Direct Relief program officer Matt MacCalla traveled in India from mid-December 2006 through early January 2007 visiting Direct Relief-supported facilities and projects. His trip also coincided with the two-year anniversary of the Indian Ocean tsunami that took hundreds of thousands of lives in December 2004.
December 26, 2006
Port Blair, Andaman Islands, India
On December 26, 2006, in a modest event commemorating the second anniversary of the Asian Tsunami, a small assembly of people, including officials from India’s national and local governments, gathered in the Andaman Island capital of Port Blair. Together, they intended to illustrate that there is more than grief to be recognized, and more than tragedy to be remembered. Although sadness made its presence felt, the event acknowledged achievement and hope for the future by officially handing over to the government 34 new health care facilities, funded by Direct Relief International, to replace those that were literally washed away in the Tsunami,
Looking back two years, it is not difficult for most to remember reports of the Asian Tsunami, the wrath it brought, and the quarter of a million lives it took. The wave wreaked havoc on five costal countries, each experiencing a great deal of damage. The Andaman and Nicobar Islands—a chain of small, sparsely populated islands located 1,000 kilometers to the East of mainland India—were no exception, and bore witness to a great deal of death, injury and destruction.
Comprised of hundreds of islands, the Andaman and Nicobar chain is India’s most remote state, famous mostly for its underwater scenery, lush tropical forests, wildlife, and, for its remoteness. With a population of less than half a million, it is also India’s least populated state, and many on the 36 inhabited islands are aboriginals from one of twelve original tribes. Still today, many of the islands have little to no contact with the outside world, and parts of their culture, indeed even the size of their population, are officially unknown. Few, if any, other living human populations have experienced such long-lasting isolation.
Interestingly, it is alleged that of those island communities that still survive in their traditional way, not a single person perished in the Tsunami. The reason commonly believed is that due to being more in-tune with nature, they recognized the impending danger in the agitated behavior of the wildlife, and were therefore able to escape to higher ground.
After the Tsunami, many of the islands, especially those in the South closer to the epicenter, were devastated. More than 7,000 lives were lost and 40,000 lost their homes, left to live in one of the 150 aid-camps set up around the islands. Of the many problems faced on the islands after the tsunami, one of the most significant was the slow pace of reconstruction due to a general lack of transportation and medical infrastructure, lack of cargo space and the great length of time needed to reach the islands by boat to deliver supplies.
Prior to the tsunami, the healthcare infrastructure on the islands was based on primary healthcare centers, sub-centers and a few hospitals. After the tsunami, a large number of these (30 primary healthcare sub-centers and 4 primary healthcare centers) were totally destroyed. This created an almost complete breakdown in the healthcare infrastructure and crushed the islanders’ ability to return to their home islands.
As part of its large-scale Tsunami Relief grant program, Direct Relief began funding the reconstruction of these 34 centers shortly after the tsunami hit. The project was carried out through the joint efforts of Direct Relief and Bharatiya Jain Sanghatana (BJS), an Indian charitable organization that engages in and supports education, job training, and disaster relief. By means of the $1.5 million dollars donated by Direct Relief International, and with the permission of the Indian government to rebuild the health clinics, BJS and Direct Relief embarked on reconstructing the healthcare infrastructure throughout the island chain.
The first step of this project was to spend time with and talk to the local communities whose health care centers were lost. Only after asking them what they wanted, what should be built, where it should be built and what services they really needed, was the construction phase begun. And the results and feedback received thus far have been outstanding.
The new health centers that have now been built are of an even higher quality than those that they replaced. The desire to build back better encouraged those working on this project to not only expand the centers, but also to redesign them so as to resist damage by earthquake, flood, and cyclone level winds. In addition, for each center, the project includes an 18-month training program and, for the first time, living quarters for a full-time, live-in, health-care provider or midwife. Lastly, Direct Relief sent four 40-foot containers to the islands in order to equip the centers with the basic supplies they will need.
The entire project was massive, and will have an equally massive impact on people’s health for years to come. For me to be present at this auspicious gathering was a real honor. Not only was I asked to speak to the delegation of national, state and local officials, but the significance of the occasion was ever present and obvious: no other NGO had stepped forward to offer such a large scale reconstruction project on the islands, and the Health Department made it clear that it did not have sufficient funds itself to rebuild the centers and sub-centers. Therefore, if it were not for the many generous donations given to Direct Relief, and Direct Relief’s subsequent funding of this project, it is unlikely that the health care infrastructure would have been rebuilt to this day.
