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Journey to Afghanistan

COUD-E-BARQ
Chapter 10 - Page 26

That morning for breakfast in addition to the usual hot water for instant coffee, bread and butter and jam, we were treated with a small box of Kellogg's Cornflakes and a tiny bottle of canned milk. Hamayoun, our cook, had found this box in a small ship selling food items. The cornflakes box was dated 05-26-98. It tasted wonderful!

I had awakened that morning looking forward to going to a tiny hospital about twenty kilometers west of Mazar City called Coud-e-Barq. It was in an area near an old Russian-built fertilizer factory that was still operating. Many Russian-style apartment buildings and this tiny hospital had been constructed nearby. A few days before we had visited with the Hospital Administrator, Doctor Noor, and some of his colleagues. They were eager to join with Northwest Medical Teams in improving the hospital and helping to better serve the many without medical care both there and in surrounding villages. They would welcome any suggestions and we assured them that we were also there to learn from them.

In touring the hospital it was obviously in major disrepair. It had not been painted for years. The dental room's equipment was totally broken down and the dentist was now able to use it only for pulling teeth. There was only one ancient x-ray machine. Beds were old and rusty. The men's public bathroom was so soiled that one hated to enter it. Puddles of water with urine and some excrement covered much of the floor. In the surgical room there was no monitoring equipment, old catheters were being re-soaked in a large pan of yellow disinfectant, and the surgical table sagged on one side beneath its ancient stained pads. We were shown x-rays of some orthopedic procedures done recently and realized that in spite of huge handicaps Doctor Noor and his confederates were doing high quality work. One of the Afghan Doctors who worked with us assured us that if he were to need surgery, this would be where he would come.

We looked at several possible locations for our clinic and decided on two rooms at the east end of the main hospital building. These would need considerable cleaning up but did have one useable sink and a functional light bulb in each room. We assured them that our intent was not to take away from their needed patients, ones who could pay a little amount, but to see only those without help, the poorest of the poor.

The highway to Coud-e-Barq was described by Amanolla, my interpreter for the day, as the best in all of Afghanistan." In spite of this reputation it was interrupted by much broken pavement and many deep chuck holes The gateway into Coud-e-Barq was guarded by several soldiers, one of whom appeared to be an adolescent. After briefly inspecting our identification they waved us through.

As we drove up to the little hospital at Coud-e-Barq we could see an Afghan lady standing on the steps just outside the clinic door waving a two foot long club. A sizable group of patients crowded near her feet. Many were talking insistently as she waved her club and shouted back. I learned soon that her name was Najma. She was not wearing the usual burqa, but had on a long faded and tattered sweater that had probably been dark pink years before. An old blue dress peered from below that, the light colored, baggy trousers covered her legs down to dark rubbers on her feet. A long cream colored shawl was wrapped around her neck and head leaving her face uncovered. I thought it not only must help to make her shouting plainer but also gave more accuracy in wielding her club. Later, after our crowd control attempts at many clinic sites, we realized she was doubtless among the best at this difficult job.

 

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