We Are the World

A bunch of strangers showed up in Sri Lanka at the request of Medecins Sans Frontiers to help a population in need.  The Tamil people, nearly exterminated, are trying to scratch a life from the red clay.  They carry with them the wounds of the war.  They have limbs that are missing, or non-functional.  They have pieces of steel lodged in their muscles and sinews.  They have memories that they can't forget.  And yet somehow they are able to smile at us, we strangers.

There were a couple of Japanese, a Hong Kong Chinese, Western Europeans, and a couple of Americans and an occasional African.  I have wondered at what has bonded us together.  Why did our friendships blossom and grow?  We didn't know each other.  I'm not sure that I ever learned people's full names.  We didn't even speak each other's language well.  But we tried.  And we smiled at each other, and we created a bond between us that will be hard to break.  I'm sure that our reasons for being there were as different as the countries that we represented.  But I believe that there was a common thread.  Somehow, we felt driven to help people in need.  We felt that we could let go of our comforts of home, to become strangers in a harsh land, in order to make a positive difference to a people who were uncertain of their tomorrow.

In a way, we were the refugees, the strangers in the new land.  We shared the bond of exiles, the bond of the dispossessed.  Our belongings were shared, we didn't really own anything.  And we shared a hope for a future, not only for the Sri Lankan people, but for ourselves;  for the world that we live in, and for the friendships that have formed.  I hope that the bond between us never breaks.

The Risks of Helping People

The Singala people, the majority in Sri Lanka, refer to the Tamils as terrorists.  The rebel faction, called the LTTE, for the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam, were rebels.  And I suppose at one time they did use some tactics that would be called terrorist.  But so did the SLA (Sri Lanka Army), although they deny it.  The Tamil people lost the war that started in the early eighties, and lasted until 2009.  Many Tamil people lost their lives, and near the end of the war, the few who remained, fled into the jungles around Mullaitivu.  The Tamil people were, and are defeated.  They have lost nearly everything except their pride.  The MSF project that I have been working on has concentrated on the Tamil people who are now being repatriated into the area.  They have nothing.

Sometime after 9/11, international law made aiding terrorist groups illegal.  This is referred to as the criminalization of humanitarian care.  There are groups who have been labelled 'terrorist', but have no access to medical care.  So MSF evaluates the needs, and if the need is there, helps to provide care to the people who need it. They don't care which side of the line people are on.  They want to help people who need help.  They help people on either side.  They help people of any religion, of any ethnicity, of any race.  They look at people as people.  Some people are in situations where they need help, and cannot get it.  And so MSF is there trying to help, and takes the risk of helping.

The Daniels

The whole time that I was in Sri Lanka, I was either referred to as 'the surgeon,' or as Dr. Daniel.  They didn't really use last names in the way that we do.  But that was fine.  In fact, it was refreshing for me.  But I was not the only Daniel.  There were two others, and I include them here.  Daniel with the glasses, was a translator, and a very excellent one at that.  His sense of humor was relentless, and he never stopped giving me a hard time.  Daniel, the other Tamil guy, worked with the mental health team, and was an excellent counselor.  I know of many people who requested him and him alone.  He had a special way with the people who were hurting, and didn't know where to turn.  His empathy for the Tamil people was so real, that many times we all shared their tears.

It is a huge honor to be sitting between them.  I don't think that Daniel was really their name, but I was sure proud that they had chosen that name to go by.

Lakshmi

She was always ready to break into a smile.  Our translator, Lakshmi.  Her eyes were dark pools, like looking into the deep waters in evening.  She flashed understanding with those eyes.  Speaking Tamil, and English, and Singala, she, at times was our voice -- our connection to another human being.  She never faltered, and I was jealous of Dr. Ben, who had her attention every day.  I was lucky once, when she came with me for an afternoon of surgery clinic.  She bridged the language gap with me.  She appreciated my efforts to say the days of the week in Tamil.  She always seemed happy, and I asked her about that.