Participating in the handing over ceremony with me were the National President and National Secretary of BJS, the Union Minister of State for Home Affairs, a member of the National Disaster Management Authority, the Director of Health Services of the Andaman and Nicobar administration, and the Secretary of Health.
I will not soon forget this occasion, just as I will not soon forget that tragedy is not the only thing to be remembered each December 26.
December 24, 2006
Cochin, Kerala State, India
I went to southern India to visit a hospital that was using a telemedicine van that Direct Relief International had bought for them. Recently there had been an international conference about the van put on by the United Nations and the Indian Space and Research Organization, and I was going to see the van for myself. While I was there, however, I heard of something perhaps even more impressive: a miracle that was about to happen near to where I was. Just a few days ago, on January 14, as it does every year, the miracle occurred—at least that’s what thousands of Hindu Indians who witnessed the miracle from high atop Mount Sabarimala will tell you.
For many weeks now, spiritual devotees have been making their way from all over India and all over the world, to reach Mount Sabarimala, the eternal dwelling place of the Hindu Lord Ayyappa. And far below the peaks of the divine mountain and its Hindu Shrine, at its base camp in Pampa, in what could perhaps be called a perfect paradox between religion and science, faith and reason, stands a fully functional telemedicine van, outfitted with the most high-tech bio-medical equipment on the market—the same one that I had now traveled half-way across India to see.
Located in the southwestern-most state of Kerala, 400 kilometers from the coastal city of Cochin, Mount Sabarimala (‘mala’ meaning mountain), is visited each year by tens, if not hundreds of thousands of devoted worshipers, some of whom make the trip a yearly sacrifice. They come to celebrate, pay their respect to, and worship Lord Ayyappan, a Hindu symbol of religious unity and communal harmony. Most of the last part of the journey is undertaken on foot, and many walk for days on end to reach this sacred place. In order to participate in this ceremony, pilgrims must fast for 41 days, and are not permitted liquor, tobacco or sexual relations.
The only complaint that I’ve heard made about the experience is that injuries and illness are a fairly common occurrence along the path. Which makes sense, when one takes into account the fact that there are countless thousands of people, walking long distances in unpredictable weather over rough, rural and wild terrain with animals and sickness hiding in every corner. One example of the dangers involved occurred just a few years back, when so many people had jammed their way onto a hillside that the hill collapsed, killing a large number of people.
But what is there to do when the mountain is so far from any form of health care? Bring the doctors to the pilgrims, says Dr. Kumara Menon, who is the telemedicine director at AIMS Hospital in Cochin, Kerala. The Amrita Institute of Medical Sciences and Research Center (AIMS) is a multi-specialty, charitable, non-profit medical center that provides healthcare services to thousands of low-income and indigent patients. The 800-bed facility was established in 1998, and has already treated tens of thousands of inpatients and hundreds of thousands of outpatients. The hospital also runs half a dozen educational programs and medical universities. Beyond their on-site activities, however, AIMS is perhaps better known for their free or low-cost community-based health programs, medical outreach camps, health awareness campaigns, and other services provided to people living in remote areas throughout the state.
Another example of their service is evidenced by their response to the tragic effects of the tsunami that devastated much of Kerala State’s coast. Immediately thereafter, AIMS deployed teams of medical personnel and ambulances to the hardest hit coastal areas in Kerala and its neighboring state of Tamil Nadu. Numerous medical camps were quickly set up and free services were given to tens of thousands of tsunami survivors. Those that needed additional treatment were transported back to AIMS or to other local hospitals.
Unfortunately, the medical directors at AIMS still faced problems: they realized that temporary camps were only able to provide so much care; some cases were difficult, if not impossible to treat at the camps without more advanced equipment or specialists; and other, even more remote places, were still not receiving any health care services. But they had an idea.
