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From Lisa Blaker in Muhajariya, South Darfur Lisa Blaker is a nurse from Auckland, New Zealand. This is her fourth mission with Médecins Sans Frontières (MSF) and her third MSF mission in Sudan. Lisa previously worked with MSF in Sri Lanka, North and South Sudan... I have been in Darfur for 8 months and 3 days. Some days I don’t know how I have lasted this long. Let me introduce you to my home since September – South Darfur. Even on Google Earth this corner of the world appears blank, a grey cloud with only a few towns marked. The reality is quite different… Muhajariya is a busy, colourful, noisy place. During the day the market is crowded and you can buy anything from English Pears soap to pirated Nike caps. The school on the corner is always full of children, boys in their white jelabiyas, girls in their white trouser suits, their heads covered. Our MSF clinic has a motley collection of visitors, caretakers and patients outside most days, waiting in the shade of the giant mango tree or drinking a cup of sweet tea beside one of the tea stalls. Any time you step outside our compound you will hear children calling “kawadja, kawadja (white person), salaam, salaam (peace, peace)”. So excited, so happy to see you, so enthusiastic every time. They never seem to tire. MSF runs a clinic here in Muhajariya. 35 beds inside, but often with 40 or 50 or 60 patients lying inside and out. At night all the beds and mats are pulled out into the courtyard as people try to escape the heat. The clinic is transformed into a twinkling haven as little kerosene burners create pools of light everywhere. Night time is the only respite from the otherwise relentless heat. My work here in Darfur has been outside this town. In the bush and desert. We run a mobile clinic service, each day visiting different villages to assess needs, identify problems and to run a mobile medical clinic where it is needed. It is here that my story starts. It has been an extraordinary journey. The problems that we find are undoubtedly the same as those seen in other places. Not enough water, not enough food, no shelter from the coming rains, not enough seeds or tools to harvest the crop this year. The needs we see are exhausting. Added to these problems is the suffering of war: loss, pain and fear. I met Asha on a Tuesday morning when we saw her with her children under a tree, miles from anywhere. She and two other families had chosen the spot a few days before. Her husband had been killed in the recent attack on their village. She had lost everything except her 4 children, the clothes they wore as they ran, 1 pot and 1 jerry can. They now live under a small tree, their shade shrinking during the day, food supplies running out and with nowhere to go. They are considered some of the lucky ones – at least they have a pot and a jerry can. We stopped to talk to them for a while. The children seemed happy, they danced around, looking for attention from the visitors in the big car. Asha was not happy. I asked her what she was going do, where she was going to take her family. “I have nowhere to go, no family now, we are alone”. What do you say to someone when they look you in the eye and say that? When it is not a story, not a stranger, but someone who has shaken your hand and invited you to share some shade and her story. It was heartbreaking. Every week we come across people like Asha. People who have nothing. 6 weeks after the attack they still have no shelter, no more jerry cans and their 1 food distribution has run out. There is an ongoing shortage of food, non food items (jerry cans, plastic sheeting, mosquito nets and soap). But we continue to assess, advocate, talk, argue and plan to help them. Darfur is a place to challenge you. To push you to rethink about what is important and what is worth fighting for. In the last 8 months I have pushed, argued and challenged. I have seen people receive food because of our lobbying. I have seen children so close to death survive because we found them and fought to save them. I have sat in meetings and lobbied for communities who need food and water but had no one to ask for help. I have felt powerless in the face of such need and useless when I know we can do little to help. But each day I have started again, trying to make their voices heard. The suffering and need in Darfur is a daily reality. I have done my part and I shall go home and reflect on how I have made a difference. I would like to leave you with a challenge. If you want to fight for something that really matters, if you want to sit in the sand and listen to people’s stories, if you want to try to make your voice heard, then volunteer for a mission in Darfur. The chasm of need here is as big as ever, regardless of the peace agreement. It needs more people, more volunteers with passion and commitment to help people who have little left after a lifetime of hardship and loss. The exhaustion you may feel at the end, like mine, may be profound. But knowing you tried your best and that you have participated in something that matters may be a powerful feeling that you will never forget. And maybe, just maybe, your voice will be heard.
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