On the front line - The helpless attendant
As part of our ongoing series, Delan Devakumar writes about his experiences of working for Médecins Sans Frontières in the disputed territory of Kashmir
- By: Delan Devakumar
I can see it happening again. More than the observations and the signs, I can see it in his eyes. Maybe it will be days; probably hours; possibly sudden. Sooner or later he will give up.
The day began as usual, if usual means anything. I have only recently arrived here, working for Médecins Sans Frontières in the former earthquake zone of Kashmir. After my morning battle with the flies, I walk to work squinting in the bright sunshine and avoiding the rubble. The noise of the gushing river beside me no longer registers in my head like it used to. The green hills on either side of our valley reach up steeply to the sky and if you look closely you can see tiny people wandering up and down, getting on with their daily business.
I do the morning ward round-the usual mix of frustration, interest, and humour-and then