DOCTORS WITHOUT BORDERS

Doctors Without Borders

I first met this French medical group near Sangklaburi, Thailand when I was working at the Kwai River Christian Hospital on the Thai/Myanmar border in 1994. A dusty pickup truck would occasionally arrive bearing a patient in need of surgery or some other crisis they could not treat in their rural clinic across the border.

The paved two-lane highway that went past Sangklaburi was probably the shortest road between Thailand and Burma (now called Myanmar), following the old “death railroad” of World War II notoriety, crossing the border at Three Pagoda Pass. It was a convenient way for smugglers to sneak illegal imports into Burma, a caravan of eight luxury sedans, for example, that we met on the road one day.

But the road was unique in other ways, too: it had a branch going due westward passing right by the Hospital (20 km west of town) and proceeding another 10 km to a point on the national border that Mon tribal rebels controlled, at the village of Holokani.

Many Burmese enter Thailand looking for jobs. Thai Immigration police jail those lacking proper documents and ship them back to Myanmar, but not where the Myanmar police can arrest them. In Mon territory they have a long border over which they can infiltrate without much risk. Every Wednesday two or three truckloads of deportees, a hundred per truck, would pass the hospital en route to Holokani. Often there would be several who were too sick or too malnourished to walk across the border, and they would be dropped at the hospital. Immigration had a standing agreement that they wouldn't hassle them while under treatment, and we would send them on their way when they were strong enough. We had a safe house with exercise equipment where they could stay in the meantime.

Lois and I went to visit Holokani one day, accompanied by a couple of locals. The pavement ended 3 or 4 km beyond the hospital, and the road got progressively worse over the rest of the way. Holokani turned out to be a population of some 5,000 people, living in bamboo thatch-roofed houses, crowded on both sides of the road for 2 or3 km. The town had no electricity, no running water or farmland; everything was provided by the Thai Border Consortium, a volunteer group. The Doctors Without Borders had a larger bamboo building with room for about 20 patients lying on the floor. They had a microscope using sunlight-and-mirror, were able to give IV fluids and blood. By contrast, our little mission looked like a city hospital. with its lab, X-ray and operating room.

I never again gave a hard time to the people in the dusty pickup, and I still make contributions to the Doctors Without Borders, God Bless them!