|
Maoist
threat
Our
contact with the Maoists took place a days walk from Pokhara at
the village of Tolka.
We
had stopped for lunch but as we prepared to leave were approached
by a man who spread out a series of A4 pages bearing freedom fighters
rhetoric in colourful felt pen.
Hotels and shops are looted for cash every
day. Fundraising on a grand scale by Nepalese standards.
 |
| Alistair
Baird |
'Down
with Domestic Feudalism. Down with US Imperialism. Let's establish
Republican Nepal. So called Royal Army must be Desolved (sic)' and
so on.
We
were faintly amused, even disappointed that our only contact with
these freedom fighters was to be this rather shabby, shame faced
individual.
I examined the receipt book in his hand, inspecting previous 'donations'.
All
but one was for 1,000 rupees and so he stood to walk off with 5,000
from our group.
We
paid but not before trying unsuccessfully to haggle him down on
price.
A
clearer picture was beginning to emerge. At this one checkpoint
he would probably take 100,000 rupees a day.
A
country in turmoil
Hotels
and shops are looted for cash every day. Fundraising on a grand
scale by Nepalese standards.
The
following morning we made our way on a path than wound through paddy
fields toward Nayapul, where we could take a taxi ride back into
Pokhara.
Schoolchildren,
pristinely turned out, were streaming their way down through the
fields to join the same path.
Ahead
of us there was a commotion of screams and from around a corner
a boy of 6 or 7 ran past holding up his hand which was covered in
blood.
Since
I was in charge of first aid I stopped and turned as he ran past
but he raced away back to his village before I could offer help.
Ahead
of us now was a stationary group of children and several adults
and it was obvious that something was amiss.
| The
bare truth hit me hard and took a moment or two to sink in.
Gandruk was an hour or so walk away and I anticipated the family
might have to travel some distance for medical help, but that
the Maoists, who claim to fight for the people, had looted and
closed the only clinic for miles around was an outrage. |
| Alistair
Baird |
In
the midst of the group was a small boy sitting silently on the ground,
his face and white shirt covered in blood.
An
elderly man was holding the boys head. 'Should I help?' I asked
our guide. 'Is it OK for me to help?' 'Yes, please'.
As
I peered into the group the old man removed his hands to reveal
a nasty looking gash in the boys scalp.
'He
has fallen from a bridge', explained Kiran. It was obvious that
it needed two or three stitches but this was something that I was
neither neither qualified nor equipped to administer.
It
was possible to pinch the skin together but the only closures I
had refused to stick despite cutting away the boys hair from around
the wound.
Lack
of equipment
If
only I'd have had sutures it would be simple to patch him up but
with increasing frustration I realised there was really nothing
I could do.
The
best I could offer was to clean up the wound with iodine, apply
a bit of gauze with elastic bandage to hold it in place.
I gave the bottle of iodine to the elderly man, who turned out to
be the grandfather and explained through Kiran that the boy must
see a doctor.
'Is
there a doctor in the village?' I asked Kiran. 'No, no doctor.'
'Is there anyone who can do stitches?' 'Stitches?' 'Yes. Needle
and thread. Sewing' I mimed sewing movements: still nothing. 'Where
is the nearest doctor?' I asked with increasing frustration.
'Nearest clinic in Gandruk, but Maoists closed clinic.' Kiran replied.
I was at a loss.
 |
|
Maoist
rebels forced a health clinic in Ganduk to close
|
The
bare truth hit me hard and took a moment or two to sink in. Gandruk
was an hour or so walk away and I anticipated the family might have
to travel some distance for medical help, but that the Maoists,
who claim to fight for the people, had looted and closed the only
clinic for miles around was an outrage.
'It
is important he sees a doctor Kiran. How far is the nearest doctor?'
'Pokhara is nearest', he replied.
Pokhara
would take three hours on foot, then a further two hours by bus.
Added to that the family would have to pay for the medical attention.
The
boy would never see a doctor, that was now plain.
Taking
the long view, little boys are forever falling over and cracking
their heads and I suppose the wound would probably heal untreated,
provided it was kept clean.
We
washed the rest of the drying blood off the boys face and arms and
in Nepalese the old man thanked me for my help.
I
shrugged to say 'Sorry, wish I could have done more' and the grandfather
hoisted the boy piggyback and headed off home.
As
we gathered up our things and headed off on the trail I felt my
face hot with anger.
Angry
at my inability to help, but more angry still with the Maoists.
A
sad farewell
The
Nepalese in the countryside live simple, decent lives but they find
themselves in an increasingly complicated situation.
| I
fear Nepal itself needs more than a sticking plaster to stop
the flow of blood than threatens to become a flood.
|
| Alistair
Baird |
As
my plane left Kathmandu I sat, surrounded by the comfort and technology
of the western world and as I looked down on the twinkling lights
of the city I found myself thinking again about the little boy.
I
hope his wound will soon heal but I fear Nepal itself needs more
than a sticking plaster to stop the flow of blood than threatens
to become a flood.
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