Made in Bangladesh

i wrote this post 2 months ago, after 3 of our staff were killed in kismayo, somalia.  this post is about my own feelings, and i didn’t want to post it, because i didn’t feel that it was fair for me to comment, when there are so many people for whom this loss is so much more personal.  for the teams in the field, for the people of kismayo, and for the entire worlds of family and friends who loved these 3 men, and whose grief is uncalculable to me.  i didn’t feel it was fair for me to speak, and to have such a platform, when there were people who had so recently lost of peice of themselves and their hearts with this attack.

but maybe now i will post.  and i’ll apologise ahead of time if the writing is totally stupid and wrong.  something like this post, i don’t even know how to make it appropriate, how to edit it.

***

dhaka, 1st of Feb, 2008

this is the post i don’t know how to write.  this is something i’m not sure i can put into words properly.  i don’t know if i can put into words that will make sense, but worse, i don’t know how to put in words that will honour those people, and those families affected by what’s happened.

i was on the phone monday night, talking to the project coordinator in teknaf, a question about contracts and staff and we were working something out.  and as the conversation wrapped up, i did what i often do, i glanced at the news webpage that is up on my computer screen.  aid workers killed in somalia it read.  and i clicked automatically.  as i read that it was msf, that it was my section of msf, i started swearing. out loud. repeatedly. trying to say what i was reading, trying to make sense of it.  there were no details, there was only witness statements.  aid workers killed in somalia.  when i managed to regain any sense of my brain, and return to the conversation, it took me a few seconds to remember what we were trying to talk about.

and somehow we managed to conclude the conversation.   i knew i should just sleep and by morning, there would be something from amsterdam, something that wasn’t conflicting and different, and vague.  i should sleep.

but instead i spent hours refreshing news webpages, and waiting and running through names in my head.  who.  why.  and sobbing.  and it’s threatening to start again right now.

but in the morning i got up, and went out to the office.  i was the only management team member there, as the rest were in the field.  there was official notice, three msf workers had been killed.  and so i went to each office, and sat down with the teams, and told them what we knew so far.  told them the name of the logistician, damien, the surgeon, victor and the driver, bidhaan, who were killed.  i didn’t know what to expect, or what people would bring up.  but we talked.

not knowing how the incident occured, and not knowing if it was on purpose, the recurring question was ‘why would someone do this to them? why would they do this to msf?  to us?’

and it’s never been more evident to me that we are a family.  it’s a different country, a different continent, and while we could not know the great pain of those across the world, it was still grief, and shock, and confusion.  and it was us.

as i sat outside talking with the drivers, i had one of the worst moments when i spoke the name ‘bidhaan’.  as i did, one staff member quickly asked ‘the driver?’.  a driver, a person who no matter how limited out access, or how dangerous it may be, if there is a program, if there is a team, there is always a driver.  and the staff member who asked, a driver, knew that.  so many media outlets didn’t seem to realise though, that a driver is an aid worker.  so many media outlets spoke of 2 aid workers, and a driver.  how can i explain such a simple concept, that our drivers are aid workers.  our drivers go everywhere msf goes.  our drivers act as translators, liaisons, negotiaters.  our drivers are essential.  please honour that our drivers are aid workers.  please don’t only name those of us who work in countries that are not our own.

and what do you do with all of this?  talking with the staff was hard, but it was concrete.  it was something i knew i had to do, something i knew how to do. so really, it was easy.

but this is hard.  i don’t know how to say to the team in somalia, i’m so sorry.  i don’t know how to say to the families of the people killed, my heart is breaking for you.  i don’t know how to say to the people of kismayo, you live with this, you endure this, and i don’t know how you do it.

but i will say again to the media please realise our local staff are aid workers.  please respect this, and report their profession and commitment, especially when they have lost their lives while working to benefit others.  and while i’m pretending that reporters will read this, i will ask that you do not mistake our work, you do not mistake us for heroes.  we are trying to provide services to people in crisis, people who are marginalised, and we do so while trying to keep our staff as safe as we can.  there is always risk, but we are not careless cowboys.  we are simply trying to do the best we can.

