- © 2008 Canadian Medical Association
Two days into my mission with Médecins Sans Frontières (MSF) and it is clear that my body's Dutch constitution is not yet acclimated to the country of Sudan. The never-ending heat (40 degrees Celsius) reminds me of a hair dryer. There is no escape from the blowing, hot dry air and before long, I am visited by some non-Dutch viruses.
Midwife Maaike van Rijn left the comforts of The Hague for a 6-month stint with Médecins Sans Frontières in the Sudan. Image by: Médecins Sans Frontières
After a night of vomiting, I fainted. Along with the MSF logistician, I was put to bed. I woke up as they were giving me an IV in an attempt to breathe — inject? — some courage into me. While I lay on my thin mattress, looking at the bag leading to the IV in my arm which was tied to one of the bamboo sticks holding up my mosquito net, it dawned on me that my comfortable life in The Hague was, in fact, now a distant dream. … For the next 6 months, Darfur waits for me.
The original plan was that I would go to a project called “Muhajariya” but because of the unstable security situation, I am assigned to visit a camp for internally displaced persons 17 km from the city of Nyala, where we live. MSF has set up a 6-day-per-week health post there, providing support to pregnant women and people with psychiatric problems.
I had never been in a camp before and don't know what to expect.
Our 3-jeep convoy leaves the city. The landscape becomes more and more barren and the heat and warm wind increase. It seems impossible that 80 000 people live somewhere nearby.
We pass through 2 checkpoints. As a foreigner, you need a permit (renewable weekly) to enter the camp. Past the checkpoints, some straw huts appear.
Now hut is actually a big word. Some of them have only 1 wall still standing or a piece of ripped plastic roofing, tied to a stick, now flapping in the wind. Some people try to find shelter under just a piece of plastic. Farther on, women and children with jerry cans surround a big water pump. A large portion of the camp is empty. I am told 20 000 people fled after fighting broke out. I can't imagine where the people have gone.
The clinic is located in the middle of the camp. I am quickly surrounded by large numbers of pregnant women dressed in brightly coloured clothes. I soon forget that I am in Darfur, in a camp with nothing, and with people who have nothing and are merely trying to survive. Driving back, I again feel all the way down to my toes why I wanted to be here.
Footnotes
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CMAJ invites contributions to Dispatches from the medical front, in which physicians and other health care providers offer eyewitness glimpses of medical frontiers, whether defined by location or intervention. Submissions, which must run a maximum 400 words, should be forwarded to: wayne.kondro{at}cma.ca