She told me that her daughter had gotten a divorce after being treated badly by her husband.  Her sons were very ashamed of this, and actually tried to kill their own sister.  She helped her daughter to escape, and she is now safely out of the country.  One of her sons doesn't even speak to her.  I know from my own experience, that if one of my own children refused to acknowledge me or to speak with me, I would be devastated.  I cannot imagine what she has gone through, as a woman, as a mother, and as a family.  But she always was there, with her almost smile, and her irrepressible attitude, like the unsinkable Molly Brown.  She tells me that she wants to come to the states, and maybe take care of someone's children.  I have her contact information, and I hope that I can find a reason to call her.

The Hair of the Dog

One of the requirements, or strong suggestions from the CDC, is to have a series of rabies vaccinations prior to visiting Sri Lanka.  I overheard one lady wondering why she needed the vaccine.  She said that she was not planning on handling any wild animals.  After being there for only a couple of days, the answer became very clear to me.  It is not the handling of the wild animals that is the problem.  It is the presence of twenty million wild dogs.  They are everywhere.  They lay in the streets at night, and wander about all day.  One of the popular reasons to visit the Emergency Room is a dog bite.  The females are almost always either pregnant or nursing.  They have no owners, and are truly homeless, unless you call the streets their homes.

The dogs in Mullaitivu, as elsewhere, are missing much of their hair.  They appear to be in a constant state of mange.  Apparently the fleas and other biting things cause them to scratch so hard that they scratch their hair out.  And there are fights.  They always seems to be in the middle of the night, and sound like they are next door.  I'm never sure quite what to do, so I just lie there and listen, hoping for an early end.

Red Dust

I returned home on Wednesday.  The saga of getting home does not really need to be repeated, but I will say that it took about 5 days of travel, interrupted with debriefings in Paris and NYC.  Although I am glad to be home, my mind travels back to Sri Lanka regularly.  There were many more experiences than I have had the opportunity to share.  So I will continue to share, if you all are so kind enough to continue to read.

The soil in the Mullaitivu region was dry and red, clay and sand.  Very little loam.  It was very dusty, and the red dust permeated everything.  Nevertheless, the people of the region always wore very colorful clothes, especially the women.  They wore beautiful saris, and colorful punjabis.  They were adorned with gold bangles, and necklaces.  They wore silver anklets.  They didn't seem to be touched by the dust.

My little bicycle on the street

I have been unpacking, and have noticed that the red dust is throughout my clothes and belongings.  It colors my shirts and pants.  And I am glad for it.  Just seeing it brings back the sights, smells and sounds of a different country, living in a different time.  Memories of a people in need.  Memories of my colleagues and friends.  I hope that no one can shake the dust from my feet.

Broken

A man once asked that if you had the choice between a moment of happiness, knowing that sadness would follow, or the absence of happiness, knowing that there would be no sadness, which would you choose?  I know people who would choose the absence of sadness.  There are those who just cannot bear the thought of sadness at all.  I think it is why some of them like to sleep so much.  People can be happy, or scared, numb, or even angry in dreams.  You have to be awake to be sad.

There are those who would bravely choose the happiness, knowing that it is a risk.  It takes a certain amount of courage.  It is a risk of hurt and pain.  It is a risk of failure, and a risk of loss.  But it is also the risk of hope, for what is happiness really, but a belief in a future.  A belief that our heart will heal after it is broken in sadness.  A belief that happiness will follow.  And for every potential sadness, the potential happiness becomes greater.  This is what makes us human.  Earning that future by believing in happiness, despite the very personal knowledge of the sadness that is there.

It is not easy.  My friends in Sri Lanka, the people with whom I have lived with, laughed with, and cried with, have known more sadness than most of us can only imagine.  The depths of the sadness that they have experienced only makes the peaks of their happiness greater.  They are creating their future by making the hard choice.  The choice of a broken heart, and the hope that it will heal.