If they had a telemedicine van that was able to move amongst the camps as well as travel to the more remote areas where camps had not been established, they would be able to improve their services and increase the number of patients they could treat. “Telemedicine” means using satellites and internet technology to send and receive data from a more rural site to a more sophisticated hospital. There, experts and specialists stationed at the hospitals who could otherwise not help or advise patients, are able to be of service to them. Utilizing telemedicine, patients—regardless of where they are—can be ‘seen’ by doctors at the AIMS hospital, diagnosed, and treated on site, or can be transported back to the AIMS hospital to be given more advanced care.
Having worked with Direct Relief in the past, and having just received from them a huge amount of supplies, medicine and relief immediately after the tsunami, AIMS thought of asking Direct Relief for help and support in their project. Prior to their request to Direct Relief, AIMS had already received a commitment for a portable satellite link from the Indian Space Research Organization (ISRO), which is the rough equivalent to NASA in the United States. Because AIMS proved that they had the technical capabilities to handle the project, and had proven their dedication to service based on their work before and after the tsunami, Direct Relief International agreed to fund the project. Shortly thereafter, the fully-functional telemedicine van was in operation, equipped with general diagnostic supplies, an X-ray, a lab, as well as endoscopy, cardiac and ophthalmic equipment, not to mention the ISRO satellite.
When I visited AIMS hospital in early January 2007, the tsunami was two years in the past, and much of the physical injuries and suffering had thankfully ended. As I arrived at the hospital, they at first appeared very apologetic, and I immediately assumed the worst. Luckily, I soon surmised that they were apologizing that the van was not at the hospital, and thus I was unable to see it firsthand. I, on the other hand, was thrilled that it was not at the hospital, because it presented proof that it was out working as intended.
“Where is it?” I inquired. “Glad you asked”, they replied. They then asked me to follow them, as a patient had just entered the van, and they wanted me to witness the consultation between a doctor at the hospital and the doctor in the van. Up the stairs in the hospital’s beautiful, cylindrical main building, we came to a small, white door. Inside was a massive wide-screen TV, computers, cameras, a sound system, a couch and two reclining chairs. This was not an entertainment room, but instead the main center for telemedicine conferencing. And there, on the TV screen, was the patient, wearing the same traditional outfit that I had seen a hundred others wearing earlier in the day. As I was driving to the hospital, I saw many pilgrims as they walked along the road on their way to Mount Sabarimala. Now, one had made it to its base camp, but something had gone wrong. Luckily for him, that is also where the tele-medicine van had been sent.
I quickly learned that this traveler had been bitten by a snake as he ambled, barefoot, in the grass. His heart rate was irregular, and the doctor in the telemedicine van at the base of the mountain was unsure how to diagnose the problem. Over the computer screen came digital photos of the bite and real-time EKG heart monitoring that were sent by satellite from the van. In addition there was video and audio that Dr. Kumar, who I was with, used to see and talk to the patient and the other doctor in the van. I was amazed at the clarity of the video and that the information was being seen at both locations simultaneously. My only problem was that I couldn’t understand the language being spoken.
More interesting than my own amazement, however, is the long list of others who have been amazed at this van. A few months back, the United Nations, in coordination with ISRO, sponsored a conference at the AIMS medical campus, specifically to talk about the van. As it is the first of its kind in India, and was so unique in the world, and has performed so successfully, the UN was interested in learning more about it, as they were toying with the idea of utilizing the same technology in Afghanistan.
At another event I was attending a few days earlier on the Andaman and Nicobar Islands to commemorate the second anniversary of the Asian Tsunami, I was on stage sitting next to Mr. M. Shashidhar Reddy, who is a member of the national disaster management authority in New Delhi. As we were chatting about other international programs designed at preventing and reacting to natural disasters, he mentioned his desire to see more mobile tele-medicine being used throughout India, and said that the program in Cochin was a good example of the system he would like to see used more.
Additionally, just before I arrived at AIMS hospital, another group of visitors arrived to take a look at the van and learn more about it. This group was from National Geographic, and they had come to document and record a special program for National Geographic about the van.
It seems in the end, that the Direct Relief International funded telemedicine van has been a success, and hopefully it will be the forbearer of more technology like it to come. And, even though I was not able to see the van in person to verify its capabilities, I was able to experience it through the miracle of modern science and technology. Now, if only I could figure out a way to experience that other miracle that was occurring on the mountaintop, high above the van...