority (NDMA), told reporters that the Ravi flood at Lahore’s Shahdara crossing reached 220,000 cusecs — the largest surge since 1988. Fortunately, the city itself was spared major casualties.
Yet, elsewhere the toll has been severe. For four days, the Sutlej River near Kasur has been flowing with over 200,000 cusecs of water, creating dangerous conditions at Suleimanki. Across Punjab, 1,769 villages have been submerged, displacing more than 14,000 people. Over 4,000 flood victims are currently in relief camps, while more than 400,000 people have been moved to safer ground. Despite these efforts, 20 deaths have already been reported, with fears of more casualties in the coming days.
Between exile and disaster
For the Afghan refugees of Saggian Bridge, these statistics are more than numbers—they are the backdrop of their personal tragedy. Already living in the shadows of displacement for over four decades, they now find themselves cornered by both state deadlines and forces beyond their control.
As the August 31 deportation deadline nears, families like Saifullah’s and Inayatullah’s are left asking the same question: where do they go from here? Back to a war-scarred homeland, empty-handed and broken? Or deeper into the uncertainty of a land that no longer wants them?
For now, their homes are still wet with the waters of the Ravi, their belongings spoiled, and their futures uncertain.