Babies who survive civil war in Sudan dying from disease, hunger

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http://www.realcities.com/mld/krwashington/9241679.htm

 

Posted on Sun, Jul. 25, 2004

 

 

Babies who survive civil war in Sudan dying from

disease, hunger

 

By Sudarsan Raghavan

Knight Ridder Newspapers

 

KALMA CAMP, Sudan - When Enas Abbakr arrived for the

first time at this refugee camp, she could swallow

milk. She had the strength to wail in the feeding

center, where starving babies like her struggle to

reach their first birthdays. She could open her

toffee-colored eyes, and curl a rare smile.

 

But Enas was struggling. A feeding tube, taped to her

tiny forehead, ran into her nostrils. Flies buzzed

around her skeletal face. Every breath rattled the

brittle bones that bulged through her shrunken,

11-month-old frame. Too weak to cry, she lay silent,

eyes shut.

 

" She's almost 1 and she looks like she's 101, " said

Dr. Jerry Ehrlich, a volunteer pediatrician from

Cherry Hill, N.J., who was battling to keep Enas

alive.

 

Every day, the thin barrier dividing life and death is

being chipped away here as thousands seek refuge from

an ethnic cleansing campaign that has created a

humanitarian disaster in Sudan's western province of

Darfur.

 

As many as 30,000 people have been killed in a civil

conflict, where marauding Arab militias known as the

Janjaweed have forced more than a million black

Africans from their villages in a campaign the U.S.

Congress last week labeled genocide. Despite Sudanese

government promises to disarm the militias, the

attacks continue.

 

Now, disease and hunger threaten to turn the

overcrowded camps - nearly 70,000 people have fled to

Kalma and hundreds more arrive every day - into

killing zones far deadlier than the war they fled.

 

" It's a fight against time, " said Paula Claycomb, a

spokeswoman for the United Nations Children's Fund.

 

A graveyard at the edge of the camp is spreading. On

most mornings, as the unfolding light bathes the camp

in a pinkish hue, white-robed men recite mournful

prayers for the smallest and weakest. Then, they bury

them in small graves dug with bare hands, topped with

thorny branches to ward off animals.

 

Hundreds of malnourished children under the age of 5

arrive each week into the feeding center run by the

aid agency Doctors Without Borders. They are weighed,

their arms measured. Only the boniest and the severely

ill are allowed in.

 

Once in, the children are trapped in a twisted Rip Van

Winkle tale. They wake up in aging bodies that are

crumbling from malnutrition. They fall to heart

attacks, kidney failures, and liver problems culprits

that kill their grandparents. A bout of diarrhea can

snatch the life out of them.

 

Soon, a rogue's gallery of infectious diseases could

join the ranks of killers. A lack of clean water and

poor sanitation threatens to throw open the door to

cholera, typhoid, malaria and other killers. If this

happens, as many as 10,000 could die each month, warns

the World Health Organization.

 

The U.S. Agency for International Development has a

more apocalyptic prognosis: 300,000 deaths by the

year's end if aid flows quickly. A million, if it

doesn't.

 

Even with such dire predictions, the United Nations

and other western relief agencies are finding it

difficult to raise money. Donor fatigue is a key

reason, as rich nations are weary of Sudan's numerous

crises over the past two decades.

 

" If more resources were available, a lot more could be

done, " said Claycomb. So far, only half of UNICEF's

$40 million appeal has been answered.

 

Inside the center, a struggle is on to save babies.

Mothers, their faces lined with worry, sit on straw

mats cradling babies, some so small their heads fit

into their palms. They shoo away flies while they

patiently wait for help.

 

Two Western doctors and three nurses, with a small

Sudanese staff, perform a courageous job, but no

matter how hard they toil, they often lose the sickest

of the sick. In the past two months, 85 children have

died, mostly babies.

 

That haunts Dr. Ehrlich, an energetic, 69-year-old

grandfather who has spent a lifetime helping children.

Last week, he rushed to help a year-old baby girl only

to see her collapse dead 15 seconds later.

 

" This is how every day is. What can I tell you? " said

the visibly shocked doctor a few minutes later. " It's

days like today I wish I had my wife here to talk to. "

 

Enas, he felt, could be saved. Around her tiny wrist

was a testament to her will to survive: A white band

that hung loosely around her soft, leathery, dying

skin. It read " T297, " meaning she was the 297th baby

to enter the center for therapeutic feeding. The

babies around her wore tags in the 900s.

 

Just getting here took a miracle. Four days after Enas

and her twin brother, Anas, were born, government

planes firebombed their village, Tiro, said their

mother, Kaltoma Musa, recounting a familiar story told

by many survivors. Then, the Janjaweed, backed by

soldiers in fatigues, swept in, killing, raping, and

burning huts.

 

Musa grabbed the twins and rushed toward a large rock.

Around her, she saw gruesome hints of their future.

 

" I saw small children with their mothers lying dead, "

said Musa, 21, who held Enas in her lap and fanned her

gently with a small yellow shirt. " I thought this was

our last day on Earth. "

 

She crouched as low as she could behind the rock,

using her body as a shield to protect the twins, and

prayed.

 

After the attack, Musa and her family fled to a nearby

town. They had no work and no food to grow. Musa's

breast milk dried up, a common occurrence from

war-induced shock, said Dr. Ehrlich. Soon, the twins

began to wither from hunger.

 

Forty days ago, Musa brought the twins to the feeding

center. Fed with therapeutic milk formula, Anas got

better in 20 days.

 

But Enas continued to seesaw between good and bad

days, and within days of leaving the feeding center,

her weight had sunk, and Musa brought her back.

 

Nurses attached the feeding tube. Enas' weight

continued to drop, to less than 7 pounds, a third what

a healthy American baby her age would weigh.

 

But the workers at the center refused to give up on

her. A nurse pumped the milk formula into Enas' nose.

She wiggled her pod-sized fingers.

 

Ehrlich watched and wished he could keep Enas

overnight connected to an IV, if needed. But a lack of

security in Kalma and manpower means the clinic closes

at 5 p.m.

 

" If this was a better world, we would have a 24-hour

center, " Ehrlich said. He later added: " We've had a

lot of setbacks with this kid. I hope we've

straightened it out. With a little bit of luck in a

month's time, we may get her up.

 

" There's like 50 of these every day. "

 

Musa gently pulled the yellow shirt over Enas' head.

She wrapped her in a brown blanket, and held her close

to her heart.

 

" My child has a strong will to live, " she said, before

leaving the center.

 

Two hours later, Enas had diarrhea over and over

again, until the fluids in her ravaged body slid out.

She fell unconscious. In the dim light of the kerosene

lamp, Musa shook her. She called her name. In

desperation, she pressed her milkless nipple against

her baby's lips. They were cold. She shook her again.

No response.

 

Musa ran outside, in the pouring rain, and cried.

 

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© 2004, Knight Ridder/Tribune Information Services.

 

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