Statistics have swallowed me whole. Writing our funding proposal for next year has taken over our lives of late; whole swathes of the population are reduced to a demographic: malnourished under 5s; returnees; pregnant and lactating mothers, ex-combatants. The extent of the need overwhelms, thus by necessity it is herded into manageable areas of intervention. When you write the words, ’24,000 access local health facilities run by Tearfund’, the people have no faces.
At the end of 2009, we were informed that the one and only medical centre in the county with a doctor and an inpatients facility was to downgrade to a basic health unit in the New Year. We understood the implications of this – no longer would we have anywhere to refer seriously ill patients for treatment in our area of operation. Complicated pregnancies; gun shot wounds; life threatening illnesses: now there is no where to go.
We understood the practical implications, yes, but perhaps not how it would feel to have to tell someone you cannot help them.
A few days ago, a little boy arrived in our health unit, carried by his family. Blood was streaming from his nose and mouth, he could not eat or drink, his body was stiff and he was in agony. Our health workers are not doctors and short of giving him some paracetamol, could do nothing for him. He hadn’t eaten or drunk for days and was frighteningly thin. I stroked his head and watched him wince as I fed him porridge.
The nearest health centre with an inpatients facility is now in Lankien – a 12 hour walk away for a strong and healthy man. Who knows how long it would take a mother and grandmother to carry a sick 9 year old boy? Our only functioning landcruiser was out in the field delivering food to hundreds of malnourished children. The following day the car was scheduled to do the same again. Do you divert the car, risking the lives of hundreds, to save the life of one? If we take this boy, do we simply stop all our other activities? If we take this boy today, will we be beset by queues of sick people demanding transport to Lankien tomorrow?
So often here, one is forced to move from the abstract to the personal in a flash. From strategy to reality; from policy to life-or-death. And then you have to sleep at night.
We took him to Lankien in the end. Our vehicle had to travel there as part of a scheduled security assessment a few days later and the little boy was still very ill. He was admitted to the centre and is being tested for Kala azar and TB. Perhaps I’ll see him running about in Motot again, one day.
He is only the first in a long line.
His name is Khot.
[...] February 9, 2010 by Ali Remember Khot? [...]