I woke up nervous today, not sure what I was going to see. I
work in a medical intensive care unit in the U.S., it’s a clean unit with
innumerable staff and monitors beeping with every breath. Surrounded by death
and dying and often blood and gore, I thought, well I should be prepared
somewhat for the worst of the worst of the human condition. I’m not sure
anything in this world short of going through it myself could have prepared me for
seeing what I saw today. The pictures don’t do it justice. My words will never
be enough.
The irony of this, we are staying at a nice hotel in Cox’s
Bazaar. The road to the camps we are working in has absolutely stunning views
of the beach front of Bangladesh, a view I have never seen in the number of
times of been here. The trees and the rice paddies lining the entirely-too-narrow
two-lane roads have inspired songs and poetry and it’s understandable why. Within
45 minutes we reach the entrance to the camp, marked by a dirt road that was
built by the government to access the area. As we drive down the dirt path I
see a few huts and homes of Bangladeshis who live close to the camps and I
wonder how their lives have changed. I wonder what they think about the daily influx
of vans of foreigners here to help the Rohingya. I wonder if there’s ever a
thought of, “what about us?” It’s not as if the living conditions in some of
the areas we passed along the way are that much better. That thought quickly
fades to black as we approach the clearing where this particular camp site can
be seen in its entirety. My heart sank to my toes. I don’t think it has
recovered since.
The road to the camp vs Entering the camp
The clinic I was assigned to today was named the OBAT
helpers clinic. The OBAT Hepers started as a family initiative to provide aid,
support, education and economic empowerment to the displaced populations
residing in camps in Bangladesh. While initially the intent of the organization
at its inception was to aid stranded Pakistanis, Biharis or Urdu-speaking
people, they of course leapt to the aide
of the Rohingya when the crisis escalated this summer. I brought with me an EKG
machine that was donated by Dr. Tonbira Zaman and the Cooley Dickinson Hospital
in NorthHampton Massachusetts, a machine that I lugged with me from the U.S. I’m
used to carrying the weight of this machine so as I got out of the van I went
to grab the machine and our coordinator said, “nope, we will hire someone for
that, you can’t carry that where we are going”. Initially offended she didn’t
trust my ability (just kidding, I wasn’t really), she pointed to where we were
going. A building with two flags flapping in the dusty wind, sitting atop the
highest point in this particular camp with steps carved into the hills. She was
right, I’d have to focus mainly on climbing the stairs.
We were a group of four
physicians today. Making our way to the clinic atop the hill we passed hut
after hut. Bamboo frames tied together with tarps as the rooftop. Immediately I
had the heart-stopping thought: what will happen when the rainy season comes?
My brain could barely compute what was in front of me let alone the possibility
for further demise in a few months. As I contemplated this I heard the sweet
voices of a few kids following along with us. They were saying, in one breath, “Hi
how are you, fine, thank you, you’re welcome”. They were smiling.
We reached the clinic, and after a quick run-down of how
things work I sat down in my cubicle to see patients. With me I had a
translator, a young girl who also is Rohingya by lineage, her parents were
Rohingya but came in the first wave decades ago, she is about 18 years old. She
was born in Bangladesh and she was thrilled to hear that I could speak Bangla
and so she stayed with me all day. She told me that she still lives in a camp
but it is in better condition than this, but that is where she has lived all of
her life. She attended school in Bangladesh as well. Her commute to this clinic
is an hour walk each way which she does not mind doing. From 930-5 pm I myself
saw maybe 70-80 patients, and the others averaged the same. Some of the cases were
chronic pain, likely related to the days worth of walking it took to come to
Bangladesh. Other cases were respiratory disease, cough and cold symptoms,
asthma, allergies. I had one case of
likely pancreatic cancer—what a cruelty, to have made it to asylum only to
realize that your life will be cut short regardless. Each patient came with a medical book where their
vitals were written down by the medical assistant who triaged them, I would
then write down a brief history and exam and a diagnosis and treatment plan.
Basic medications are available but only by crowdfunding and donors. The clinic
funds are running low however and it is clear this will start to be a problem
soon. This is a scary fact since up to 200 patients are seen in this clinic
daily, DAILY! A field hospital is also being built by the OBAT group and then comes
the daunting task of how to staff it. As the day’s light started to dwindle we
were told to quickly wrap things up. There was a worried tone about those that
were ushering us out of the clinic. We were in a race against the clock as it
turns out, as it is illegal for us to remain in the camp after sundown, in fact
people have been arrested! The reason is that the safety of the Rohingya is
crucial, they are a vulnerable population and protecting them from things such
as human trafficking or other such atrocities is incredibly important!
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