many staff told me that their prayers would be with the families of those killed.  while i don’t presume they will read this, i will write it here just in case.

my thoughts are with you too.

so how did everyone celebrate international women’s day?  i really did not do much more than work.  but i did think about the whole ‘what does international women’s day mean to me here in bangladesh?’ and mostly, international women’s day made me think of the moms in the hospital in the refugee camp.  moms holding tiny malnourished babies.  moms who are barely past childhood.  moms that as malnourised as their babies.  when we did our nutritional survey in november, we gathered data that revealed 1/3 of households in tal camp are female headed.  as well, 1/3 of children between the ages of 6 months and 2 years are malnourished. and one more ‘IWD-appropriate’ statistic; 1/4 of pregnant and lactating women are malnourished or are at risk of malnutrition.

while i was in teknaf last month, i saw a baby that was only 1 kilo when it was born.  the baby was doing remarkably well, and had fattened up to 1.6 kilos by this point.  mom had gained some weight too, as she was 24 kilos when she came to the hospital.  she was smiling a lot and showing off her baby to the doctor who had come back from vacation, asking how soon they could leave.

some moms held babies that did nothing more than look.  they just looked up at the ceiling, up at their mom, or just out to whatever was holding their gaze in midair.  they weren’t crying to gurgling or laughing.  just looking.  the babies that just stared made me scared.  it sounds wimpy to say, but they looked so fragile, serious, and just so ‘not like babies should’.  later on, one of our staff members showed me her new baby, and it was fat and reassuring, and i realised that they sight of a malnourised baby is still so unreal to me, so very sunday morning fundraising 30 minute infomercial on tv.  instead of babies, they look like frail old men, lying there staring at you, asking for some sort of explanation.

i would talk to the moms a bit (ie. say hello and smile and use some universal sign language since we had no common spoken language).  i was thrilled at one of our hospitals, when a 13 month old girl, 1 day from being discharged and feeling goooooood, smiled up at me when i walked around.  she had big eyes naturally, not just the kind left hollow from a wasting face.  big eyes, and the start of some chubby cheeks underneath.  and she gave me a grin that revealed the new teeth arriving.  all that baby wanted to do was giggle and shove her fist in her mouth to soothe her aching gums.  but our nurses, who are constantly trying to reinforce hygiene, kept reminding mama to pull out the hand.  baby was a bit disgruntled with this, but i tried to distract her by playing peek-a-boo with my scarf.  she was SO into it!  she started using mama’s scarf to hide behind.  woot!  what a party.

then she wanted down, and showed off her hesitant steps.  i was kneeling on the ground and she toddled over to me and then collapsed onto my legs, grinning again.

so i took a seat on the floor, perched the little one on my leg, and we had a fine 10 minutes of hanging out time.  mom thought it was funny, the nurse tried to get me to not sit on the floor (the staff hate it when i sit on the floor, or on a step or anything that isn’t a chair), and this little girl just had a field day trying to climb up my hair.

so i will try to do with this story, what i do with so many others in an attempt to keep myself sane.  i will look for the silver lining, the lessons learned.  i will be proud that we are doing what we can, and treating those people who we can treat. i will forgive myself for the shock i felt when i saw the 1 kilo baby.  although to be honest, i hope the sight of a malnourished child never fails to shock me.  i hope i never normalise this.  i hope i can respond to the nightmare with compassion and action, and not shutting down, or bailing out.  It’s so easy to avert your eyes, i hope i don’t.

it’s funny just how quickly time can go by.

my silence has not been deliberate, but rather a side effect of 2008 flying by much too quickly.  i am trying to come to grips with it being march already, constantly catching myself referring to something being ’6 months ago’ that actually happened in july, which is i guess 9 months ago now?

so apologies.  i now finish up and start posting to all of you the entries i have started and abandonned over the past few months.

finger’s crossed!